Akiko drifted through the silence of the void, her breath shallow, controlled. Oxygen reserves ticked down to a number she refused to check again.

The stars stretched out around her. Endless and unblinking. Witnesses.

Somewhere behind her, though how far, she couldn't say, was the asteroid belt she'd escaped from.

Her vision blurred. Mana exhaustion pounded behind her eyes, each pulse a spike of pain. The crystal at her throat, once brilliant sapphire, was now dark and lifeless. It dragged at her like an anchor, though there was no down in space.

The fox-shaped avatar of Takuto flickered in her inner space, glitching at the edges like a failing dream.

"Akiko," his voice echoed. "Local processing resources... insufficient for full optimization. Recommend... rest and reduced cognitive load."

Oh, sure. I'll just take a nap in the middle of nowhere.

Her frustration flickered under the fog. The migraine from Takuto's incomplete integration chewed at the edges of her thoughts. A constant ache. A reminder she was alone.

The dragonling's presence was gone now. Shed like an old skin somewhere in the unspace that was difficult to think about without her head pounding, on top of her current migraine.

"Status," she rasped.

Her voice cracked dry in surrounding void.

"Oxygen reserves at eleven percent," he replied. "Environmental integrity stable. No telemetry from external sources. Driftknight signal undetected."

Her gloved fingers curled into fists. The sound of creaking fabric felt too loud in the silence.

They're coming for me.

A whisper of doubt pushed in. They could only track her trajectory so far. She had re-emerged close by, in interplanetary distances, but space was vast. Whether she was within the radius of their search, she had no idea.

If they couldn't find her—

She closed her eyes. Forced herself to focus.

The void pressed in from all sides, endless and hungry.

Stay sharp. Don't panic.

She steadied her breathing. Slow. Deliberate. Ignored the stale taste of recycled air, the tightness in her chest.

"I don't suppose you have a bright idea," she muttered.

"Current conditions are suboptimal for survival," Takuto replied flatly. "Tracking capability of Driftknight reliant on—"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," she cut in.

There was no heat in her voice. He wasn't wrong. He wasn't at fault. She was.

She'd gambled on untested magic. Rolled herself out of the fight, and maybe out of existence.

Her tail twitched faintly behind her, brushing against her leg. A soft reminder. She was still Akiko. Still here.

She wouldn't die like this. Not silent. Not forgotten.

Then, a flicker. A blip on her HUD.

Her heart lurched.

She squinted at the static-drenched numbers. A signal. Weak, distant.

"Signal detected," Takuto confirmed. His voice sharpened slightly, more coherent. "Trajectory indicates inbound vessel. Probability of Driftknight match: 87.4%."

Akiko exhaled. Almost a laugh. Her lips pulled into a strained smile.

They found me.

She didn't care about the other twelve-point-six percent.

"Let's hope they brought a reel," she murmured.

Her eyes closed.

The stars blurred again, softer this time. Their sharp brilliance dulled by the fog curling through Akiko's mind.

Time passed, but she didn't mark its passage.

She blinked. Slow. Heavy.

Her limbs didn't want to move. Her thoughts wouldn't line up.

Somewhere, Takuto whispered. A hollow sound. Words she couldn't follow.

Keep breathing.

The thought rose. Drifted. Slipped away. Even that felt like too much.

Another blink. The void shifted.

Her mana was gone. Emptied, scattered. The magical shield around her head pulsed weakly, struggling to hold. Her HUD flashed red, over and over, a heartbeat in warning:

OXYGEN CRITICAL

Through the haze, something loomed.

Massive. Angular. Familiar.

A ship.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Her heart caught, then stuttered.

The Driftknight. Or... something else? She couldn't remember how long it had been. How far she'd drifted.

"Signal... matched... Driftknight," Takuto murmured.

The voice was broken, fragmented, running entirely off her own slipping neural processing.

Pain flared in her temples, sharp and full of teeth.

