As Sephira lay on the bed, she reached out, running her fingertips across the unfamiliar fabric. The soft hum of the ship's engines vibrated through her hand, a sensation both strange and grounding. The texture beneath her fingers felt oddly alive, something her other form would never have noticed.
In her long existence, there were many things she had not experienced, and whatever this was, it was new to her.
Like most space beasts, Sephira was no stranger to emotions. She understood the concepts of joy, loss, and love, detached abstractions she had witnessed in others but never experienced herself. Emotions were for the smaller, fleeting beings she had carried across the stars, not for Leviathans like her.
And yet, that had begun to change for her.
Her mind wandered back to her purpose. Since her birth, She had been a Leviathan mothership, her existence defined by the duty to one day produce the next generation of her kind. Emotions were a distant concept, things she had observed in others but never truly felt. She had seen love and loss, joy and hatred, but they were abstract ideas, external to her experience.
Then, Aedan entered her life.
At first, it was curiosity that led her to him, a young human with an unknown energy signature, wandering aimlessly yet with a determination she couldn't quite understand. He seemed so small and fragile, yet there was something about the way he moved, his quiet determination to keep going despite his loneliness, that held her attention.
She watched him from afar, studying the way he withdrew into himself when he thought no one was watching, the way he carried a quiet sadness that unsettled her in ways she couldn't explain.
A protective instinct stirred within her, a first in her long life.
Then, he found his way inside the mountain. He stood before her, face full of wonder and fear, and from that moment, her world began to shift. Aedan became her pilot, her first in over two thousand years.
Now, in this humanoid body, everything felt sharper, more confusing. Her body itself was strange: soft, vulnerable, and alive in ways she was unaccustomed to. Emotions that had once been distant concepts now felt real, unsettling her in ways that were both exhilarating and terrifying.
She stared out of the window, watching the colors of hyperspace blur together in a quiet, shifting cascade. For the first time in her long existence, she felt… content. Almost.
But something gnawed at the edges of her mind.
"What is this feeling?" she murmured to herself, the words dissolving into the stillness of the room.
The door opened quietly behind her, breaking her reverie.
Aedan stepped into the room, his presence filling the space without the need for words. Sephira turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze.
"Are you comfortable?" he asked, though his voice was quiet, almost an afterthought.
She didn't reply aloud. Instead, their eyes held for a moment, and the thought formed between them through their connection. It's… strange. But not unpleasant.
Aedan nodded, a subtle smile tugging at his lips. He stepped closer, his movements casual, natural, as though they had done this a thousand times before. He set a small plate of something on the table near the bed, a piece of fruit, sliced and arranged with care.
She looked at the offering, then back at him.
You don't have to keep feeding me, she projected, her tone tinged with a mix of amusement and exasperation.
"You need to get used to it eventually," he replied, his words carrying a quiet insistence. "You'll like it."
Sephira hesitated, picking up one of the slices and examining it with a faint curiosity. She bit into it cautiously, the burst of flavor catching her off guard. Her brows furrowed slightly, and Aedan's soft chuckle drew her attention.
What?
"You make the same face every time you try something new," he said, leaning against the wall. "It's like you're solving a puzzle."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, a wordless response that needed no explanation.
Later, in the training room, Sephira observed Aedan as he went through a combat routine. The holographic opponent moved with calculated precision, striking and dodging with a fluidity that kept Aedan on his toes.
He moved well, better than he gave himself credit for, but she could still see the hesitation in his movements, the small gaps in his defenses.
Step forward, not back, she sent to him, the thought sharp and clear in his mind.
He adjusted instinctively, blocking the incoming strike and countering with a solid blow. His breathing was heavy, his movements slowing as fatigue set in.
The match ended with the hologram deactivating, and Aedan stood there for a moment, catching his breath. Sephira approached him, her steps quiet but deliberate.
You're still holding back, she said.
"I'm pacing myself," he replied, his voice laced with a faint defensiveness.
No. You're afraid.
