Location: Hope, A-class planet, Third Circle, D-zone (green)
Date: April 6 2728 — Standard Earth Calendar (SEC)
Tuh-Dum, Tuh-Dum.
It was a rhythmic beat I knew I had to recognise. It was important.
The vivid, colourful patterns warped around me, reminding me of something…
I had seen them too.
Tuh-Dum, Tuh-Dum.
That sound.
I had been here before, hadn't I?
There was no more of my father's laughter, nor did the darkness try to consume me, but I remembered this place. I had been here before, when… when…
Lola—
It vibrated the space, changed the patterns, and warped time itself.
Tuh-Dum, Tuh-Dum.
Today was the day.
My ARC implant had finally awoken, and with it the newly initialised military-grade AI.
[Name: …]
As per protocol, I had to give it a name.
But I was delaying it.
Looking at the floating screen before me, I felt unsure. The name I had prepared felt too cheesy.
Or, perhaps, I felt stupid to use the floating screen before me.
All of my class were here too, in similar pods, but everyone was lying with closed eyes and didn't need to gesture in the air, like a disabled person.
Except me.
Stupid. But there was nothing I could do. I was kinesthetic-dominant and was the only one who had to use AR lenses. Everyone else had the interface projected directly in their inner visual space, reacting to their mental input. Lucky bastards.
With a sign, I raised my hand and quickly typed—
Lola
Tuh-Dum, Tuh-Dum.
Where everyone else had a smooth learning curve focused on their AI picking up the mentally formed commands, I had to struggle.
We, the kinesthetic-dominant people, had issues adapting to the augmented reality cortex in general, and having difficulty forming stable visual commands for my AI, Lola, didn't help at all.
Sure, I had recommendations meant to help, but the percentage of cadets with issues such as mine was so small—I was the only one in my and younger years—that I had to find my own way.
At least I wasn't embarrassing myself anymore with typing in the air. Lola learned to recognise what I wanted to write perhaps faster than any other AI in our year, or ever.
What an unexpected outcome of the calligraphy classes I had as a kid. But I was ready to use everything to become a pilot, anything to prove my own worth—and not the one of my family.
Tuh-Dum, Tuh-Dum.
ARC was rendering the real-time representation of the ongoing battle around me. It was a final test. The one I—and Lola—had no choice but to pass.
If we didn't… no, it was not an option.
Where before I had a handicap, a slower speed of adaptation, now I had a head start against others.
A major one.
I learned how to encode my commands—my queries—as tactile three-dimensional objects, and Lola had learned to recognise them, too.
Letters versus glyphs, and all of that.
I didn't need to use the visual part of my brain, which let me see and follow the ongoing battle at the same time as I was reacting.
I lost track of time, diving deep into the flow of data, or labels on the dots floating around me, or differently coloured lines of vectors.
Lola tracked my eye movements with lenses, synchronising the ARC visuals around me with no delays.
The anxiety, the thrill went away, and I just did what I had to.
Perhaps that was why it took me so long to realise that the test was over and what the green sentence in front of me meant.
You scored 100 points on the Adaptive Combat Perception Module.
K: [ We did it, Lola! ]
L: [ 💪🏆🎉 ]
Tuh-Dum, Tuh-Dum.
Someone had invaded his territory, the whisper of the air told him so.
They tried to hide from him, between clouds touching the island, but he knew the path of smell.
There.
Two-legged, a tasty prey.
He called for the wood, and it obeyed.
Two-legged didn't. It ran. Nobody escaped him before. This one would fail.
Charge.
He died?
Tuh-Dum, Tuh-Dum.
The memory, so alien to me, jumped in, consumed me. I saw the fog. I smelled the air with a taste of sweets.
I found the invader. The silver-grey two-legged, with the needler shooting back at me. I knew them, I had to—it was me.
And then the me-girl killed me-moose, the island's owner.
The reality doubled, split apart—one moment, I was a dead moose, and another was a living human.
It overlapped, it merged, it overwhelmed, drawing me down the deep hole of memories-mine-not-mine.
Tuh-Dum, Tuh-Dum.
He followed his Mother. She was strong, the strongest. She knew where sweet berries grew.
The island. Water was nice. But berries were better.
The Mother gave him a warning. Run.
He didn't. She was the strongest. And he liked a fresh taste of prey. She always fed him the tastiest.
Hidden under the tree, he saw his Mother fight the prey he had never seen before.
Two-legged.
The rich smell of blood excited him—until he saw his Mother fall.
Two-legged was not a prey. He ran.
Tuh-Dum, Tuh-Dum.
He was strong. The strongest. He was also alive. All these years, he knew the truth—two-legged were not a prey. He always ran.
Today, though, he didn't. The smell—he knew this one.
It carved into him deeply. Many moons, many winters, he remembered.
It was the Mother's scent, coming from Two-legged. He saw red.
