The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of Aventus's words pressing down like a tangible force. K'Raal's amber eyes narrowed, his ridged crest rising higher as he processed the implications. His sharp features tightened, his jaw clenching slightly as his hand flexed near the hilt of his blade.
"Dimensional predators," K'Raal said finally, his tone low but with a dangerous edge. "Abominations that can twist an environment to their will, turn it into their personal hunting ground." He exhaled sharply through his nostrils, his gaze flicking to the vent. "And now, it's on my station."
There was no fear in his voice, but there was a cold, calculating anger that radiated from his tall, sinewy frame. His claws tapped lightly against his side as he straightened. "This isn't just about containing a threat. This is war."
The woman's reaction was more measured but no less tense. She crossed her arms, her sharp eyes darting between Aventus and K'Raal. Her lips pressed into a tight line, her mind clearly working through the logistics of the situation. "We're going to have a panic on our hands if word of this spreads," she said, her voice crisp and precise. "We need to secure the crew, but we also need to keep this quiet. The last thing we want is chaos playing right into its hands."
She turned her gaze back to Aventus, her expression hard but not unkind. "You've seen these things before. You know how they think. If you're right, and this is a vortirrackt, then we're not just hunting it—it's hunting us. You said they manipulate fear. How do we stop that?"
Aventus shrugged, his movements deliberate but calm, as though the gravity of the situation had already sunk into him. His indigo eyes flicked to K'Raal and then back to the woman. "Best guess? Everyone moves in groups, no fewer than three at all times. Flamethrowers. Sleep in shifts. No one is ever alone, not even for a second." He paused, his gaze steady but sharp. "And I need a gun."
The room grew tense again, the weight of his words hanging in the air. K'Raal's crest rose slightly, a subtle motion that betrayed his inner wariness. The reptilian's amber eyes narrowed as he stepped closer to Aventus, his tall, sinewy frame radiating both authority and distrust.
"You've been useful so far," K'Raal said slowly, his tone measured but laced with an edge of suspicion. "But let's not forget—you're not one of my crew. You're a survivor from a ghost ship, and right now, your word is all we have to go on. That doesn't exactly make you someone I want to arm."
Aventus nodded slowly, his expression calm but resolute. "I have an idea," he said, his voice steady but with a hint of caution. "It might be risky, and it may prove nothing… but I'm going to try it."
K'Raal's amber eyes narrowed further, his crest twitching as he studied Aventus with growing suspicion. The woman shifted her stance, crossing her arms tightly, her sharp gaze locked on him, but neither of them interrupted.
Aventus stepped toward the nearest table, his long, deliberate strides echoing faintly in the tense quiet of the room. He reached down to his belt, unclipping his phaser, and placed it carefully on the metal surface with a soft clink. Then, he reached to his arms, drawing his twin antimatter daggers, the faint iridescent sheen of their cores catching the sterile light of the medical bay. One by one, he set them beside the phaser with precision, their weight settling on the table like an unspoken gesture of surrender.
Straightening, Aventus stepped back, his lean frame still but poised, his hands at his sides. He exhaled slowly, his indigo eyes half-lidded as he glanced briefly toward K'Raal and the woman. "If this thing is as intelligent as I think it is," he said quietly, his voice almost a murmur, "it's watching. Listening. Waiting for an opening."
He closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling in slow, rhythmic breaths. His shoulders relaxed, his body no longer coiled with tension but instead unnervingly still. "I'm going to let it in," he said softly, more to himself than the others. "If it's telepathic, like I've heard… it'll take the bait."
Aventus cleared his mind, a deliberate and practiced effort that left his thoughts bare, his consciousness open. He released every lingering fragment of fear, tension, and focus, pushing them aside as if laying out a blank slate. He imagined his mind as an open expanse, inviting and vulnerable, a beacon in the quiet chaos of the station.
The silence deepened, the air around him seeming to shift, heavy with an unseen weight. The faint hum of the station's systems faded to the back of his awareness, replaced by an almost imperceptible pressure, like static building just out of reach. Aventus remained perfectly still, his breaths slow and steady, his indigo eyes shut tight.