His eyes met hers, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence between them. Then, he sighed, running a hand through his damp hair.
"Maybe," he admitted.
She reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder, a small, instinctive gesture that surprised even her. You'll improve. It's only been a few years. You're stronger than you think.
He nodded, a faint smile crossing his face. "Thanks."
The Seeker drifted through the endless void, its engines a low, rhythmic hum. Aedan sat slouched in the pilot's chair, his arms folded across his chest, eyes closed as though asleep. Sephira stood nearby, her posture relaxed but her gaze distant, fingers absently tracing patterns on the edge of the console.
Her newly humanoid form was a stark contrast to the immense starship she had been for years, and though she moved with grace, there was a hint of hesitation in the way her hands lingered on solid surfaces, as if grounding herself.
A faint ping broke the silence. Aedan stirred, his eyes opening to meet hers. She didn't speak, didn't need to. Her hand hovered above the console, her eyes flicking briefly to the display. He nodded, understanding immediately.
"Planet nearby," she said, her voice softer now that she had vocal cords to temper it. The words seemed more for her benefit than his. "Small, isolated. Tech signature is weak."
Aedan ran a hand over his face, sitting up straight. His gaze shifted to the screen, scanning the readings with a practiced efficiency.
Uninhabited? The thought brushed against hers through their connection, subtle but clear.
She hesitated, tilting her head as if listening to the ship itself. "Not quite." Her lips pressed into a faint line, her brow furrowing as data streamed onto the screen. "There's activity. Surface structures, extraction facilities. Definitely manned."
Aedan leaned closer, his focus sharpening. The planet's surface resolved on the screen, a mix of rolling hills, dense forests, and the occasional mountain range. From orbit, it looked pristine, untouched. But Sephira's scans told another story.
He didn't ask. She tapped the console, magnifying the image. Small clusters of beings moved sluggishly around crude industrial structures. Their bodies were humanoid, but their skin shimmered with bioluminescent patterns, glowing faintly even in the daylight. Chains glinted around their wrists, and their movements were heavy, burdened.
His jaw tightened as he watched, his knuckles turning white where they gripped the edge of the console. Sephira's gaze shifted to him, her expression unreadable, though a quiet storm churned in her luminous eyes.
Slaves. The word passed between them like a drop of oil on still water, spreading in their shared silence.
Her hand hovered above the console for a moment before she lowered it. "A skeleton crew," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Low priority. Minimal security. But…" She glanced at him again, hesitating. Her lips parted slightly, and her thoughts brushed against his. We can't.
He didn't answer, not with words. His eyes stayed locked on the screen, the flickering images of the enslaved beings reflected in his steely gaze. Slowly, he straightened, his movements deliberate.
Sephira stepped forward, her presence a subtle weight at his side. Her voice was calm, measured. "If we interfere, we'll draw attention. They'll track us."
Aedan turned his head slightly, meeting her eyes. The exchange was wordless, but charged. She read the resolve in his expression and felt it ripple through their connection like an echo.
"Set us down," he said finally, his voice quiet but firm.
Sephira didn't move immediately. Her gaze lingered on his, her thoughts a mix of worry and understanding. Then, with a slight nod, she turned back to the console.
The ship descended in silence.
The refinery loomed like a scar on the landscape, its structures humming with faint energy. The acrid tang of burning fuel filled the air, mingling with the faint metallic scent of blood.
Aedan moved like a shadow through the complex, the inky black Grief Suit cloaking him in darkness. Every step was measured, every movement precise.
Sephira stayed connected, her presence a steady hum at the back of his mind. She didn't speak, she didn't need to. Her awareness wove into his, guiding him past patrols and alerting him to potential threats.
When he reached the camp, the sight made his breath catch. The workers were huddled in groups, their gaunt frames outlined by the faint glow of their bioluminescent markings. Their chains clinked softly as they moved, the sound barely audible over the distant rumble of machinery.
