The Sim-Hall hummed with an eerie, low vibration. Its walls—matte black and lined with glowing white lines—seemed to pulse like a living, breathing entity.
The Simulation was fraying, most of it gone, with only the tree at the center at the hall.But even that was fading away.
Beside it stood the Arstra, poised, but different. It had shed some of its older, clunky elements, adopting a sleeker, more integrated design. The overly long, armored skirt remained, but the plating flowed seamlessly, like ripples of metal caught in a still moment, each piece interlocking smoothly. The chest now sported an armored collar that swept around the back, forming a protective curve.
But the back—yeah, that's where the biggest change was. The old thrusters, which once jutted out like oversized, angular wings, were gone. In their place, a brilliant, glowing white omega symbol now spread across the upper torso, its energy pulsing in a rhythmic beat. The symbol was like a brand, burning bright against the dark armor, humming with an unfamiliar energy.
The Arstra shuddered again, like a machine reawakening. Inside, Aedhira's awareness returned with a snap. He blinked, the visor's black surface splitting with two burning golden streaks for eyes. They flared to life, casting faint lines of light across the shadows of the Sim-Hall. Aedhira frowned inwardly, the golden lines narrowing as he instinctively reached out with his senses, feeling the differences in his armor. It wasn't just about looking at the changes—he could feel them, like his skin was now threaded with new, responsive nerves.
"Something's off…" he muttered to himself, voice a quiet, almost subconscious mumble that echoed hollowly inside the visor. The Arstra felt more streamlined, less of a cumbersome shell and more like a natural extension of himself. It was like wearing a second skin, one that hummed with power at the edges.
He let out a low breath, scrolling through the recordings the Arstra had gathered while he'd been out. Thirteen hours, pushing fourteen—time lost in whatever that void-memory-fusion had been. "Damn, that's a lot longer than I thought." Aedhira couldn't help the wry smile that tugged at his lips, the corners of the visor's flames lifting subtly.
It dawned on him that this might have been the first real rest he'd gotten since waking up in Fort Blanche. It wasn't exactly a refreshing nap, but after everything he'd been through... yeah, maybe it counted. He shook his head, pushing the thought aside. Not like it mattered. If every time he dozed off, he had to endure some warped pocket of memory-laden nightmares, then maybe sleep wasn't worth it after all.
Focus, he reminded himself. There were bigger concerns at hand.
Astiron, for one, had been taking his own rest—napping beneath that pale, massive tree the entire time. Only about an hour ago had he stirred, and now his form was starting to flicker, losing definition around the edges. Aedhira took note, his newly integrated knowledge explaining the oddity. This kind of thing wasn't entirely foreign to the world of higher-ranked travelers.
Apparently, some beings—those who had ascended the ranks—couldn't just be somewhere without causing collateral damage. Their mere presence could warp the environment, unbalance ecosystems, or even draw unwanted attention. This wasn't so much of a problem in the vastness of space, where a little energy spillover didn't mean much. But on a planet, a moon, or even a wandering rock, these things could get messy.
So, those same high-rankers had come up with ways to enter places discreetly. Temporary avatars like Astiron's were a popular choice. They were more like remote projections, allowing their real selves to stay safely distant while the avatar did the talking—or the fighting. Other rankers took a different approach, opting to suppress their strength or find ways to hide their true power. Everyone had their own style, their own quirks, their own paths to walking among the smaller folk.
Aedhira's lips twitched, a slight frown deepening. The new memories from Elysium's gift whispered hints, but it all remained too abstract for his liking. Too much theory, not enough practice. He could feel the wheels turning in his mind, slow but steady, as he tried to piece together how all of this fit into his situation.
It was almost like... a puzzle with half the pieces missing.
He adjusted his stance in the Arstra, feeling the power thrumming through the upgraded thrusters on his back, the way the newly streamlined plates shifted with his movements. He reached out, half-expecting the interface to respond differently now, and was met with that familiar crackle of static that heralded the shift in his HUD.
Time to put the pieces together.
