The top of the observation spire was cold, but Soren found it didn’t bother him much. He sat cross-legged, eyes closed, hands resting on his thighs. Beyond him, the stars passed in slow silence.

  There was no day or night here. Just the distant shimmer of starlight filtered through reinforced glass, and the ambient glow of the ship's systems running beneath his feet. Down below, The Resolute Wind carried on with its endless hum. Up here, he could pretend time had stopped.

  It had been almost two weeks since Piria, and the pain was beginning to fade. The team spent their time mourning the lacravida way, sharing stories, memories, and celebrating his life. But there was no way to do a sky burial or funeral pyre. The only thing the Liberty Union offered was a military send-off—the equivalent of burial at sea. The body would be released into space—respectfully, of course—with a casket and all the rest.

  Riza had said no.

  She wasn’t ready to let go of him yet, and said that he deserved better than to drift among the stars alone. So Elias remained aboard, preserved in cryo-stasis on the lower decks.

  Aurania was initially worried that Riza might have been frozen with grief, that she might spend every ounce of time down with the body. And Riza did still go down there sometimes, but she didn’t let herself be paralyzed. She had begun training with them again. She was a little slower at first, barely noticeable, and after a few sessions, she found her old groove.

  Soren took a deep breath and held it for a long time. His breathing was steady, slower than it should’ve been for a human. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Let it stretch. He reached for stillness, not just in the body, but in the weight behind his thoughts.

  He hadn’t been seeing eye-to-eye with Aurania over the past few weeks. It felt like things were shaken up. Their drills still worked well enough, the squad operated like a single body.

  But the two of them were out of sync, and the attraction felt skewed, like there had been a fissure. The way she had comforted him on Piria had helped him calm down, but it seemed like she had purposely started being distant with him. Answering shortly or not at all. Leaving the room right after he entered.

  Maybe he was imagining it.

  The mental link had even been quieter than usual. He frequently tried to focus on it during meditation, but it was like it had gone dormant. What had awakened though, was the power.

  When he'd seen Elias’ body, Tamiyo cowering back away from Sable… he'd lost control. There was no other way to say it. The modicum of control he'd been practicing had fractured. The golden shards holding in the light exploded, becoming sharp daggers instead of safety bars. The light itself had consumed him, and he couldn't even try to put it back into containment. It was like trying to scream with no mouth, swim with no limbs, see a way out of the torment without any eyes.

  Thank whatever gods existed for Aurania.

  Now, he could feel it, coiled under his ribs, electric and alive. It felt like a power that didn’t belong to him, not yet at least. It wanted to move and lash out. But for now, he wasn't trying to fight with it.

  He was just trying to listen.

  Lately, he could hear more during meditation. Footsteps two decks down. The pulse of coolant lines behind the bulkhead. A shift in gravity fields as the ship adjusted orientation. Voices too far away, and closer, familiar presences moving toward the lift.

  Soren agreed with Riza. Elias’ friendship had taken root surprisingly strong with him from the first time they met, and he wasn’t ready to completely let go either. He hadn’t been down to see him, but he didn’t feel like he needed to.

  He sometimes felt like he could still feel Elias’ presence, almost like he was right next to him. It was too distant to grasp, however, so he may have just been imagining it. Reaching out with his perceptions, eyes closed, he thought he could sense him right now. But it was still too ambiguous to tell if it was real.

  The elevator door opened behind him. Soren opened his eyes and stood, turning to greet Riza. She had started wearing more open attire when she wasn’t in armor, exposing a lot of skin marked with old battle scars. He took it as a sign of growth, that she hadn’t cloistered back into her shell without Elias.

  “You look well,” he told her honestly. They hadn’t talked much since… well, ever really. Of all the people on their team, she was the one he had talked to the least, even before Piria.

  She was watching him, head turned slightly to the side. She had a hard look on her face, half glare, half her normal face. She stayed quiet, but walked closer to him, stopping just an arm’s length away.

  After a while, she said, “Fight me.”

  Soren’s eyes went wide. “Fight you?! Why would I fight you?”

  “Because you are weak. And slow.”

  He didn’t know if she was intentionally trying to provoke him or just lashing out in pain. He remained calm. “Where is this coming from?”

  “Who do you want to say goodbye to next?” she asked curtly.

  “No one.”

  “Then fight me.”

  “I don’t think that’s wise.”

  “Sable caught you off guard and knocked you to your ass. Are you going to let that happen next time?” There was a hint of anger in her voice, but she mainly sounded focused.

  “Of course not.”