Then it came.
A cold, invasive presence brushed against the edges of his consciousness—tentative at first, like a hand reaching out from the void. And then, suddenly, it seized him. A vice-like grip closed around his mind, pulling him into a darkness that was not his own.
------
Aventus's body remained still in the dimly lit medical bay of Horizon Drift, but his mind was pulled violently through the grip of the invasive presence. The cold darkness enveloped him, dragging him downward, until it gave way to blinding heat and the acrid stench of sulfur.
When his senses adjusted, Aventus found himself standing on the jagged, ashen terrain of Skarbos. The air shimmered with heat, and the horizon glowed with the fiery red of rivers of molten lava. Volcanic eruptions rumbled in the distance, sending plumes of black smoke into the crimson-streaked sky. The landscape was harsh, alien, and unforgiving, yet it was painfully familiar.
His eyes scanned the broken terrain, but he already knew where he was. His breath hitched, and his indigo eyes widened as recognition struck him like a hammer. This wasn't just any volcanic world. This was Skarbos—the planet he had been on two centuries ago, before everything changed. Before the solar storm. Before the cryo-sleep.
He turned slowly, his boots crunching against the rocky ground, and as he moved, something pulled his gaze upward. He froze.
A voice called out to him.
It was faint at first, carried on the hot, sulfur-laden winds like a whisper, but it grew stronger with each passing second. "Aventus…" the voice called, clear and familiar. His breath caught in his throat. He knew that voice.
"Eryon?" he whispered, his voice barely audible, carried away by the oppressive heat around him.
It was impossible. His brother had died, long ago. Aventus had seen it with his own eyes—the raid by the village over the hill, the chaos, the fire. He had watched Eryon fall, his body broken beneath the savage blows of invaders who had left nothing behind but ash and grief.
And yet, the voice came again, stronger this time, as if his brother was standing just beyond the jagged ridge ahead. "Aventus…"
His legs moved on instinct, carrying him forward across the rocky expanse. The lava rivers hissed and bubbled nearby, their heat searing against his skin, but he didn't care. The voice called to him, and it drew him like a tether.
He wasn't on Skarbos anymore. Not the real Skarbos. He was back on his homeworld. The unnamed, forgotten planet where he was born. Where bows and arrows were the height of technology. Where the stars were only stories told around the fire before he was taken from it all—before the stars became his new home.
The ridge ahead loomed closer, and with every step, the world around him seemed to twist and blur, reality shifting in and out of focus. His brother's voice grew louder, insistent, until it filled his mind completely.
But it was impossible. He knew it was impossible. Eryon was dead. He had been dead for centuries.
And yet, Aventus climbed the ridge, his breaths shallow, his heart pounding, desperate to prove what his mind already knew couldn't be true.
Aventus crested the ridge, his boots scraping against the jagged volcanic rock, though his focus was locked on what lay ahead. The oppressive heat and sulfurous air of Skarbos faded into the cool, earthy scents of the plains he had once called home. The world shifted, the sharp ridges of molten stone dissolving into rolling green hills dotted with golden wildflowers swaying gently in the breeze.
The sky above was impossibly vast, painted in soft blues and streaked with the faintest wisps of white clouds. It was just as he remembered—his home, untouched by time, a snapshot of the life he had been torn from centuries ago.
And there, standing in the tall grass of the plains below, was Eryon.
Aventus stopped in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. His indigo eyes widened as he took in the figure before him. It was unmistakable—his younger brother, alive and well. Eryon's dark hair was cropped short, the way he had always kept it, and his olive-toned skin glowed faintly in the warm light of the sun. He was dressed in the simple tunic and trousers of their village, a bow slung over his shoulder, and a quiver of hand-crafted arrows resting at his side.
Eryon turned, as if sensing Aventus's presence, and a wide grin spread across his youthful face. "Aventus!" he called, his voice filled with joy and relief. He waved, motioning for Aventus to come closer, as though they had only been separated for hours, not lifetimes.