Aedhira flexed his hands, testing the new responsiveness of the Arstra. Astiron might've been resting beneath the spectral tree, his form flickering like a distant star on the edge of fading out, but Aedhira felt restless, energy crackling through him like static electricity. He took a breath, feeling the armor shift around him—no longer resisting, but flowing with his movements. It was a subtle difference, but it was there.
"Yeah... I could get used to this," he muttered, mostly to himself, but the words echoed in the empty Sim-Hall, bouncing off the cold walls.
He took a small jump, barely putting any effort into it, and his body soared upwards with a lightness that caught him by surprise. He reached about two meters high before gravity reeled him back in, the oversized skirt of his armor fluttering like a silken banner as he descended. He hit the ground softly, almost without a sound, his knees absorbing the impact with effortless ease. The feedback from the Arstra was smoother than before, his every motion in sync with the armor as if it had finally caught up with him—or maybe he'd caught up with it.
His grin widened behind the visor, flames flickering playfully across the visor's surface. Aedhira rolled his shoulders and decided to test things further, throwing out a couple of punches. He mimicked the stances and movements he'd glimpsed in the fragments of memory that Elysium's "gift" had left behind. Nothing fancy, just simple jabs and hooks, the kind he had once clumsily attempted when he first woke up.
But this time, there was a difference—his punches had weight. His form was sharper, the movements cleaner, flowing from one strike to the next. It wasn't the awkward, fumbling mess he'd been before. Now, his strikes cut through the air with a sense of purpose. Each punch displaced the thin atmosphere of Lokir, sending ripples through the space around him.
He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face, though it felt a little strange. A natural reaction, maybe, but one he hadn't practiced often. The joy of movement, of finally feeling like he wasn't tripping over his own feet, surged through him. The sensation bled out into the Arstra, and on the pitch-black visor, two flaming streaks curled upwards into a sinister, toothy grin that could have spooked a ghost.
Aedhira barely noticed the display on the visor, too wrapped up in the thrill of newfound fluidity. Yet, that thrill was tempered with a sharp edge—he knew just how green he was, how raw. The memories didn't hold back on that. He'd seen travelers who wielded power like an artist wielded a brush, each strike a masterpiece, each movement an effortless dance. Some of them had come within a hair's breadth of godhood, others had died as transcendent beings, falling in battles that shattered entire worlds.
Compared to them, he was a whelp—barely two weeks old. Aedhira knew he'd been born into this chaotic cosmos with a lot more power than most, but he wasn't naive enough to think that made him invincible. Those memories, while a boon, also had a way of reminding him just how small he was in the grand scheme of things.
"Guess I've got a long way to go, huh?" he mused, voice dropping to a low rumble, almost swallowed by the hum of the Sim-Hall. But that was okay—he liked a challenge. He liked the idea of proving himself, even if the odds were stacked high against him.
He threw another punch, harder this time, the wind shrieking past his fist. Aedhira chuckled softly, feeling the power ripple through him, and readied himself for whatever came next. There was a lot more he wanted to try, and a lot more mysteries to solve. And somewhere beneath the tree, Astiron's flickering form seemed to shift, a sign that the old man was keeping an eye on him, even in his rest.
Aedhira smirked, the fiery smile on his visor burning just a little brighter. "Let's see how far we can push this."
----
Aedhira spent a good half-hour, pushing his newfound mobility, getting a feel for the enhanced feedback of the Arstra. He didn't take it anywhere close to its limits—no need to, not when there was still a conversation he needed to have with Astiron before the old man's avatar flickered out entirely. But he couldn't deny the satisfaction of feeling a punch crack through the thin air with a force that made his own breath catch. He found himself smirking more than once, catching his reflection in the shimmering visor as it danced with flames. It was a good look, even if a bit creepy.
Once he felt like he'd gotten a decent handle on things, he dismissed the Arstra with a thought. The armor disintegrated in a flash of ethereal flames, burning away into nothingness. Aedhira stood there, flexing his fingers and letting out a small, relieved sigh when he realized he still had his clothes on. He'd read enough stories to know that transformations and fancy magical armors tended to leave you buck naked, and while Aedhira might lack some of the organic sense of dignity, he still had some lingering pride.