  “How? Have you trained? Have you done anything to improve to make sure he doesn’t get the upper hand?”

  He took a deep breath. He had to make sure she didn’t get under his skin. “I have been meditating to gain better control of my… abilities.”

  “That’s it? Because I don’t think that’s enough. I think if he were to walk through the door right now, I’d end up dead and you’d throw another temper tantrum. Probably tear this ship in half with tears in your eyes.”

  “Jeez, I thought Aurania was the mean one.” He thought for a moment about what she said. “You think you’d end up dead?”

  Her expression shifted. He’d called her out on something she may have not meant to reveal.

  “So it’s not just about me getting better,” he noted. “We both need to get quicker.”

  She let out a sigh, her eyes still locked on him. “Yes.”

  He averted his gaze from her, thinking for a while. He wasn’t sure how he felt about fighting Riza, especially with the grief so fresh. But she wasn’t just anyone… He had seen firsthand why they called her a legend.

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  He sighed heavily, and finally said, “Alright—”

  Riza punched him in the throat, faster than he could react.

  Soren staggered back, coughing and grabbing his neck. He wheezed, “What the hell was that?”

  She just stood there, arms relaxed and stance balanced. She moved toward him again, three quick punches flying like lightning. He blocked them, then caught a knee to the sternum, forcing him back a couple more steps.

  He glared at her, still catching his breath. “Most people wait for a ready signal. You sure you want to do this?”

  “I’m not most people,” she said flatly. “Neither is Sable.”

  Soren wiped his mouth and squared up. He knew better than to argue now, this was happening. He raised his hands into a loose guard. “Fine.”

  She came at him low and fast, a flurry of strikes aimed at his ribs and shoulder. He blocked two, took one on the side, then swung a counter that caught nothing but air. She pivoted around him, kicked the back of his knee, and when he stumbled, she went for a sweep that nearly took him down.

  He rolled out of range, breath sharp. She was faster than he expected, back in form.

  The next time she charged, he met her movement with his own. Block, parry, redirect. His breathing slowed. Focus deepened. The world narrowed.

  And then he felt something.

  Not just the rush of blood or the rhythm of their footwork, but her presence. Like a gravitational ripple before each move, tugging on the edge of his awareness. The air shifted a split-second before her limbs did. Her intent radiated outward, just barely.

  But she was still driving him back, and he was almost at the railing of the observation spire. The pavilion spilled out below, a small military city floating through the expanse of space. And if Soren didn’t manage to get the upper hand—

  A hoof straight into his chin knocked him backwards, and then he was falling. The spire extended upwards at a slight angle from the upper decks. As he fell, the white metal paneling came up to meet him, and after pivoting mid-air, he managed to plant his feet and begin sliding down.

  The descent was steep, and he was moving quickly, but he thought he’d be able to slow his momentum enough to avoid cratering the pavilion floor when he landed. Something caught the corner of his eye and he looked up.

  She fucking jumped.

  Riza was right next to him, falling through the air.

  He stared at her wide-eyed and caught a hoof to the top of the head for his apathy. He tumbled, rolling a couple times down the side of the spire before managing to regain control of his slide.

  She started sliding too, her hooves gliding along the angled surface of the tower.

  A blur of black shot towards him, and her hand grazed his shoulder. Then her hoof kicked off his side, trying to spin him off balance.

  “You’re insane!” he yelled, completely amazed.

  Her eyes were locked onto him. “You’re an amateur.” She shifted her weight into a controlled slide beside him.

  Riza moved like someone who had done this before, like descending a vertical structure mid-combat wasn’t new territory. She spun to face him, sliding backward, and threw a punch. He ducked, the blow whistling past his ear, and retaliated with a glancing kick that pushed her off-line, but not enough.

  Near the bottom, she kicked off an angled structural support, twisting her body mid-air and redirected her momentum. She rolled and slid, landing in a crouch as her hooves scraped across the tile.

  He landed a second later like someone who had not done this before, scrunched up in a ball. He bounced, leaving a crater in the tile, the impact knocking the wind out of him. He tried to land on his feet, but found himself on one knee instead. He hadn’t even straightened up before she was on him again.

  Palm to the ribs. Elbow to the shoulder. He blocked both and tried to counter, but she caught his wrist mid-swing, turned with his momentum, and threw him into a table. Food, trays, and silverware exploded in every direction. A crewman yelped as his drink went flying.

  “Can we not do this in the middle of lunch?!” Soren barked as he rolled out of the wreckage.