Aventus stood frozen for a moment, his mind warring with what his eyes saw. "Eryon…" he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. His chest felt tight, his breaths shallow, as if he couldn't quite draw enough air to speak. "It can't be. You're…"
Dead. The word lingered on the edge of his lips but refused to come out. His feet moved on their own, carrying him down the slope toward his brother. Each step felt unreal, the world around him too vibrant, too vivid, as though he were walking through a dream.
When he finally reached the base of the hill, Eryon closed the distance between them, his grin never faltering. "What took you so long?" Eryon teased, his voice light and playful, just as Aventus remembered. He reached out and clapped Aventus on the shoulder, the touch solid and warm.
Aventus flinched slightly at the contact, his mind struggling to reconcile what he felt with what he knew. "Eryon…" he said again, his voice trembling slightly. "You're… alive. How is this possible?"
Eryon tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly, but the smile never left his face. "What are you talking about? Of course I'm alive. Why wouldn't I be?" He laughed softly, as though the very idea was absurd.
Aventus's heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of joy and unease flooding his senses. He reached out, his long fingers brushing against Eryon's arm, needing to feel the solidity of his presence to prove this wasn't some cruel illusion. "I saw you," Aventus said, his voice cracking slightly. "That raid… You died, Eryon. I watched you die."
Eryon's smile faltered for the first time, his expression softening as he stepped closer. "You're not making any sense, Aventus. I'm here. I've always been here. The raid never happened. You must've had a bad dream."
Aventus shook his head, his mind racing. "No, I saw it. I felt it." His voice was firm, but doubt began to creep in at the edges of his thoughts. The vivid memory of the raid—the chaos, the fire, Eryon's lifeless body in the dirt—clashed with the warmth of his brother standing before him now, alive and whole.
Eryon placed a hand on Aventus's shoulder, grounding him. "It doesn't matter now," he said softly, his voice filled with quiet reassurance. "We're here. Together. That's all that matters, right?"
Aventus stared into his brother's eyes, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. It felt so real—too real. The warmth of the sun on his skin, the scent of the plains, the solid weight of his brother's hand on his shoulder. And yet, something deep within him whispered that this wasn't right, that this moment was too perfect, too impossible.
But for now, standing on the plains of his homeworld with his brother alive and well, Aventus didn't have the strength to pull himself away.
Aventus stepped closer, his breath shaky, his heart pounding as he pulled Eryon into a tight embrace. His long arms wrapped around his younger brother, holding him close as a couple of tears slid silently down his cheeks. For a moment, he let himself believe it—the warmth, the familiarity, the impossible joy of having his brother alive again.
But deep down, he knew. He knew this couldn't be real.
His hand moved with practiced precision, sliding to his belt and drawing one of his twin daggers. His grip was firm, though his heart threatened to break. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice trembling as he drove the blade into Eryon's chest.
The dagger slid deep, meeting resistance, and Eryon gasped, his eyes widening in shock as he staggered back. Aventus held him steady, his grip unwavering despite the tears falling freely now. "I wanted to believe," Aventus murmured, his voice barely audible. "I wanted to so badly. But this isn't real. You're not real."
Eryon staggered slightly, his hand reaching up to grip the dagger buried in his chest. His face twisted, not in pain, but in something far more unsettling. Slowly, he tilted his head to one side, his dark eyes locking onto Aventus's, now void of warmth.
"Why, brother?" Eryon asked, his voice soft but wrong, distorted, as though layered with something alien. The words stretched unnaturally, echoing in a way that didn't fit the space around them. "Don't you love me? Don't you miss me?"
His lips curled into a faint smile, almost playful, though his head tilted further, at an angle no human neck should allow. "Why would you hurt me? I'm right here."
The world around them seemed to pulse with the sound of his words, the air growing heavy, charged, as though it was alive. The warmth of Eryon's form faded beneath Aventus's hands, replaced by something colder, something wrong.