He glanced down, tugging at his small hoodie and the tight, spandex-like suit that clung from his elbows to his knees. It wasn't much, but it was something. And most importantly, he still had his shoes. "Yeah, thank the stars for small miracles," he muttered, giving one of them a light tap against the ground.
With a shake of his head, he turned his attention back to Astiron, who was still dozing beneath the spectral tree. The figure was fainter now, a bit like a hazy mirage on a hot day. But even in his ethereal state, the old man still looked annoyingly regal in his gaudy coat, robes, and that ridiculously ornate shawl-thing that draped over his shoulders.
Aedhira knelt beside him, trying not to disturb the ghostly figure too much. He tilted his head, observing Astiron's flickering form. The old man must've sensed him, because Astiron cracked one eye open, giving Aedhira a long, tired look.
"Well, well, finally deigned to give your sick old man some attention, eh?" Astiron's voice was gravelly, but there was a teasing lilt to it.
Aedhira scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "The avatar's temporary. It'd cost you nothing," he shot back, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips.
Astiron's smile faltered, just a fraction, but Aedhira didn't catch it. Instead, the old man reached out and patted Aedhira's head, ruffling his hair with a familiar, absentminded gesture. Aedhira blinked in surprise, feeling the strands brush against his face more than he remembered.
"Your hair's gotten longer," Astiron remarked, leaning back against the tree. "Shoulder length now. Might not be a bad idea to tie it up. Or braid it."
Aedhira shrugged, not really bothered by the idea. "Wouldn't mind it, honestly. Just... don't have anyone to do it for me." He paused, looking at Astiron with a sheepish grin. "Not like the Aes soldiers have much in the way of hair, you know? Hard to imagine a legion of metal soldiers setting up a barber unit."
Astiron chuckled softly, but it faded quickly into silence. Aedhira's thoughts wandered to the refugees back at Fort Blanche. He'd kept his distance from them, a wall built out of caution and uncertainty. But if he was serious about the mission—about getting them off-world, about actually helping them—then he'd have to do better than that. He'd have to actually talk to them, get to know them beyond just their numbers and needs.
"Maybe I'll ask one of them," Aedhira mused out loud, scratching the back of his head. "The refugees, I mean. To braid my hair. Could be a start."
Astiron gave him a knowing smile, one that Aedhira found annoyingly wise, but there was a warmth there too. Aedhira stood, brushing the dust from his hoodie, and took a deep breath, readying himself for whatever truths the old man had left to share.
"Alright, old man. Time's ticking, and so are you. Let's clear some things up before you fade out on me."
Aedhira started explaining the quests the system had dumped on him. He assumed the integration with the "system" was part of Astiron's grand plans, or at least a backup strategy the old man had tucked away in his mind. He kept his tone casual, but his words came quick—almost like he was listing chores.
"The big one's about getting the refugees off-world, getting them to some lagrange point. Safety zone or whatever." Aedhira eyed Astiron closely, and for a split second, he caught a twitch in the old man's brow when he mentioned that last part. But Astiron stayed quiet, letting Aedhira go on.
"And then there's the other quest. Y'know, dealing with the Hordemother and her whole nasty entourage." He said it like it was just another part of his to-do list, but he could feel the unease settle in his chest. The Hordemother wasn't exactly the type of problem you handled with a slap on the wrist.
Astiron listened, his expression frustratingly serene—like a monk who'd reached the peak of inner calm. His face barely moved, not even a twitch at the mention of the Hordemother. And somehow, that just made Aedhira bristle even more. He didn't know why, but seeing that perfectly calm look, that serene, wise demeanor—it ticked him off.
"Probably in the genes," Aedhira muttered to himself. He studied Astiron's face—the chiseled jawline, the sharp cheekbones. Yeah, he couldn't deny that he had some of that. Aedhira looked like Astiron's spitting image, just... smaller, way smaller. And, sure, he didn't look bad, but he knew he wasn't ever going to achieve those older playboy looks, not with the way his body was built. Metal didn't grow.
Astiron seemed deep in thought, digesting everything Aedhira had just unloaded on him. And that silence? It grated on Aedhira's nerves until, finally, a thought that had been nagging him slipped out.
"Why didn't you make me taller?"
