The fifth week into drift felt different.
The Kaleid-One no longer hummed like background noise to Niri's ears — it pressed in, steady and suffocating.
She knew the ship now.
Every panel.
Every vent.
Every shiver through the stabilizers when the FTL drift corridor buckled.
There was nothing left to discover.
And that felt worse than danger.
She moved through the ship like a ghost, silent and restless.
Her fingertips brushed the cool walls as she wandered, counting steps without realizing it.
At the viewport, she paused again — forehead lightly touching the cold glass, breathing shallowly.
Beyond, hyperspace stretched the stars into endless rivers of light.
Motion without destination.
Time without anchor.
Behind her, Lu'Ka watched but said little.
He gave her space.
Let her drift where she needed to, orbiting her like a quiet moon.
He understood more than he spoke.
And Niri... she hated that.
She hated even more that she didn't hate him.
Today, his voice broke the ship's low whisper:
> "You haven't asked where we're going."
Niri stayed facing the stars.
> "You said the Academy," she answered, voice flat and dry.
Lu'Ka set aside his datapad with a quiet clink.
She heard the scrape of boots against the deck plating as he stood — slow, deliberate, no sudden movements.
> "Yes," he said. "But only if you want to."
She turned slightly, catching his reflection ghosted in the glass.
Relaxed.
No weapons.
No threats.
> "You think I have anywhere else to go?" she asked, sharper than intended.
> "I don't know," Lu'Ka said simply.
Silence stretched thick between them, taut as stretched cloth.
The ship's environmental systems whirred low in the background, barely more than a breath.
Niri closed her eyes briefly.
It wasn't fear keeping her anchored here.
It was exhaustion.
And maybe —
a thin, dangerous thread of something worse.
Curiosity.
> "You chased ghosts," she said after a moment.
Lu'Ka smiled faintly, a humorless curve of his mouth.
> "I did."
> "Chased... me," she added, voice cool as cut stone.
> "Not you," he corrected quietly. "Stories of you. Fragments."
Niri peeled herself off the glass, stepping closer — arms loose, but shoulders taut.
The hyperspace streams painted pale streaks across her skin as she crossed the deck.
> "Now you have one," she said.
Lu'Ka didn't flinch.
> "I have a survivor," he said. "And a thousand questions."
Niri snorted softly.
Bitter.
> "You think I know the answers?"
He shrugged.
> "You know more than anyone else alive."
The words hit harder than she expected.
She hadn't asked to be important.
She didn't feel important.
She felt lost.
Lu'Ka moved to the side console and pulled up a projection — the glyph again.
The one she had spoken without thinking.
We remain.
The old symbols spun in the air between them, faint and steady.
Niri's hands twitched unconsciously at her sides.
He brought the projection closer.
> "You read this without hesitation," Lu'Ka said.
Niri's throat tightened.
She swallowed dryly.
> "I don't know how," she said, voice rasping.
> "You don't have to," he answered softly. "The fact you can... that changes everything."
Niri frowned.
Her skin prickled under the artificial lights.
> "You think I'm some artifact?" she asked.
Lu'Ka shook his head.
> "No. You're living proof."
> "Proof of what?"
He held her gaze steadily.
> "That humans didn't just vanish without a trace.
That they left something behind."
A pause.
"Maybe someone."
The truth hung between them like static electricity, unspoken but alive.
Niri stared at the glyphs.
They made sense.
Simple.
Obvious.
She pointed at the script.
> "My language," she said flatly.
Lu'Ka nodded once.
> "No one else can read it."
Niri's lips tightened.
Whispered almost to herself:
> "Then I am alone."
Lu'Ka didn't argue.
Didn't offer empty comfort.
Only the truth:
> "You're the only voice they left."
And that was the reality.
---
Later, they sat across from each other at the central mess table.
The ship's simulated night cycle had dimmed the lights to a low, steady glow.
A forgotten nutrient bar lay between them.
Niri picked it apart absently, not eating.
Lu'Ka nursed a lukewarm mug of something bitter and stale.
The silence stretched.
Finally, Niri spoke, voice low:
> "What happens when we reach the Academy?"
Lu'Ka leaned back slightly.
> "If we're careful... you'll be seen as a refugee from a dead colony.
A lost drift child.
You'll have shelter. Access. Records."
Niri watched him steadily.
> "And if we're not careful?"
His expression didn't change.
> "They'll rip you apart."
The honesty sliced through the air like a knife.
Niri sat back, arms folding defensively across her chest.
> "You think they'd kill me?"
> "I think," Lu'Ka said quietly, "they'd be too afraid not to."
She said nothing.
The void between stars stretched endlessly beyond the walls.
> "You deserve to choose," he added, voice softer now.
Niri scoffed, bitter.
> "Choose between what? A cell or a lie?"
> "Choose how you survive."
Her gaze sharpened.
> "Survival isn't living."
> "No," he agreed easily. "But it's a start."
Niri inhaled sharply.
Then exhaled.
Slow and shallow.
The truth hurt.
Because it was real.
She opened her eyes again.
> "Show me," she said.
Lu'Ka tilted his head slightly.
> "Show you what?"
> "The lie you built for me."
He hesitated —
then reached for his datapad.
With a few taps, a profile bloomed into the air between them.
Niri leaned forward instinctively.
But her heart sank almost immediately.
The words were meaningless.
A different language — the Reach Standard.
Neat lines of text, impossible to grasp.
Her mouth tightened into a hard line.
Helpless.
Again.
Lu'Ka noticed.
His voice was steady:
> "It's alright," he said. "The translator AI will bridge it once you enroll.
You'll attend basic sessions first — no one will expect fluency right away."
Niri said nothing.
She hated needing help.
Hated being a question mark.
But she said nothing.
Lu'Ka read the file aloud, low and professional:
> "Name: Niri Velas.
Species: Drift Variant.
Origin: Veyla's Run — classified abandoned colony."
He flicked to the next section.
> "Status: Refugee survivor.
Sponsor: Lu'Ka Renn.
Assigned Sector: Axis Core.
Academy of Core Logic — historical research trainee track."
He let the projection hover, then dropped his hands.
The final words hung in the air.
Paper ghost.
Niri sat still for a long moment.
> "I'm not that," she said finally.
Lu'Ka met her gaze without flinching.
> "No. But if you want to walk among them... you need to be."
Niri's hands clenched in her lap.
> "You made me paper," she said.
Lu'Ka's voice remained steady.
> "Paper gets you through the first door."
She exhaled sharply.
A sound between a laugh and a sob.
Pushed her chair back roughly and stood.
She moved toward the viewport again, bootsteps quiet against the metal.
The blurred stars spilled across her reflection.
> "One lie," she said.
> "For now," Lu'Ka agreed.
She turned halfway, enough to catch his face.
> "And after?"
He shrugged slightly.
> "After... we find the truth."
Niri stared at him a long time.
Measuring.
Weighing.
Finally, she nodded.
Sharp. Clean.
> "Good," she said. "Because I'm done running."
The hum of the Kaleid-One filled the silence that followed.
Steady.
Relentless.