Her head tilted, neck muscles slack. Her vision narrowed to a thin tunnel of light.

Another blink. The scene shifted again.

A figure floated before her. Framed in the black. Bulky suit. Confident movement. Familiar silhouette.

Tanya.

Akiko couldn't process how she got there. Couldn't hold the memory. But Tanya moved like someone who belonged. Someone who would not let go.

"Hold tight, little fox," Tanya's voice crackled over comms. Dry, sarcastic, steady. "We've got you. You're not allowed to die yet. Kara's reserved that right."

Akiko's breath came shallow, ragged. The shield shimmered, faltered, held.

Tanya reached her, gloved hands moving with practiced ease. A tether locked to Akiko's suit. Click, jolt, certainty.

Akiko's lips parted. No voice came. Just a faint sound, swallowed by space.

Tanya tapped her helmet near the comms. Half salute, half scold.

"Stay with me, Akiko," she said, her voice soft now. "We're almost there."

The shield around her face flickered. Her vision smeared at the edges.

The stars warped, blurred, then vanished.

They'd found her. She wasn't alone.

The Driftknight hovered nearby, bay doors open like an invitation, like home.

Akiko didn't feel the tether pulling her in. Didn't register the shudder of pressure returning as the airlock cycled.

Darkness took her, soft and hollow. A hum of safety wrapped around her as she let go.

The hum of the Driftknight's systems was the first thing Akiko registered. Faint, mechanical. Reassuring in a way she didn't want to admit.

Warmth pooled in her limbs, a slow, gentle current. Healing magic. But beneath it, the sharp tug of an IV bit into her arm.

She blinked.

The overhead lights were dim, filtered. Her suit was gone. The stiffness in her joints remained.

Her head ached. Mana starvation left her hollow. Cracked.

Movement caught her eye.

Raya sat in a chair anchored to the floor. Stiff posture. Hands white-knuckled on the armrests like she might float away if she let go.

A table was bolted nearby. Medical tools. A sealed water pouch with a collapsible nozzle designed for zero-g. Practical. Efficient.

"Good, you're awake."

Raya's voice trembled. Just enough to give her away. She leaned forward and adjusted the IV line, fingers gentle, precise.

"And still stubborn enough to wake up, even after pulling a stunt like that."

Akiko tried to answer. Nothing came, her throat too dry.

Raya noticed immediately. She grabbed the water pouch, twisted the nozzle open, and handed it over.

Akiko took it slowly. Her grip was weak, fingers trembling as she squeezed out a thin stream of water.

"Slowly," Raya said, watching every motion.

Akiko drank. Stopped. Set the pouch on the magnetic table with more care than strength.

Raya's shoulders dropped. The weight she'd been holding back slipped through.

"What were you thinking?"

The question came out sharp, fear tangled in frustration.

"Do you have any idea how close you came? Your oxygen was practically gone. If we'd been even a minute later—"

She cut herself off. Her voice cracked. Tears gathered behind her eyes.

Akiko looked down at her hands. Pale. Still trembling.

"It worked," she rasped. The words felt thin in her mouth. Paper-thin.

"It worked?"

Raya laughed, sharp and bitter.

"You were floating in the middle of nowhere, Akiko. That's not 'working.' That's a miracle. Do you even know what it was like for us? Wondering if we'd find you in time?"

Akiko said nothing. Her ears lowered. Gaze fixed on the folds of the blanket pulled over her legs. She wanted to shrink. To disappear inside her skin.

Raya's voice softened.

"I'm tired," she said. "Tired of watching you throw yourself into danger like your life doesn't matter. Like we don't matter. Like I don't—"

Her voice broke. Tears spilled, no longer held back. She wiped her face with one hand. The other stayed clamped on the armrest. Her anchor.

Akiko's chest twisted. Guilt curled in like frostbite.

"I—" she began.

"Don't."

Raya's voice was sharp again.