That snapped Astiron out of his reverie. The question seemed to hang in the air between them like an awkward glitch. Astiron just stared at Aedhira, the gears clearly turning behind his eyes as he processed it. His face shifted through a range of expressions—from confusion to disbelief to something Aedhira could only describe as "spiritual enlightenment." Eventually, he settled back into that infuriatingly peaceful look, the kind that made Aedhira's skin crawl.
Aedhira shivered as Astiron leveled that expression at him, his voice carrying an almost sage-like tone. "We ran out of materials."
Silence. It stretched out for a long, painful moment, the two of them just staring at each other. Aedhira's mind stuttered, trying to find a response, but his thoughts were like a tangled mess of wires.
"...Damn."
"Yeah."
That was all Astiron said, his tone somehow both resigned and completely deadpan. And what could Aedhira even say to that? It wasn't like he could argue with it, not when the very concept of running out of materials hit him like a brick. He could practically feel that bitter realization settling deep in his core, and he swallowed it down with a grimace.
"Damn" he muttered under his breath, making a mental note to shove that particular thought into the deepest, darkest corner of his mind. A place where it wouldn't pop up again and mess with his psyche.
He didn't like it, but for now, he'd have to deal.
Aedhira braced himself, knowing Astiron was about to weigh in on the quests. The silence stretched for a moment, the old man gathering his thoughts like he always did—methodical, almost maddeningly slow. But then, Astiron spoke.
"The quest for the Horde," Astiron began, his voice calm but with a heavy undertone. "It's simultaneously the simplest... and the most difficult. The Horde wasn't something we foresaw. There's no protocol, no handy manual to flip through for this mess."
He paused, letting that sink in, then continued, "There's nothing for it, Aedhira. You'll have to slaughter the lot."
Aedhira winced. Not because of the word itself—he could handle blunt language. No, it was the weight behind it, the reality it carried. Before the memories, before he got saddled with 998 lives' worth of knowledge, he might've shrugged it off, thought of it as just another mission.
But now? He knew what it really meant.
He had memories of bloodshed from across the universe—memories of warriors and wanderers, desperate survivors from a thousand worlds. Different faces, different creeds, but all sharing that ruthless understanding: power was everything, and those who lost didn't get to voice their complaints. He'd seen what slaughter looked like through their eyes, the kind that left bodies piled high and regret festering low. Slaughter was messy. Worse, if you botched it, you ended up with more problems than you started with.
He swallowed, forcing down the unease that crawled up his throat. He'd already thought this far ahead—accepted that bloodshed was inevitable. Now, it was just a matter of deciding whose blood would be spilled. Him or the Horde.
But before he could spiral deeper into that grim line of thinking, Astiron's voice cut through the fog again.
"I remember saying that facing the Horde head-on was probably suicide," Astiron murmured, his tone shifting, considering. "But looking at you now... maybe it's not such a bad idea."
Aedhira shot him a look, half skeptical, half curious. Was this the same Astiron who'd preached about caution and restraint? But he stayed quiet, letting his father—his creator—explain himself.
"It's hard to tell what kind of strength you exude, Aedhira," Astiron continued, glancing at him thoughtfully. "On the mainland, on Veria, you can gauge someone's strength by their mana output. It's a pretty straightforward measure, not completely accurate, but close enough. But you..." He sighed, rubbing his temples like he was nursing a headache. "You don't run on mana. You run on ether."
Aedhira tilted his head. He knew this, of course, but Astiron's tone made it feel like there was more to this. The old man's voice grew distant, almost like he was thinking out loud. "Ether is... ruinous. It's rare, dangerous. Most beings wouldn't even recognize it if they came across it—hell, most would probably drop dead before they understood what they were dealing with. Mortals have no feel for ether. Only the deities, and the higher races maybe, but they're hardly mortal to begin with."
Astiron's expression darkened, frustration creeping into his features. "And that makes it hard—really hard—to gauge what you're capable of. From my perspective, you're about as mortal as I am in this decaying husk of an avatar."
Aedhira stiffened at that. It was a harsh comparison, but he knew Astiron didn't mean it as an insult. It was just the reality. On the surface, he looked like any other teenager—well, a teenager in a high-tech hoodie and spandex, but still. Yet deep inside, he knew he was something far more... intricate.