Standing over Two-legged, prey again, he feasted on his tastiest. He recognised the taste of power. He took back the powers Two-legged stole from Mother.
He was the strongest now.
Tuh-Dum, Tuh-Dum.
I felt the grief of loss, I felt the rage, and I was the one vindicated.
I was the calf who lost his Mother—The strongest. I was the one hiding from two-legged—
No, no, no, this is all wrong
—I was the one, the strongest, later. Tasting the two-legged flesh and powers.
No, that is not me. Not me.
Tuh-Dum, Tuh-Dum.
He was hunting on this island, deep in the Third Circle, for years.
As did his Father and the father of his Father, passing a secret from father to son, worthy of a Noble name.
The way to gain the moose's strength.
Unfortunately, he was the last man of his name. Neither his first wife nor his second wife gave him a son to pass the legacy upon.
It was a time to get a third, then. Maybe the youngest of the Goldreen name would finally give him a son.
And a strong moose would make a fine offering in exchange for a girl, whatever her name.
Tuh-Dum, Tuh-Dum.
He—no, I—no, not I, died. Killed. Consumed by the moose. The one I—no, he—hunted as my Father, and father before him.
No, no, no, that is not me. Not me…
Tuh-Dum, Tuh-Dum.
I was going through the forest in the First Circle. I was supposed to find my Father, to show my tracking skills, but instead I daydreamed about Marta's tits.
They were so soft, so white. She promised to let me touch them if I brought her wolf's hide.
Walking blindly, I imagined touching them, pushing her on the wolf's hide and doing…
The slap at the back sent me flying, flipping across the forest floor.
"Stop thinking about Marta's tits, William," my Father's voice rang with anger, and I froze. How did he…
"If you keep acting like an idiot, I promise you, you will never touch any tits before you die," He spat into my face, slapping hard again.
"Up, idiot. That way, I saw the young wolf. If you find it, perhaps I'll let you keep the hide," He added in a more normal voice.
"Yes, Father," I replied. A smile split my face. I…
Tuh-Dum, Tuh-Dum.
The enormous breast, the overwhelming desire, the hunt. I got the hide that day.
I learned later that my Father tricked me back then.
Marta. He hired her to motivate me better. Still, tits were nice to touch, and even more…
no…
Tuh-Dum, Tuh-Dum.
"It's a girl, William," said the midwife, splashing bloody water from the porch.
Spitting angrily at my feet, I turned and began to walk away.
It was the fourth one, and I doubted that on the fifth try she would give me a boy.
No. That wouldn't do.
Sharply turning once more, I went to Old Ben. I saw his daughter the other day, and she reminded me of Marta.
That was a good sign.
Maybe he would agree to give her away—for a crystal or two.
No, better to give a bigger offer, to be sure…
Tuh-Dum, Tuh-Dum.
Was I truly William, the son of William, a moose hunter? A sonless father? A silent joke between the Village under the Oak?
Did I finally die?
NO. Not a William! Katherine. Katherine. Kat…
Tuh-Dum, Tuh-Dum.
She slapped me.
Holding my burning cheek, I looked back at her with all the hate I had.
"You will listen to what I say now. You hear me, girl?" she said coldly, massaging her hand.
"You are not my mother!" I raged back.
"Of course not, dear. After all, I am alive," she said in a sweet voice with a fake smile.
I hated her. The snake. How could Father fall for such an act?
"I will tell my Father when he's back!" I hissed. There was no way he would let this slide.
"Oh, dear. Don't you already know?" she said in her fake, caring voice I so hated. "He is dead too."
"Liar!"
Tuh-Dum, Tuh-Dum.
No! No!
He wasn't dead. Father wasn't. He just got lost.
The grief, the hate. They were twisting me, tearing me apart.
But pain, it was the old pain. I remember grieving, I remember running away.
Who am I?
A prey?
A hunter?
Tuh-Dum, Tuh-Dum.
"At ease!"
I shifted my posture, stiff after hours of standing still.
It was worth it.
"Starting this moment, you are not cadets anymore. I will treat you accordingly. Congratulations officers. Welcome to the ISA Space Naval forces," I listened, and I felt pride.
My pride and only mine.
I did it on my own.
Lt. Katee Ladova. I liked how it rang.
Tuh-Dum, Tuh-Dum.
I tried to hold onto that memory, digging in with my nonexistent fingers, but it was torn away.
Katee, I am Katee. Not a William.
The patterns spun around me. The shadow of the man merged into the shadow of the moose before me, and I recoiled.
Not again. Not again.
NO!
Nobody listened.
Tuh-Dum, Tuh-Dum.
Ages, Aeons, timeless.
I stitched myself, piece by piece.
I purged unwanted, chunk by chunk.
And every decade, when I heard the heartbeat again, I reminded myself of who I had been, or who I was, or who I would be…
Katee.
Katee Ladova
Lieutenant Commander Ladova, Independent System Alliance.
