The fleet drifted slowly through interstellar space, its ships scattered in a geometry that had nothing military about it. The Travelers had never liked rigid formations. They preferred fluid, shifting, unpredictable trajectories—much like their lives.
Athriox gazed at the stars from the observation bay of the Vigilant Path, one of the fleet's oldest vessels. At barely five years old, he did not yet perceive the void as a terrifying abyss. To him, space was silent, vast, almost soothing. He did not yet grasp all its implications, but something deep inside him compelled him to observe rather than fear.
Behind him, a crystalline laugh broke the silence.
"Athriiiiox!"
He turned just in time to see Vivi running toward him, her light hair tied haphazardly, a radiant smile on her face. She tripped just before reaching him and clung awkwardly to his leg.
Athriox immediately bent down and lifted her carefully.
"You'll fall," he said in a calm, almost professorial tone.
"No, I won't!" she protested, already laughing.
He set her on his shoulders, and she burst into a pure, genuine laugh that echoed through the bay. Athriox remained still, holding her ankles firmly. He did not like to move much when she was like this. Not out of fear—but because he savored the moment.
These moments mattered.
He did not know why he knew it, but he knew it.
"Athriox."
The voice was deep, weary, yet tinged with quiet authority. His grandfather stood at the entrance to the bay, hands clasped behind his back. Kaelen, captain of the Vigilant Path and one of the oldest living members of the Travelers.
His gray hair was pulled back, and his face bore the marks of decades spent negotiating, fleeing, and surviving. Yet his gaze remained sharp, attentive, almost stern as he studied space.
"It's time to come in," he added. "Vivi needs to eat."
"All right, grandfather," Athriox replied without hesitation.
He helped his sister down, and she protested weakly before letting him. Kaelen watched in silence. He rarely displayed his emotions, but something tightened in his chest at that moment.
Two years.
It had been two years since their parents had died.
The memory never truly left Kaelen.
His son and daughter-in-law had perished during a Wraith attack on a peripheral trade planet—a negotiation that was supposed to be safe. But despite their vigilance, some Wraith sentinels had decided to seek out a few prey to satisfy their hunger.
He had seen with his own eyes a dart snatch his son and daughter-in-law.
Kaelen had brought Athriox and Vivi aboard the flagship that day, holding them both close as the fleet jumped to hyperspace in emergency. Athriox had not cried—but the old man had seen a deep hatred in his eyes. Vivi had been too young to understand, but over time she would cry for days realizing her parents would not return.
Since that day, Kaelen had raised them alone.
The family cabin was modest, but tidy. Ancient objects were carefully arranged—relics of a lineage few truly understood. Athriox sat at the small table near the lower bunk while Kaelen prepared Vivi's meal.
After the meal, Vivi quickly fell asleep, exhausted from her day. Athriox stayed by her bed, watching her even, steady breathing. When he was sure she slept deeply, he rose silently and moved toward the hidden chest beneath his own bunk.
He opened it carefully.
Inside lay an object far older than the ship itself: a Lantenne data tablet, made of pale golden alloy, etched with complex symbols. It had belonged to his mother. And before her, to her mother. And before her still.
An inheritance.
Athriox lifted it delicately and placed it on the table. When he activated it, ancient glyphs illuminated, casting a soft light across the cabin.
He should not have been able to understand what he saw.
And yet…
"Lantia… Atlantus…" he murmured, reading one of the first passages left by his ancestor.
Languages came naturally to him. Not only those of contemporary peoples, but also dead, ancient, forgotten tongues. Where did this knowledge come from? Flashes of countless individuals passed through his mind without ever taking a face. He only knew that he had learned to read long before being formally taught.
In the Shadow Realm, he had wandered among the memories of countless souls.
Some spoke Latin. Others, human languages extinct for millennia. Others still used linguistic structures so close to those of the Ancients that he only needed a mental bridge to understand them.
And his ancestors had annotated the tablet, generation after generation, translating, adapting, simplifying.
Athriox was not merely reading a text.
He was following an unbroken chain of transmission.
"Athriox."
Kaelen stood in the doorway. He looked at the tablet, then at his grandson.
"You know that this is not a toy."
"I know," Athriox replied calmly. "It's our memory. And our heritage."
Kaelen approached slowly and sat across from him.
"Your mother used to say the same," he murmured.
He placed his calloused hand on the tablet.
"This lineage… it will bring you as many burdens as it does strengths."
Athriox lifted his eyes.
"I can help, grandfather."
Kaelen let out a slight, joyless laugh.
"You are already helping. You just don't know it yet."
Later, in the ship's engine room, Athriox sat before an open control panel. The technicians had left, convinced the child was only playing.
He was not playing.
His fingers glided over the interfaces with disturbing precision. He did not really read the symbols—he felt them. As if the logic of the machine were familiar.
"This is not optimal," he murmured to himself.
He adjusted the stabilization field slightly. Nothing drastic. Just a subtle refinement.
The ship vibrated almost imperceptibly.
In the engine room, an engineer froze.
"…That's odd."
"What is?" asked his colleague.
"The output just increased. By three percent."
They exchanged a glance.
"Impossible. Where is the extra energy coming from?"
The two engineers tried to understand the anomaly.
Athriox gently closed the panel and stepped back. He observed the machine silently, then tilted his head, as if greeting an old friend.
In the weeks that followed, several anomalies were detected aboard the Vigilant Path. Improved energy efficiency. Unusual stabilization of the hyperdrive field. Nothing spectacular.
Just… effective.
The engineers could not find the cause.
Kaelen, however, noticed Athriox spending more and more time near the systems.
One evening, he found him before an open panel, observing energy flows projected in hologram.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Listening," Athriox replied.
"Machines don't speak."
Athriox tilted his head.
"They do. But not in words."
Kaelen remained silent.
He realized then that the Ancestors' legacy had not merely survived.
It had awakened.
And his grandson was already harnessing its potential.