He crouched behind a stack of crates, his gaze locking on the enslaved workers. Chains rattled softly as they shuffled, their faint bioluminescent patterns flickering like dying embers. His jaw clenched as anger burned low in his chest. "Seph," he whispered through their connection, his thoughts sharp.
I see them. Her reply was steady, grounding.
They're barely standing. I need to get them out.
How?
He hesitated, his mind racing. The weight of the moment pressed against him, but before he could respond, her presence shifted, stronger, clearer.
The power core, she suggested. I can overload it. Cause enough of a disruption to draw the guards away.
Aedan closed his eyes briefly, acknowledging her plan. He felt her focus sharpen as she initiated the process.
The ground shuddered moments later, a low tremor rippling through the complex. Alarms blared, and the guards scrambled, their coordinated patrols dissolving into chaos.
Aedan moved quickly, slipping into the camp and disabling the electrified fence with a pulse from his gauntlet. He stepped inside, motioning for the workers to follow.
The enslaved beings hesitated at first, their glowing eyes flicking between Aedan and the open path. The weight of years in chains held them back, fear etched into their every movement.
Aedan extended a hand, his voice steady though his heart pounded. "Come with me. You're free now."
Sephira felt the lingering hesitation through their bond, the depth of their distrust. Her voice entered the silence, soft but resolute: "Move quickly. You'll be safe."
The words seemed to break something within them, and one by one, they began to move, their chains dragging softly as they followed.
At first, they hesitated, their luminous eyes wide with fear and confusion. But then one stepped forward, followed by another, their movements cautious but deliberate. Aedan's presence seemed to calm them, his urgency translating into unspoken reassurance.
The group moved as quietly as possible, weaving through the refinery toward the canyon. The Seeker was barely visible in the distance, its silhouette blending into the rocky landscape.
They're looking for you, Sephira's voice cut through the quiet, sharp with warning.
Aedan turned, his eyes catching the faint glint of armor in the distance. The guards were closing in.
He exhaled slowly, drawing his weapon. I need you.
Her response was immediate. On my way.
The first shot hissed past Aedan's shoulder as he ducked behind a boulder. He moved with precision, the Grief Suit amplifying his reflexes and strength as he engaged the approaching guards. His movements were calculated, efficient, each strike purposeful.
And then, she was there.
Sephira moved with a fluidity that seemed almost unnatural, her new body adapting instinctively to the fight. She approached the guards from behind, her steps nearly silent. One turned, raising his weapon, but she was faster. A pulse of energy rippled from her hand, sending him sprawling.
The others hesitated, momentarily disoriented by her presence. Aedan used the opening to strike, his blows landing with unrelenting precision.
When the last guard fell, the two of them stood in the quiet aftermath, their breaths steadying. Sephira glanced at him, her eyes meeting his.
You didn't have to come. The thought carried a mix of gratitude and concern.
You called, she replied simply, as though there had never been another option.
He gave a curt nod before walking to the fallen soldiers, waving his hand over the crystals only he could see, it was hard but he could feel the emotions surface before diving deeper, to alter their memories and had warped to another planet believing they were given orders to change posts.
The refugees were dropped off the Seeker in secure location far from the imperial installations, their steps tentative but filled with hope. Sephira guided them gently, her movements careful and deliberate, as though still adjusting to the sensation of solid ground beneath her feet.
Aedan watched from the cockpit as the ship lifted off, the planet shrinking in the viewport. His shoulders slumped slightly, the tension of the rescue finally ebbing away.
Seph's power carried the Seeker into hyperspace, the stars stretching into infinite streaks of light. Aedan sat slouched in the pilot's chair, his fingers brushing against the controls absently. Sephira stood behind him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder.
They're safe now, Sephira said, her presence brushing against his.
"For now," he replied aloud, his gaze distant. "But how many more are out there?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she stepped closer, the hand resting lightly on his shoulder changing into a hug.
The stars blurred into streaks of light as the Seeker jumped into hyperspace, leaving the desolate planet behind. In the quiet that followed, neither of them spoke. There was no need.