The Butterfly glided soundlessly through the astrosphere of Aqski's star. The autopilot had already aligned its course—coordinates locked, path secured.Inside, the silence was shattered by a steady rhythm of thuds echoing from the cargo deck.
The boy had woken up.
For the last fifteen minutes, Yuviel had been kicking the hatch of the ship with all the fury his frail body could summon. His bare feet ached, but the sound of metal reverberating under his strikes was the only thing that kept his fear from devouring him whole.
Vyzen leaned back in his pilot's chair and stretched, the sound of his armor creaking faintly as he did. He didn't even turn his head when he spoke."What are you doing?" His tone was calm—too calm for someone with a child hostage.
Yuviel froze for a heartbeat, glanced at him, then mumbled something inaudible under his breath and went right back to kicking.
Vyzen exhaled, more weary than angry."Give up," he said, voice dry through the vocoder of his helmet. "It won't open. And the noise is annoying."
He pushed himself out of the seat and crossed to the supply cabinet near the rear wall. Inside were a few towels and a med-kit. He tossed the towels onto the table and stripped off his half-burnt jacket. Beneath it, his crimson skin gleamed faintly, streaked with soot and blood—the residue of Grenon's demise still clinging to him. Most of it had dried and clotted, leaving him to scrape at the stains with visible irritation.
Behind him, Yuviel's kicks slowed until finally he slumped against the wall, panting. His chest heaved as the exhaustion of the last night—running, hiding, screaming—finally caught up. He collapsed onto the cold floor, the ship's faint hum lulling him toward unconsciousness.
Vyzen ignored him and pulled another jacket from the rack. He slid it over his shoulders, covering the dull gleam of the bio-metal plates fused beneath his skin. As he did, a stray thought flickered across his mind—something practical, detached.He needed to check the boy for trackers.
He reached for a mug, poured himself a dose of concentrated caffeine gel, the amalgamation of an energy drink and coffee, and set it aside. Then, without looking, he said, "Stand up."
Yuviel didn't move.
Vyzen turned his head slightly, voice flattening."I said Stand up."
Still no movement.
He sighed and crossed the cabin in two steps. His hand shot out, gripping the boy's tunic, and slammed him against the wall with a dull thud."Don't ever react that way again, got it?" Vyzen's voice was a growl under the helmet, distorted and sharp. "You do what I say."
Yuviel's small hands pushed against his arm, but it was like trying to move a mountain. His throat tightened, and rage burst out before fear could silence it."Then kill me already!" he shouted, eyes blazing. "You monster!"
For a moment, the air itself seemed to stop moving.
Vyzen didn't reply. He just stared through the visor into those blue eyes—eyes that were dry from too many tears, yet still burning with defiance. Something about that look tore open an old wound in him. A face. A voice. A memory long buried under years of blood and metal.
He released the boy. The grip loosened, and Vyzen stepped back. He exhaled, his tone turning colder."Then I won't get any money," he muttered.
Yuviel glared, panting. His voice came out cracked and hoarse."Now just stand there quietly," Vyzen ordered.
He fetched a holotab and a small scanning device with a horizontal head. The two synced with a faint chime, the scanner humming to life with a thin blue beam. He moved it slowly across the boy's body—from feet to head and back again.
The readings made Vyzen pause. He hadn't seen a result like this in his entire career.A pure-blood human. No augmentations. No neural implants. No synthetic organs. Not even trace nanites in the bloodstream.Just raw flesh and bone—the kind that hadn't existed in centuries. The database tried to pull up ancestry data, but the system blinked red: No records found. Humans had vanished from registries long ago.
"What did you do to me?" Yuviel asked, his voice small, scared, but still edged with suspicion.
"Nothing," Vyzen replied simply, setting the tab down. He turned to his coffee and let the scanner power down.
Yuviel's mind was racing. When Vyzen had appeared back in Caspuyl, Yuviel thought he was a rescuer—someone sent to free him from those insectoid guards. But then he saw what Vyzen did to Grenon. The blood. The violence. The way he enjoyed it.His stomach churned.This man was no savior.