  She was coming right at him. “What if Sable attacks during lunch?” She threw a ketchup bottle past his head like a dagger.

  More heads turned. Boots scuffed across tile. Someone dropped their bowl. He couldn’t seem to turn the tide as she drove him back and back and back.

  A blur of purple robes, silver hair, and skin caught his attention as Veolo vaulted over a railing like a cat with no impulse control. She landed in a crouch beside Riza.

  “Oh, come on—” Soren groaned.

  He blocked Veolo’s spin kick with his forearm. He stepped back, shaking the vibration out of his hand. Riza came in from the left, Veolo from the right. It wasn’t a coordinated attack, but they were both quick and aggressive.

  He blocked one strike, then twisted under another. A plate ricocheted off the wall beside him. Someone in the mess hall was screaming. Someone else was filming.

  He gritted his teeth, trying to keep up. Every dodge felt half a second too slow, every block an inch too wide. Riza clipped his shoulder again, Veolo landed a low kick to his shin, and it was getting harder to not tap into the Aether Dust for more power.

  Focus.

  He forced himself to breathe, steady and deep, like he had back in the spire. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Let it stretch. He let his sight blur.

  The noise of the mess hall faded. It didn’t disappear, but it drifted to the background, like static. An unimportant sound he wasn’t tracking anymore.

  He was tracking intention.

  Riza moved first. Her weight shifted before her foot did. A spike of something—willpower or momentum—rippled toward him a fraction of a second before she struck. He dipped low and let her elbow skim harmlessly overhead.

  Veolo moved in next. Soren turned with her, spun to match her arc, and redirected her kick into a table leg.

  It broke and someone applauded.

  His body felt bruised and worn already, but the rhythm started clicking. Riza jabbed high. He didn’t see it, but he felt the ripple and tilted his head just far enough to avoid it. Veolo swept low, he lifted his leg before her hoof even moved.

  Don't think. Just feel.

  Soren caught Riza’s kick and used her momentum to launch her into one of the pavilion's garden ponds.

  Then he spun just in time to grab Veolo's fist. She punched with her other arm and he caught that too. Then he pulled her arms into an X across her chest and shoved her back onto her ass.

  She stayed there for a moment.

  He kept his eyes on her as he began to turn his head, then finally looked away to scan for Riza. He casually asked, “You’re not gonna try fucking me this time, are you?”

  “Eh, probably not,” Veolo replied in an amused tone, then bounced back up off the ground. He grinned and looked back at her, she was clearly enjoying the sparring match—

  A metal tray spun through the air like a frisbee and smacked right between his eyes. He staggered back, grasping his nose. “God, what the fuck?!”

  The wind was knocked out of him as Veolo planted a hoof in his abdomen. He looked up, regaining his balance, and they both were there. Veolo, bouncing back and forth, Riza sopping wet and focused. He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. There was a pause, then they came at him together.

  Soren flowed.

  He caught Riza’s punch mid-air, twisted, ducked under Veolo’s hook, then rolled sideways and swept Riza’s legs. She backflipped, landed badly, and had to skip backward to avoid his follow-up kick.

  He could sense the pressure of their movements now, pockets of air displacement, flickers of presence. His skin buzzed. Every footfall vibrated through the floor and fed into something in his chest.

  He countered, stepped in, and for the first time since the fight started, they backed up.

  “Okay,” Veolo panted. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Riza glared at him. “You’ve been holding back.”

  Soren opened his eyes, chest rising slowly with his breath. “No. You’re teaching me how to see.”

  Then his gaze lingered on Riza a moment longer. His brow furrowed. There was… something. Something new and subtle. He thought he sensed Elias again for a moment.

  Veolo took his pause as an opening and jumped at him. He grabbed her leg and flung her into the water. Then he stood and advanced toward Riza, carefully studying her.

  “What?” She recoiled.

  He tilted his head to the side, trying to figure out what he was sensing. Riza threw a flurry of punches at him and he dodged most, blocking the others. He sensed it as she moved.

  She swung again, and he caught her fist, twisting her around into a headlock.

  She tried moving but he held firm.

  “Stop,” Soren said, concern in his voice.

  Riza wiggled a bit more, but then slowly calmed down. Very carefully, Soren reached around, gently placing a hand on her mid-section.

  Her body tensed. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

  He released her, gently spinning her away. When she faced him again, she glared hard, angry and confused. But he was grinning from ear to ear, tears of joy welling in his eyes. His heart was racing, and he let out a sharp laugh of disbelief.

  “Riza,” he said, barely able to contain himself. “Riza, you’re pregnant.”