Aventus yanked the dagger free, the blade slick as he took a quick step back. The form that had been Eryon collapsed to the ground, twitching unnaturally, its limbs elongating and twisting as it began to morph. He raised his other dagger, the twin blades gleaming in his grip, his stance lowering as his body tensed like a coiled spring.
"You're gonna have to try a lot harder than that," Aventus growled, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. His indigo eyes burned with a mix of fury and defiance, locked on the grotesque figure before him. "You long-limbed freak. Once I break from this hold, I'm coming for you."
The world around him rippled and warped, the illusion fracturing like shattered glass, but the creature in front of him wasn't fading. It was growing, its shadowy form stretching and twisting, a grin that didn't belong splitting across its grotesque face. The clicking sounds returned, sharper and more deliberate, echoing through the air like a taunt.
The form on the ground convulsed violently, its elongated limbs snapping and shifting unnaturally. Shadowy tendrils erupted from its body, coiling and writhing like living smoke. Aventus's grip tightened on his daggers as he watched the grotesque transformation unfold, his indigo eyes narrowing with grim determination.
Then, with a sickening crack and a rush of cold air, the creature split into multiple figures. One after another, they rose from the ground—Eryons. Dozens of them. All identical, all wearing his brother's familiar face. But their eyes… their eyes were lifeless, empty voids that stared through Aventus with haunting vacancy.
They moved as one, stepping toward him in perfect, unnatural unison. Their voices echoed in a disjointed chorus, each speaking in Eryon's voice but layered with something far darker, something inhuman. "Why, Aventus?" they asked, their tones mournful but twisted, a mockery of the brother he had lost. "Why would you want to hurt us?"
Aventus took a step back, his breathing steady despite the chill running down his spine. He kept his daggers raised, the edges gleaming with faint iridescence as the light around him flickered and dimmed. "You're not him," he spat, his voice cutting through the cacophony like steel. "You'll never be him."
The Eryons tilted their heads in eerie unison, their blank eyes unblinking as they stepped closer. "But we can be," they whispered, their voices softening into a sickly sweet tone. "We can stay here, together. Forever. No more pain. No more loss. Just you… and us."
The landscape around Aventus began to shift again, the jagged plains and volcanic backdrop dissolving into a familiar golden field. The air filled with the scent of wildflowers, and the distant sound of laughter carried on the breeze. His homeworld. The village before the raid. Before everything had gone wrong.
"We can live here," the Eryons continued, their voices growing softer, more intimate, as if trying to lull him into surrender. "We can be happy. Just like we were meant to be. Don't you want that, Aventus? Don't you want us?"
The figures stopped just a few feet away, their hands reaching out in perfect synchronization, pale and trembling, as though begging him to come closer. The illusion pulsed around him, clawing at his mind, tugging at the fragile thread of hope buried deep within him.
But Aventus didn't move. His knuckles whitened around the hilts of his daggers, his breathing steady as he stared down the twisted mockery of his brother. "I wanted it," he said, his voice low and filled with defiance. "I wanted it more than anything. But this isn't real. And you… you're just another monster."
The lifeless eyes of the Eryons flickered, their expressions twisting into something darker, something enraged, as the illusion pulsed again, harder this time, trying to drown him in its false reality.
Aventus gasped as his eyes snapped open, his chest heaving as though he'd been holding his breath for an eternity. The cool, sterile air of the medical bay filled his lungs, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat and twisting illusions of moments before. His body jolted, instinctively reaching for the daggers he no longer held, only to find his hands empty, trembling slightly.
He was on the floor, the hard, cold surface pressing against his back. Above him, the faint hum of the station's systems was a grounding presence, a reminder that he was back—back in reality. The sharp scent of antiseptic filled his nostrils, cutting through the haze of disorientation.
His indigo eyes darted to the table nearby, where his daggers and phaser sat untouched, their faint glow catching the overhead light. K'Raal's towering form loomed above him, his amber eyes sharp and focused, his crest slightly raised. Beside him, the combat medic woman knelt, her expression a mix of concern and scrutiny as she held a medical scanner over Aventus's chest.
"You're back," K'Raal said, his deep voice calm but edged with suspicion. "What happened?"