Astiron studied Aedhira for a moment longer, then shook his head slightly. "If your limits are what I think they are... well, there's no need to spell it out. You'll figure it out for yourself."
Aedhira let out a short breath, unsure whether to feel relieved or frustrated by the vague answer. But beneath the ambiguity, there was a challenge—Astiron believed he had the potential to face the Horde directly, to take on a threat that had no manual, no clear path forward.
And maybe, just maybe, Aedhira was starting to believe it too.
Aedhira's thoughts buzzed as he mulled over Astiron's words, feeling a strange, unearned confidence beginning to creep in. Maybe he really could handle this. Maybe the idea of facing the Horde wasn't as suicidal as it had seemed at first glance.
Before he could get too comfortable in that thought, Astiron spoke again, casually breaking through Aedhira's internal monologue.
"As for the other one—the refugees, getting them off this crumbling husk of a world... not as much of an issue," Astiron waved a hand dismissively, like he'd already figured it out. "I've been looking for ways to do it without drawing too much attention anyway."
Aedhira frowned. "But I have to do the Horde quest first, right?"
"Absolutely," Astiron said, his voice suddenly more serious. "You can't leave until you've culled the Horde. If you try to jump ship before that, you'll have much bigger problems."
Before Aedhira could ask what he meant by "bigger problems," Astiron flicked his wrist lazily, and a glowing holographic panel appeared in front of him. With another casual swipe, he sent something Aedhira's way.
Aedhira's head tingled. Not painfully, but enough to make him blink in confusion. Then his mind processed it. A frequency. A transmission frequency.
"What is this?" Aedhira asked, rubbing the back of his neck, as if that would stop the buzzing sensation.
Astiron leaned back slightly, crossing his arms, looking pleased with himself. "Once you're done with the Horde—really done with them, and the Hordemother's dead—you'll need to use that frequency. Pump out some mana with it. It's a beacon of sorts."
Aedhira blinked. "A beacon?"
"As close to one as I could manage, considering the lack of resources, power, technology—oh, and time." Astiron sighed, clearly annoyed at the limitations he was working under.
Aedhira's mouth twisted as he processed what Astiron had just said. There was something... off. "You do remember I run on ether, I think you'd just said it, right?"
He tried to keep his tone neutral, but a bit of exasperation slipped through. Ether, not mana. That had been a pretty significant detail, one Astiron had just hammered home.
Astiron's lips twitched, almost like he was suppressing a smile. "Yes, yes, I remember. And before you ask—yes, the signal's coded in mana. Just work with the Arstra. I suspect it'll figure something out."
Aedhira raised an eyebrow. "You suspect?"
"Things tend to work out," Astiron said with a shrug. "Call it a hunch."
Aedhira shot him a deadpan look, the kind that would've screamed 'Really?' if it could make noise. But Astiron just waved it off, looking far too amused by Aedhira's reaction.
"Trust me on this one," Astiron added, the corners of his mouth pulling into that infuriatingly calm smirk.
Aedhira wanted to argue, to point out how ridiculous it all sounded. But something told him that would be a waste of breath.
"Fine," he muttered under his breath, mostly to himself. "I'll trust the hunch."
Astiron's smirk widened, and Aedhira felt a sudden urge to wipe that smug look off his face. Instead, he just sighed, shaking his head.
Maybe one day, he'd figure out how to stop letting this guy get under his skin. But today was not that day.
Aedhira rubbed his temple, trying to keep his thoughts from spinning too much. He glanced back at Astiron, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. "Okay, then how exactly do you plan on getting me off this world? You can't just teleport me, right?"
Astiron sighed, as if he was tired of explaining the basics. "No, no, no. Teleportation isn't that simple. It needs insane amounts of mana, and the cost-to-use ratio is absolutely horrendous. Even if I did have that kind of power right now, the traces it leaves would linger for a while—sometimes up to a month."
Aedhira frowned. "Traces?"
"Think of it like footprints, except they glow neon and everyone can see them if they're looking." Astiron made a gesture like scattering dust. "The idea here is to get you off-world without attracting any... unsavory attention. A flashy exit would do the opposite."
