Aboard the Scythian. Somewhere inside Maria's consciousness.
The voices of her friends try to reach her—muffled, distorted, like echoes bleeding through glass at the bottom of an ocean.
The sounds are distant, warped, like radio signals from a dying galaxy.
She stretches toward them—
and slips.
Falling.
Wiped away into darkness.
Darkness.
Abyss.
Nothing.
Her body is gone.
No pain.
No motion.
Not even breath.
Only cold.
She is a spark of awareness, floating in infinite weightlessness.
Ahead—light.
A tiny flicker.
Unstable. But real.
Is it moving toward her? Or is she drifting toward it? She doesn't know.
But she needs it.
Needs it to touch her.
To bring her back.
A flash—
blinding, violent.
Maria's eyes fly open.
The Illusion of the Desert
Sand—hot. Blistering.
Wind—dry and sharp as knives.
Sky—so blue it hurts to look at.
She's standing in the center of a desert.
Alone.
But all around—people.
No, not quite. Figures.
Frozen like statues mid-breath.
Faces—uncanny, strange, not entirely human.
Empty eyes.
Expressionless.
Cold.
Am I dead? Is this… judgment?
She turns—no familiar faces.
Only strangers.
Only silence pulsing with dread.
Then—
the ground trembles.
She feels it not in her feet, but deeper.
Somewhere primal.
Somewhere soul-deep.
On the horizon—
a shadow.
Massive.
Monstrous.
With each step, it grows—
closer, clearer.
A creature of fire.
Its face—hidden in black flame.
Hands—wreathed in embers.
Its sword—titanic, burning, screaming with power.
Each footfall—
a drumbeat against reality.
And with it comes fear.
The crowd doesn't move.
No one flees.
They watch.
They wait.
"Why aren't you running?! Why are you silent?!" Maria screams inside.
Run!
But her legs won't move.
Paralyzed.
Her mouth sewn shut by dread.
Terror tightens its grip like a noose.
The sword rises—
an arc of fire.
"ALL WHO DEFY THE WILL OF GOD KAIRUS MUST DIE!"
The voice splits the sky like thunder from a shattered heaven.
A swing.
A flare.
A cataclysm.
Explosion.
Screams.
Ash.
The world disintegrates.
Maria feels her heart rip from her chest, her mind shriek in wordless agony.
She wants to vanish.
Disappear into the black.
And then—
Silence.
White
A perfect reversal.
No sand.
No fire.
No heat.
Only whiteness.
Infinite.
Soft.
Warm.
And the silence—alive.
Then—
a touch.
Someone strokes her hair.
Gentle.
Careful.
Like a mother.
Like… love.
Maria opens her eyes.
Before her—light. Endless and still.
A whisper:
"I am with you. I will save you. I am the god Hanaris."
Who are you? she wonders. Why does your voice… calm me?
Maria's heart begins to beat in time with the whisper.
She doesn't understand.
But she accepts.
Somewhere deep inside,
she knows—
she's not alone.
The Return
Pietro stiffens, eyes locked on the holograms.
Each pulse on the monitor slams against his chest like a drumbeat of hope.
Then—
"Captain!" he cries, voice trembling. "Her vitals—she's stabilizing! She's coming back!"
Manuel snaps his head up.
His face tightens, jaw clenched with disbelief and raw anticipation.
He lunges toward the console.
Hands flying across controls.
Pulse.
Pressure.
Neural activity—
surging back online.
She's alive.
On the screen—
a faint glow.
Not digital.
Not synthetic.
Living.
Real.
He freezes.
Just for a moment.
Watching.
"This is…" he exhales. "...a true miracle."
He places a firm hand on Pietro's shoulder—solid, brotherly.
Like a commander.
Like a friend who refused to let go.
"Praise be to Hanaris," he says aloud.
And he lifts his gaze—
through the layers of hull, through the mute skin of the ship—
into space.
Into the dark.
Where maybe, just maybe,
Someone heard.
He saved her.
He's with her.
And suddenly—
the silence turns radiant.
A soft breeze seems to drift through the chamber.
As if the universe itself offers thanks.
They stand still.
No words.
None needed.
Maria is returning.
And with her—
more than just life.
Hope.