It had been a day since the Xeloyatra incident, and mostly silence lingered between Vyzen and Yuviel.Not the uneasy kind — just the sort that hangs heavy between two people who've accepted that words won't fix anything.
They had grown oddly comfortable with each other's presence.Yuviel didn't try to escape again. He feared that this time, Vyzen wouldn't hold back. Besides, Vyzen had explained—half reluctantly—what this place was: a spacecraft, a metal vessel drifting through the endless void called space.There was no ground. No air beyond the walls. No escape.
The logic was impossible to deny. When Yuviel pieced it together, it hit him — those flying metals that had attacked Caspuyl weren't magic or spirits. They were ships, just like this one.
He'd thought Vyzen might be lying, trying to scare him into obedience. But when he finally gathered the courage to peer through the viewport, all he saw was an ocean of blackness and stars. Infinite, cold, and alive.It looked almost like the night sky back home—only larger, lonelier.
For the first time, he believed Vyzen.
He learned that his homeland wasn't the world after all. It was just one of many planets. His—Aqski.The old folks used to call it New Erdath.He'd always laughed at their stories, skipped his lessons, hated studying. But now, trapped inside this machine, he was learning more about the universe than any teacher could've told him. Curiosity bloomed in him like a rare flower growing in frost.
But curiosity didn't fill his stomach.He'd only had that bitter black drink Vyzen called coffee. It kept him awake, sharpened his mind, but it didn't ease the ache in his gut.He missed real food — his mother's stews, soft bread, the scent of home.
The memory turned sour as fast as it came.His mother's face — burned, unrecognizable. The twisted heap of flesh, the blackened bones, the hollow sockets that once looked at him with love.The thought left a crackling pain in his chest.And then there was Tasha. He hadn't seen her since Caspuyl. Maybe she'd been taken. Maybe she was still alive. He couldn't let himself believe otherwise.
"Hey."
Vyzen didn't reply. His head tilted slightly, helmet glinting faintly in the dim cabin lights.He was humming to a song. The same one he'd been playing for hours — Fire on the Horizon. Yuviel was sick of hearing it.
"HEY!" he shouted this time.
Vyzen sighed and turned down the volume. "What is it now?"
"I've told you enough," Vyzen said. "You won't get any other answers."
"Who were the people that attacked my… uh, planet?"
"I said I won't—"
"I'm going to die anyway," Yuviel interrupted, his voice trembling but fierce. "Isn't it my right to know?"
Vyzen's jaw tightened under his helmet. His voice came out colder, heavier."Death? You don't know the weight of that word, boy. Don't use it so lightly. If you're going to die, it doesn't matter what you knew."
He didn't mean to growl it, but the words came out like a snarl.This kid — this naïve, wide-eyed kid — spoke of death like it was a story.He hadn't slept beside rotting corpses. He hadn't seen skulls devoured by Gravens. He hadn't buried friends and enemies in the same pit. He hadn't become the thing he hated.
And yet, he dared to say the word like he understood it.
Vyzen realized his breath was ragged. He forced it steady.
The boy inhaled shakily. "I've seen enough death," he said. "My mother. My father. Everyone I knew." His voice cracked. "And it does matter. It does."
Vyzen froze.Those eyes — blue, raw with anger and grief — he'd seen them before. He might have looked similar when he was younger.Vyzen looked away.
"Arbiterium," Vyzen muttered at last. "A major power in the galaxy. The peacekeeping force sent by the Supreme Arbiter himself."
"Arbi—uh?"
"It's Arbiterium," Vyzen repeated, slower.
"So… that gold-skinned man must've been from there," Yuviel mumbled.
Vyzen straightened. "Gold-skinned?"
"Yeah. One was slim and tall. The other was bulky, also tall. The big one wore a white covering of metal."
"Armor," Vyzen said automatically.An Admin, maybe. And the other — a Peacekeeping Force officer. Strange, Aurelions never get such lowly posts. But not impossible. He'd seen stranger things. like an Aurelion joining the Resistance.
"So are you going to sell me to them?" Yuviel asked.
Vyzen gave a half-nod. "Either them… or slave traders."
"Then sell me to the Arbiterium," Yuviel said quickly.He thought, perhaps, he could find Tasha there. Maybe even save her. He didn't think past that.
"That's not for you to decide," Vyzen said flatly. The boy had lost his mind.
"Then who do you work for?" Yuviel pressed.
"Money," Vyzen replied.
Yuviel blinked. He wanted to say something, but nothing came out.
After a moment, he tried again. "You have a name?"
Vyzen didn't answer at first. Then he swiveled his chair slowly, meeting the boy's gaze. "Arthora."
"Ah… Arthora," Yuviel repeated. "Unique name. Any… family name?"
"What's a family name?"
"It's a name given—"
"None," Vyzen cut him off.
"Oh. I see. Mine's Yuviel Myrrin."
That word hit Vyzen like a jolt through his neural spine.Myrrin.Godstongue. Meaning of Myrr.Impossible. No human should still use that name. It belonged to an age long buried, when the universe still breathed through the flow of Myrr.He forced his voice to be calm. "I never asked."
Yuviel scowled and slumped to the floor. "Then go to hell."
Vyzen didn't respond. He couldn't.
Hours passed.The Butterfly drifted through the silent dark, its engines a steady heartbeat in the void. Outside, nebula dust shimmered faintly like ghostfire. The stars stretched into endless lines, then slowed as the ship dropped out of warp.
Before them loomed the edge of an astrophere—a vast cloud of charged stellar wind surrounding a dying star. Floating there, caught in its gravitational pull, was a massive station: a Drifter. The letters O.T.U. glowed across its hull, bold and blue against the black. Osaires Trade Union.
Vyzen guided the Butterfly toward it, thrusters whispering through the magnetic field. The hull shimmered as the ship entered the station's biosphere, artificial gravity settling over them like a soft hand.
The boy watched through the viewport — eyes wide, face ghostly pale in the cold light.Vyzen didn't look at him. He was too busy fighting the unease creeping up his own spine.
Both of them — the hunter and the child — had no idea what fate waited for them on that drifting hulk of metal.
But destiny, as always, was already waiting.