Aedhira rolled his eyes. "Why all the secrecy, though? What's the big deal?"
Astiron's expression hardened, the levity slipping away for a moment. "Aedhira, your 'birth'—your emergence—nearly two weeks ago sent out a ripple. And I don't mean a little splash. I'm talking a shockwave, a big one. Rankers light-years away would've felt it like a bomb going off next to their house."
Aedhira's stomach twisted. He remembered the moment he came online, the overwhelming surge of life and awareness crashing into him all at once. He'd barely been aware of the world outside his immediate surroundings then, but now...
Astiron continued. "Such ripples, they aren't uncommon. Space is... well, it's big. No one faction has the manpower to monitor everything. So when something like this happens, it could mean anything: an asteroid full of unstable ore going off, an invasion, maybe even a rogue experiment gone wrong. No one knows what it means for sure."
Aedhira frowned deeper. "But why hasn't anyone come to check on it?"
Even as he said it, he felt a flash of embarrassment. The answer was obvious, and Astiron's smirk confirmed it before he even opened his mouth.
"Because, Aedhira," Astiron replied, his tone almost sing-song, "Lokir is a hazard zone."
Hazard zones—Aedhira had enough memories of them to know what that meant. Places that were inherently hostile to life, either through extreme environmental conditions or the dangerous entities within them. Most people avoided them like the plague, and those who didn't often never came back.
"And more importantly," Astiron continued, "beings within the hazard zones share that same opinion. No one likes to poke their nose into a place that might eat them alive."
Aedhira clicked his tongue, but he couldn't argue with the logic. "So if a ripple like that comes from a hazard zone..."
Astiron raised a brow, encouraging him to finish the thought.
"People won't suspect a thing," Aedhira muttered, realization dawning. "It's just a hazard zone. For all they know, the place was already unstable. Maybe they think it's on the verge of collapse."
Astiron's grin widened again, that smug look returning with a vengeance. "Exactly. And considering Lokir will actually collapse in about two weeks—give or take, when Nornesh's corpse finally gives out—it makes for the perfect cover."
Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place. Aedhira's emergence had been a beacon, but instead of trying to hide it, Astiron had masked it with the natural chaos of the world they were on. He'd used the danger of Lokir as a shield, turning its instability into a smokescreen.
Aedhira couldn't help but feel a grudging sense of admiration. It was genius. Absolutely twisted, but genius.
Aedhira crossed his arms, biting the inside of his cheek in thought. "Alright, so teleportation's out," he said, half to himself. "But then how am I supposed to get off this planet? And better yet, how am I supposed to get to this... Lagrange point, wherever that is?"
The memory of his thrusters—now gone—prickled at him like a splinter under his skin. He hadn't exactly had time to figure out what the glowing mark on the back of the Arstra did yet, but one thing was clear: his mobility was severely limited for now. Worse, that feeling of flight he'd experienced just a week or so ago was out of his reach. He fought back a small wave of regret. Getting rid of the thrusters had been a hasty decision, one he might not have fully thought through, but Elysium had done it for him for a reason. He wasn't about to second-guess it now.
Astiron, sensing the shift in Aedhira's mood, leaned back slightly, a thoughtful look passing over his face. "Well, Lokir wasn't always like this, you know. Before Veria's gravity caught it drifting trhough space, this place hosted a rather... advanced civilization. They barely relied on mana at all, actually."
Aedhira's brow furrowed. "So, what? This was a colony world?"
"Could've been," Astiron replied, shrugging. "Or maybe it was their original home. I can't say for sure. What I do know is I've been preparing for this—for your arrival—for years. Longer than you've been alive, obviously." He grinned as if that was some kind of joke. "And in those years, I sought out every possible option available. Ran countless simulations. Scoured the planet. The civilization's been dead for tens of thousands of years, and that's a low estimate. But their structures? They're still standing, even after Nornesh's rough entombment that turned it into the Hazard Zone it is today."
Aedhira raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced where this was going. "And?"
"And," Astiron said, leaning forward, eyes gleaming with a kind of twisted excitement, "I'm fairly certain there's a ship. A massive one. Somewhere on this planet."
