The Nyxwing drifted, a wounded bird in a sky of fire and shadow.
The dense, swirling nebula cloud Eva had dived into was a temporary shroud, its incandescent gases and fractured Progenitor debris painting the bridge in eerie, shifting hues of crimson and ghostly blue.
The immediate, deafening roar of Krell's onslaught had faded, replaced by an unnerving silence punctuated only by the hiss of escaping atmosphere from a minor hull breach and the ragged sound of Eva's own breathing.
Pain, sharp and insistent, clawed at her left shoulder. Gritting her teeth, Eva unbuckled herself from the pilot's chair, her arm screaming in protest.
The Aethelgardian fabric of her tunic was dark with blood. Her first thought, even before her own injury, was Bolt.
He was slumped in the co-pilot's station, utterly still. His massive, transformed body, which had been a terrifying spectacle of power moments before, now looked tragically inert.
The vibrant silver light that usually danced in his husky-wolf fur, the visible manifestation of the Ahna'sara, was reduced to the faintest, almost imperceptible shimmer, like dying embers.
His breathing was shallow, but blessedly present.
"Bolt?" she whispered, gently touching his coarse fur. His skin felt cool. "Bolt, can you hear me?"
No response. Panic, cold and sharp, tried to take root, but she ruthlessly suppressed it. There wasn't time.
Forcing herself to move, Eva retrieved the Aethelgardian medkit.
Her own shoulder was a mess – the shrapnel had torn deep. With trembling hands, she applied a self-sealing bio-bandage that Lyren had given her.
It stung fiercely, then a blessed numbness spread through the area. It would hold, for now.
Then, to the ship. The main console was a disaster of warning glyphs and flickering readouts.
The melodic Aethelgardian chimes had become discordant, urgent pleas.
"Damage report," she commanded, her voice hoarse.
The ship's synthesized voice, usually calm and soothing, replied with a touch of digital strain.
"Port engine assembly… offline. Shield matrix at twelve percent integrity. Hull breaches detected in sectors gamma-seven and delta-three. Long-range communications… severed. Stealth systems… fluctuating, unstable."
Stranded. Or close to it.
The Nyxwing might have some sublight capability on its remaining starboard engine, but in this volatile region of the nebula, with Krell's fleet undoubtedly searching…
She looked out the viewport. Through thinner patches of the crimson cloud, she could see distant, angry flashes of light – Krell's forces still active, likely trying to stabilize the situation around the wounded Heart of Orion, or perhaps already beginning their hunt for the audacious gnat that had dared to interfere.
The feeling of being hunted was a palpable pressure, even here in their temporary hiding place.
A wave of despair, cold and heavy, washed over her.
She was injured, the ship was crippled, Bolt was unconscious, and their mission to save the Heart seemed like a mad dream.
What could she possibly do? They were adrift in a cosmic graveyard, surrounded by predators.
She looked at Bolt again, at his still, powerful face, the noble lines of his husky muzzle peaceful now, but too still. No. She wouldn't give up.
Not while he still breathed. Not after everything they had been through, everything Aethelgard had entrusted to them.
"Bolt," she said, her voice stronger now, fueled by a fierce, protective resolve.
She knelt by his side, gently shaking his massive shoulder. "You overgrown, sarcastic, noble furball, you are not checking out on me now. We have a galaxy to save, remember? Or at least, a very important, very angry Warlord to annoy further."
She kept talking, a stream of words – memories of their time on the Wanderlust, sarcastic remarks about his new size, desperate pleas.
She didn't know if he could hear her, but the silence was unbearable.
Minutes stretched into an eternity. The Nyxwing drifted. The distant, ominous thrum of Krell's capital ship, picked up by the Nyxwing's damaged external sensors, seemed to grow infinitesimally louder.
Then, a groan. Not from the ship, but from Bolt.
His ears twitched. His massive chest hitched with a deeper breath. Eva's heart leaped.
"Bolt?"
His eyelids, heavy as stone, fluttered. Slowly, with an immense effort, they opened. The familiar intelligent blue eyes, Eva's anchor in so many storms, stared up at her.
But there was something different in their depths now, a new light, or perhaps an ancient shadow, a profound resonance she hadn't seen before.
They seemed to hold the sorrow of the nebula itself.
He tried to speak, a dry, rasping sound.
"Easy, easy," she said, tears welling in her eyes. "You're okay. We're… we're hidden, for now."
He blinked again, his gaze clearing slightly, focusing on her face, then on her bandaged arm.
A low growl, this one edged with concern, rumbled in his chest.
"The… Heart…" he finally managed, his voice a hoarse whisper, each word an effort.
His eyes unfocused for a moment, looking past her, as if seeing something far beyond the confines of their broken bridge.
"It's… calling," he breathed, a new, strange urgency in his tone.
"Differently now. Not just pain… but… a warning. Krell… he didn't just wound it, Eva."
Bolt's eyes, now burning with that new, unsettling light, locked onto hers.
"He unleashed something else."