Formerly Katherine Ladoga, the Heir of the Ladoga System.
I was not done yet. I never would.
—
The smell of burnt meat was intense. It assaulted me, reminding me of the stew I had been making before…
Before what?
Violently folding in half, spasming in convulsions, I began to vomit, almost puking myself out.
Something thick, gooey with a foam on top, left me, splashing on the carved floor.
The acid scent filled my senses, burned my throat, forcing me to vomit even more.
And somehow it was right.
Somehow, I knew that whatever was leaving me was never mine to begin with.
It had to go. And so it did.
I felt only lighter.
Looking up at the dawn lights above me, with cold stone against my back, I enjoyed the morning I thought I would never see again.
I felt aged. I felt old as time itself.
And if not for the smell around me, it would have been perfect.
One more inhale, one more stolen light from the sky above, and I would move, I would begin my life anew.
But before that, just one more stolen light… one more inhale.
—
With a claw knife in hand, I was washing—scrubbing—the jacket in the river water.
But now and again, I would pause, marvelling at the rising sun, or my young, smooth hands—human hands.
Or my face caught now and again in the running water.
It was me. I knew that. But also, I knew the face of William, the features of the moose muzzle.
I also knew their lives. Or places around.
Perhaps now I didn't even need a map to find my way around the first three circles, or to Outpost Eleven.
Or to the Village under the Oak.
It was that way, slightly left of the direction to Outpost Eleven.
And if Outpost was on the border of the First Circle, the village was deep inside it.
Hunterstead of the Free People.
What a joke name.
William, William, William.
Funny enough, he knew just enough to sell his wages in the outpost, but not much more than that.
Simple man, simple life, rooted in local traditions—a toxic masculinity dressed under the guise of care.
It was not a place I would choose to stay.
I would burn it to the ground if someone forced me.
Nevertheless, I had to visit it.
I needed the closure.
—
I was packing.
The service kit for the needler went into my new bag first. I was using the one I took from the towners in the clearing, replacing my fancy, out-of-space bagpack.
Flipping the needler in my hand, I checked it first, then reloaded and put it aside.
I was taking it too, but I planned to keep it hidden. Not the things that were common here.
Or William never saw one.
Taking the hammer, I weighed it, thinking. It was a valuable weapon in the hands of someone who knew how to use it properly.
A shield crusher.
Setting it aside, I decided to leave it behind, as well as the axe I found. It was nothing special, but every second towner believed it was the thing.
It wasn't. The polearm was.
That's why I put both heads in the bag. I might fetch a good price for them, or barter for the thing that coin wouldn't buy.
I left all other clothes and shoes too, but not before scrubbing and grating each item with a thunder bush's leaves.
Pot, stove, utensils, all went inside the bag.
But the thermal blanket I left behind. Too modern, and hard to hide.
Flipping a medkit in my hands, I put it on the bottom, next to the service kit.
Almost everything, except for my meagre food supplies and spoiled meat.
I was too long unconscious to try to cook a new meal from it. It was really a shame.
Both the moose and William loved wolves' kidneys, leaving a rich imprint behind. One I failed to purge.
I grimaced, grabbing the smelly bag with meat, but nevertheless, I dug inside for the core and the knots.
If the meat was slimy, both cores and knots were not. They were wrinkled—a clear sign that crystalisation had finished.
A new thing to me. Nothing like that happened to the cores and knots in the aetherium cave.
Forcefully peeling the outer layer, I freed newborn crystals from within.
The younger wolf's core was bluish in colour, while the older one had a dark green one. Both muddy, which was fine. Ten and thirty crowns.
Outpost was buying them in bulk.
The white seed, though, from one of the knots, was the most expensive.
A never-used Ice Crystal was worthy of fifty crowns on a good day.
Apparently, locals were using them to meditate on and to learn the skill safely.
Eating cores and knots was done only in fairy tales. A dark one. Where the one who dared so was turned into the beast himself, killed later.
Fairy tale for the commoners, who never had the Spark—the local name for the core.
Even William's lineage had a little secret for how to consume the moose's core and knots.
A bit of this plant, a bit of that plant, an aetherium ore and the raw, freshly cut-out core.
Together with a ritual, it was all they needed to gain the beast's power without losing shit in the memory imprints.
Aetherium, though, was expensive. The Crown and Nobles owned mines and bought out whatever was found, leaving nothing for the commoners.
Making those fairy tales not so fairy.
To have powers, you had to be born to those who had them too.
And to think otherwise was dangerous, Freeman sect dangerous.
What a bunch of cannibals.
—
By the time the sun rose above the trees, marking the middle of daylight, I was ready.
I had overstayed on this island. But it gave me space and time to get my shit together.
And for that, I was grateful.
With one last glance, I put the bag on my shoulders and turned towards the forest across the water.
"Let's go, Lola," I whispered to myself, gently squeezing the necklace inside the pouch.
"I bet you would love to see how I was going to get across the water."