Aedhira blinked. "A ship?"
"Not just any ship," Astiron continued, his voice picking up speed. "This thing is big. I mean, stupidly big. We're talking something that can be compared to Nornesh's husk in size."
Aedhira's mouth fell open, and he stared at Astiron like he'd just said something completely insane. "Nornesh's husk? You're telling me there's a ship out there comparable to that... titan's corpse?"
"Well, not quite that big," Astiron admitted with a sheepish grin. "But big enough that the comparison isn't completely absurd."
Aedhira pinched the bridge of his nose, as a sudden thought came to him. "And... you know where it is?"
Astiron's rambling ground to a halt. He opened his mouth, paused, then closed it again. "...Not exactly."
Aedhira exhaled sharply through his nose. "Fantastic."
Astiron's expression darkened for a moment, but there was a sly smirk tugging at the edges of his mouth. "Don't blow me off so quickly, Aedhira. I said I don't know exactly where it is. But I do have a general idea."
Aedhira's eyes narrowed. "A general idea, huh? And how exactly is that supposed to help me?"
Astiron's smirk grew a little wider. "If you noticed, Argos hasn't been around for a while."
That made Aedhira pause. He hadn't thought too deeply about it, shoving it to the back of his mind while he dealt with everything else. He assumed Argos was just off handling some task. But now... "Yeah, I've been wondering about that. Figured I'd worry about it when I was more settled."
Astiron let out a chuckle. "Argos is an Aide. But not for you. Not originally, anyway. It's actually the ship's Aide."
Aedhira blinked, letting that sink in. "Wait, what? Then why—"
"Simple," Astiron cut in. "The only reason you had it was because it needed a vessel while you were getting up to speed. Until your systems had fully updated from the time you woke up—back at Fort Blanche—up until now. And it was there to make sure you didn't wander off into some other mess, or, I don't know, get lost in space."
Aedhira ran a hand through his hair, irritation starting to bubble up. "So, it's been playing babysitter, and now it's off to do the real job?"
"Exactly." Astiron's tone was light, but the look in his eyes was serious. "It started searching for the ship once you entered the Sim-Hall. Argos knows the general location, and being an Aide, it doesn't have the same physical limits as us. It's not bound by a body. It can snoop around a lot easier than I could."
"Okay," Aedhira muttered, piecing it together. "So, how long is this going to take?"
Astiron shrugged, but there was a flicker in his form—a sign that time was running out. "Could be a week. Maybe longer. But don't worry, Argos won't move the ship until you trigger the beacon. That means you have to get things done properly."
Aedhira rolled his eyes, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Great, no pressure then."
Astiron's form shimmered again, the edges growing frayed and indistinct. He glanced at Aedhira, something almost wistful crossing his face. "I don't think I can push this any longer. I'll get in touch once you're on the ship. Until then..."
The Sim-Hall around them, once a vibrant expanse of hills and endless skies, began to waver. The simulated world started to decay, crumbling like an old, neglected painting. The tree Astiron had been leaning against slowly dissolved, turning to ash in the breeze.
Astiron looked at Aedhira one last time, his voice carrying a sharp edge. "Get the job done." The emphasis on that last word hung in the air like a command.
And then, like leaves scattered by a gust of wind, Astiron's form disintegrated. The simulation's last vestiges flickered out, leaving the vast, cavernous chamber of the Sim-Hall exposed. The beautiful scenery vanished, replaced by the cold, monolithic black walls that towered over Aedhira.
As the illusion faded, even the dim lights that had barely lit the space began to sputter, casting jagged shadows across the room. Aedhira's gaze wandered to a particular section of the wall—where Nornesh's massive silhouette had once loomed. That presence, that titanic head, was no longer there.
He turned, glancing at the far side of the room. At the very center of the towering wall, he spotted the small square-shaped opening he'd emerged from earlier. It seemed a lot higher up now, and between him and that exit stretched a series of metal ladders. A lot of ladders.
Aedhira sighed, rolling his shoulders. "This is gonna be a rough day," he muttered to himself, and with a resigned shake of his head, he began the long, grueling climb back to the surface.