Vyzen unclipped the lower segment of his helmet, revealing only a shadow of his face, and brought the cup to his lips. He turned away from the boy instinctively—he didn't like being seen.
Yuviel, curious and defiant, craned his neck, trying to get a look.
"Nothing to see here," Vyzen said, voice slightly muffled.
But Yuviel had already noticed the weapon at Vyzen's belt—the one that had unleashed that blinding blast in the fight. The weapon hummed faintly, as if alive. A thought began to form in the boy's mind—a reckless, desperate plan.
Vyzen locked the helmet back and set another mug on the table in front of him. The coffee's aroma—rich, metallic, slightly burnt—filled the air."Drink that," Vyzen said.
"I won't," Yuviel replied immediately, his tone mirroring Vyzen's calm but edged with defiance.
"I don't want my money starving to death," Vyzen said, leaning back in his chair. "Now. Drink it."
Yuviel glared daggers at him, then snatched the cup and gulped it down in one go—spitefully."Ew," he muttered, scrunching his face. "Don't you have something to eat? Like bread?"
"Bread?" Vyzen tilted his head. "What's that?" He waved the question off. "You'll eat what I give you. No complaints."
He tapped the holotab again, and soft music began to play—something old and haunting, maybe from before the Exodus. A melody of strings that crackled faintly through static. It was the kind of music only pirates listened to.
"Silver ships in the endless black, ~Lost hearts that never made it back.~There's no heaven, no guiding flame,~Just a name, just a name."
Yuviel sank back to the floor, but his gaze kept flicking toward that weapon.The hum. The light. The power.
"Where are you taking me?" Yuviel asked suddenly, standing up. He walked to the viewport, pressing his small hands to the glass. Outside, the dark clouds of Kanderis were breaking apart, revealing the cold shimmer of orbit beyond.
Vyzen didn't answer.
"Tell me," Yuviel said again, louder this time. "Who are you selling me to?"
Vyzen finally sighed. "You'll know when you arrive."
That was all the confirmation Yuviel needed. He moved fast.
In a blink, his hand darted down and snatched the Xeloyatra from Vyzen's belt. The weapon was heavier than it looked, cold to the touch, the energy within it thrumming against his palm.
"Go to hell!" he shouted, raising it just like he'd seen Vyzen do.
He pulled the trigger.
For a split second, nothing happened. Then—The air around him shimmered, and Yuviel felt a surge of energy rip through his veins. The same strange rush he'd felt back in Caspuyl—an intoxicating, burning pulse that wasn't his own. The weapon didn't fire. Instead, the blast wave that followed slammed both of them against opposite walls.
The ship's lights flickered. The air reeked of ozone.
Vyzen groaned, pushing himself up first. He grabbed the Xeloyatra, wrenching it from Yuviel's trembling hands, and snapped it back into its magnetic holster. He cursed under his breath. He'd dropped his guard—and nearly died because of a child.
But… why hadn't it fired?
He turned to the boy, who was still on the floor, dazed.
"You fool!" Vyzen shouted, his voice echoing through the cabin. "You could've killed us both! You don't understand its power—it would've burned a hole through me and this ship!"
He slammed his fist on the table, the sound sharp and final. "Never. Never do that again—or I promise you, I won't think about the money anymore."
Yuviel flinched, but even then, there was a spark of something in his eyes—not defiance, but understanding.
Vyzen's own anger surprised him. The way his heart had pounded. The way he'd shouted.Why?
He'd never cared about his own life before. Not since the war. Not since her.He'd always told himself his existence meant nothing—just another weapon, another corpse waiting to happen.
Then why had he reacted like that?Why had he cared that the boy might've died too?
He found no answer in the hum of the engines or the fading music. Only silence—and the boy's quiet, steady breathing.
Vyzen sat back down, the Butterfly cruising through the black of space once more. The stars stretched long and thin across the viewport, and for a moment, both captor and captive watched them in silence.
Neither spoke.But the air between them had changed.