"Don't try to explain it away. Just... don't do something like that again. Promise me, Akiko."

Akiko hesitated.

Everything inside her warred against the simplicity of it.

She looked at Raya. At her tear-streaked face.

And whispered, "I'll try."

Raya watched her for a long moment. Then nodded.

"That'll have to do."

She stood, steadying herself on the chair. Checked the IV, brisk and practiced.

"Rest, Akiko. And don't even think about pulling that IV out."

Akiko didn't answer.

As the hatch hissed closed behind Raya, silence settled in.

The warmth of healing magic lingered in her veins. But it couldn't soothe the sting of Raya's words.

She stared at the ceiling.

"I'll try," she whispered again.

The words tasted hollow. Even she didn't believe them.

Her limbs felt too heavy to move. Muscles sore from strain and recovery. Her fingers flexed once, then stilled. Even the foxfire had gone quiet.

Her eyes slipped shut.

The hum of the ship dulled. Her pulse slowed. The ceiling faded. The weight of her body fell away into restless sleep.

Mist curled around Akiko's feet. Thick. Cold. Clinging like breath on a mirror.

She was running.

Foxfire sparked at her fingertips, flickering with each stride, ghost-light that pushed back the dark in quick, uncertain pulses. Shadows twisted through the trees around her, each branch reaching, each step echoing through silence too thick to be real.

Something moved ahead. Just out of sight.

She didn't know what it was. Only that she had to catch it. Stop it.

She pushed harder. Her tail lashed behind her, momentum and instinct. The foxfire brightened.

Kaede warned you.

She ignored the voice.

The ground shifted beneath her. Forest gone. Mist thickened, swallowing everything. Sky, trees, path, breath. Her feet slowed. Foxfire dimmed to a wan glow.

She turned. Kaede wasn't there. No one was.

The air was heavier now. The shadows pressed closer. Something was behind her.

Her pulse jumped. She spun. Nothing. Just swirling grey. But she could feel it.

The thing she had chased had become the hunter. A low growl fractured the quiet.

She ran.

Foxfire barely held. The shadows reached. Claws, limbs, memory. The mist wrapped around her legs, thick as chains.

She stumbled.

A hand… no, something like a hand, lunged from the dark and caught her by the neck. Lifted her. Weightless. Helpless.

She kicked, struggling. Foxfire sputtered out. Her eyes locked on the thing that held her.

Her own face stared back. Twisted. Cold. Beautiful in the way a corpse might be. The entity wore her features like a costume stretched too tight.

Its eyes gleamed.

"Small," it hissed. "Pathetic."

The grip tightened.

"Did you really think you could run? That you're anything more than a frightened little fox, spiraling through systems you barely understand?"

Her claws raked at its wrist. Useless.

It sneered.

And then, it wasn't her anymore.

Karn stood in its place. Pale. Gaunt. Mana crystals pulsing beneath his skin like tumors that learned to breathe.

He looked down at her, an expression not quite contempt. Not quite pity. Something worse.

"Power has its price," he said softly. "And you'll pay it. We all do. That's how we survive."

Before she could answer, he unraveled. Smoke. Shadow.

Another shape stepped through.

Hayes. Uniform sharp. Expression sharper. His voice cut clean and low.

"You're a threat, Akiko. And threats get put down."

His hands closed where the shadow's had been. Tighter. Her lungs burned. No magic. No voice. Just silence and pressure and shame.

The darkness surged inward.

She gasped awake. Clawed at her throat. Nothing there. Just the Driftknight's filtered air, recycled and sharp.

The ceiling lights hummed. The IV pulsed slowly at her arm. Healing magic drifted warm beneath her skin.

But it couldn't touch the cold still wrapped around her chest.

She sat up slowly. Pressed a hand to her ribs. Felt the tremble.

Just a dream. But the dread lingered like a fingerprint.

She closed her eyes. And whispered the lie again.

"Just a dream."

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