Arthur stands in the sun, feet burning. He looks up.

  He takes a step. Then another. Skin blisters. Splits. Heals. Splits again. Pain looping on replay.

  He walks. Hours pass. The sun becomes a furnace at zenith.

  “He rebuilt the coin drive,” he mutters. “So we might be able to rebuild it too. Get you into a new one… make us both feel better.”

  In the Void, Sarah—still chained—raises her hand as if to summon a control menu.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be myself again.”

  Arthur’s fists clench. He keeps walking.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

  A beat.

  “He doesn’t know it yet… but if I see him again—I’ll kill him.”

  “Remember those flowers on Septius Four? They nearly killed me.” A dry smile. “Maybe they would kill him.”

  Sarah pulls the conversation back to the present, her voice whispering in the wind.

  “If anyone deserves it, it’s him.” She tugs weakly at the chain. “But we need to focus. We have to get back to Naviswa.”

  Arthur’s back blisters under the sun.

  “LinThera’s a good idea. The fact he mentioned it worries me.” He presses forward. “The Naviswa we knew may already be gone.”

  His feet and face are raw with burns.

  “I hope he thinks this can break me,” Arthur says, almost amused. “This is nothing.”

  Four days of pain-blurred walking pass before a ribbon of city light appears on the horizon. Arthur stumbles into the outskirts. People stop. They look. They give—shoes, a shirt, a handful of credits.

  He eats from a paper tray on a curb.

  “Gotta find a terminal. They should still exist.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  From the Void, Sarah’s voice slips into the real.

  “Do we even have money? The other—us—would’ve spent it… right?”

  Arthur shrugs.

  “Who knows. We have to check.”

  A kiosk hums beneath a bruised sky. Arthur presses his thumb to the scanner.

  “Hello, Arthur Hammond,” a robotic voice chirps. “Welcome to CrediTrust.”

  A menu blooms to life.

  Arthur scrolls, checking accounts one by one.

  “We had fifteen,” he murmurs, shoulders sagging. “Come on, gods. Give us something. Anything.”

  Red. Zero. Again and again.

  Sarah sighs.

  “We still have two left,” Arthur says. He takes a deep breath, then presses the key.

  The writing turns green.

  2,080,742 CRD.

  Arthur exhales, the sound edged and shaky. He withdraws enough for clothes, food, a modest apartment.

  “I don’t know what random investment we made,” he says with a faint smile, “but we’re doing better than when we left.”

  “That’s good,” Sarah says. “One less thing to worry about.”

  —

  Arthur enters an information terminal hub.

  “I’m looking for some information.”

  The older man behind the counter turns. “On what?” He laughs. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

  Arthur smiles. “Anything on the Daevos Alliance.”

  “Sure,” the man says, already typing. “Head up to the third floor. Section B.”

  Arthur turns toward the stairs.

  “Ask about Naviswa,” Sarah says gently.

  He spins back. “One more thing,” Arthur says. “Where would I find information on Naviswa—and the Allui?”

  The man hums, thinking. “Not really a lot on that.” He types a little more. “But what we do have is on the fifth floor. Section C.” He smiles, then turns back to his work.

  Arthur nods and heads for the third floor.

  Hours pass, Arthur moving from machine to machine. Hours turn to days. Time accrues like dust.

  “We didn’t miss much,” Arthur says one evening. “A new war. No surprise.” He shifts in his chair. “Nothing else really stands out.”

  Sarah’s voice drifts from the Void.

  “It’s strange we didn’t find anything on the Allui.”

  Arthur leans back, spinning the chair.

  “The Alokic Accord said they’d stay in-system. Maybe they did.”

  Sarah sits in the White Void, eyes hollowed into something bottomless.

  “Any luck finding a way out of this device? Into a body?” She drags her chains toward a bookcase.

  Arthur joins her in the White Void, holding a newly formed memory book. He shakes his head—every motion heavy.

  “Daevos seems to own the tech. And with it, the politicians.”

  He kneels and opens the book.

  “Look at this.”

  On the page: the originals—older, smiling—children gathered around them. The image blurs softly, like a dream released too soon.

  “I wonder what we named them.”

  Tears gather in Sarah’s eyes but won’t fall.

  “Our family was beautiful.”

  Arthur studies the page.

  “It doesn’t list their names.” He closes the book, breath catching. “I’ll do more research later.”

  He leans in to kiss her goodnight.

  She jerks away as if struck.

  Arthur stills, watching her. Then he lies back in the shallow water, staring up at the towering shelves. The water ticks softly against stone and wood.

  “What… what did he do?” he asks quietly.

  Sarah stares at nothing. Then at him. She begins to sob—small, controlled—the sound most frightening of all.

  Arthur closes his eyes.

  “If you’re not ready to tell me… it’s okay.” A gentle smile. “I just want you to know I love you. I just want you to know I’m here.”

  He rolls onto his side, facing her—careful not to touch.

  “And I’ll keep being here. The way you’ve always been for me.”

  Sarah turns away, shoulders rigid.

  “I’ll be fine. I just… need time to adjust.”

  Arthur reaches—stops—then brushes her shoulder.

  She jerks hard. Shackles rattle.

  He freezes. The hurt is immediate, human. He pulls his hands back, palms open.

  “I’m sorry. I was going to say goodnight.”

  He stands, preparing to vanish back to the real.

  “I booked passage to Naviswa. We leave in two days.”

  A pause.

  “Love you.”

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