The ship's shower room was quiet.
Steam curled lazily around her as she sat beneath the spray, water pattering down over bruises and claw-scrapes earned in the sparring pit. The overhead lights were dimmed to a soft pulse—night mode. Most of the others were asleep, but her mind… wasn't.
She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, letting the water pool down her spine, trailing along old scars.
That's when the memory slipped in uninvited, but not unwelcome.
They'd been eleven.
Starving.
Running barefoot through the trash alleys of Sector Nine, breath puffing clouds in the early chill. Kaela led the charge—scraped knees, bloodied fists, that old canvas cloak fluttering behind her like a war banner.
Behind her came Rany, laughing too loud for someone so skinny. A Nyari boy with a mischievous streak. His bright laughter brought joy to Kaela.
And then there was Spanner, all wiry limbs and dark eyes, lugging a stolen mech battery half his size. His semi transparent skin was always a sight of wonder for Kaela, she thought his visible neural lattices were beautiful.
"This is a stupid idea!" Spanner wheezed. "We're gonna get caught!"
"Then run faster!" Kaela shouted over her shoulder.
They ducked into an old scrapyard, weaving between rusted hulls and buried mining bots.
The stash was under a collapsed power node.
Bread. Dried synthfruit. Two cracked canisters of nutrient gel. And best of all—
Cultivation manuals.
Illegally printed. Water-stained. Probably useless.
But they'd treated them like treasure.
They read by glowworm light, huddled under old thermal blankets. Rany tried the breathing techniques out loud, puffing her cheeks until he passed out. Spanner declared he'd invent a mech that could cultivate for him. Kaela just stared at the diagrams, hands trembling with the possibility that maybe, just maybe...she wasn't doomed to be forgotten.
For a few weeks, they were legends in their alley block. The kids who stole from the depot guard. The ones who vanished into shadows and came out with food and power.
For a few weeks, they weren't just rats.
They were alive.
The memory cracked.
Kaela blinked as the water cooled. She hadn't realized how long she'd been sitting there.
She tilted her head back, let the water run over her face, and whispered the names like a prayer she never dared say aloud.
"Rany. Spanner."
No one whispered back.
But something tightened in her chest, warmth, grief, maybe guilt and she held it for a moment longer before standing.
She toweled off in silence, pulling on her shirt and jacket without thought.
No one would ask where her mind had gone.
And she wouldn't offer.
But part of her still remembered being a child in the dirt, chasing food and flame and dreams of power—with two friends who'd made the world bearable for just a little while.
She didn't know if they were alive now.
She wasn't sure she wanted to.
Because some memories, fragile as they are, were too soft to survive the truth.
***
The morning corridors of the transport ship pulsed with soft blue light, the artificial sun cycle only just beginning. The smell of disinfectant and recharged air filled the halls. Mercenaries passed one another in silence, a few stretching, others already heading to the gym decks or communal dining.
Kaela wasn't interested in food.
She hadn't slept since the flicker.
That... thing—the figure she saw. No face. No features. Just presence.
It hadn't moved. It didn't threaten her.
It just watched.
But it was enough to wedge under her skin like a splinter she couldn't pull free.
She found Riel in the observation deck, seated cross-legged near the glass dome, the stars behind her a sea of fireflies trapped in slow motion.
Kaela stopped a few paces away, arms folded.
"I don't appreciate you messing with my mind."
Riel opened her eyes slowly. Calm. As always.
"I haven't touched your mind, Kaela."
"Then tell your ghosts to back off."
Riel didn't blink. "You saw something?"
Kaela's jaw clenched. "Don't play the seer card. You know I did."
"Then perhaps it's time you stop pretending this isn't real," Riel said gently, standing. "The soul doesn't lie. What you saw was not from me. It was drawn to you."
Kaela stepped forward, her tone sharp. "Drawn to me? I didn't invite anything. I'm not some medium. I don't want whispers. Or ghosts. Or puzzles wrapped in riddles about my soul. I'm not your prophecy."
"No," Riel agreed, eyes dark and unreadable. "Whether you like it or not you and I are connected by the threads of fate, I am on this ship simply because I know to listen to the spirits."
Kaela flinched—barely—but Riel saw it.
"It's not just a vision. These spirits, echoes—whatever name you prefer—they are not your enemy."
"Then tell them to stop staring," Kaela snapped. "They've had their show."
"They came for a reason," Riel said. "What if they're trying to help you?"
Kaela's laugh was humorless, a sharp exhale of disbelief. "Spare me the mystic sympathy. I'm not interested in the dead. I barely have patience for the living."
Riel didn't speak for a moment. When she did, her voice was quiet.
"Sometimes, what you avoid the most is what will save you. I do not know what we will find on Xelthora, but one thing is clear, the wheels of fate have begun turning once again."
Kaela turned, the conversation souring like metal on her tongue. "You're not helping. Just stay out of my head."
"I'm not in your head," Riel said softly behind her. "But something is."
Kaela didn't respond. She walked out, boots heavy against the smooth floor.
The doors hissed closed behind her.
Riel stood alone for a moment more.
Then exhaled.
And made her way to the sparring pits, slipping out of her robe and drawing her sword with precise grace.
She didn't speak to anyone.
She just moved—swing after swing, sweat clinging to her brow, breath deepening.
She didn't strike with anger.
But the blade knew: she was trying to silence something inside.
"Even seers don't always like what they see," Riel thought striking again.