The stillness after the beast's collapse felt unnatural, like the world itself was holding its breath. Crystal dust danced slowly in the air, lit by the pulsing glow of the massive crystalline valley behind them. Lucan's hand was still clenched in a half-fist, breath ragged, chest rising and falling in quick bursts. Lyra stood beside him, her grip on his sleeve tightening.
The alien figure remained still, its silver eyes reflecting the light in a way that made them appear almost wet—like they were swimming pools of molten glass. It tilted its head slightly, observing them with quiet intensity.
Then it spoke again.
"Safe. Protect."
Its voice was rough, like wind scraped across stone, but calm.
Lucan didn't respond at first. He took a half step forward, subtly placing himself in front of Lyra. The creature didn't react aggressively. Instead, it reached over its shoulder with long, deliberate fingers and pressed them against the back of its own neck.
A faint hiss escaped as a narrow seam in its skin parted open. From within, it pulled a small, irregular device—smooth, metallic, and glowing faintly at the edges. The object looked unfinished, as if part of it had been scavenged or damaged. One side sparked briefly, a flicker of exposed energy leaking out.
With a careful motion, the being pressed the device back into the slot beneath its skin. There was a soft click as it latched in place. Thin white lines rippled outward along the creature's neck and spine, illuminating briefly like veins of light.
A pulse echoed in the air.
Then came the voice—fragmented, mechanical, and distorted, as though it were forcing alien concepts through an unfamiliar tongue.
"Name… Kaa-thyr. Watcher. Of… edge."
The words stumbled into existence, like broken tiles sliding into place. Lucan's brow furrowed. He glanced at Lyra, but she remained silent, eyes fixed on the creature.
"You… fall… sky break. Rift."
Lucan nodded cautiously. "Yes. Rift."
The being seemed to understand. "Wrong… place. Time… cracks. You… shimmer."
Lyra whispered, "It's struggling… but trying. I think it wants to help."
Kaa-thyr took a step closer, slowly, raising a long, slender arm. It pointed at Lucan's chest.
"You… hold… spark. Deep-old. Not… yours. Yet… inside."
Lucan instinctively stepped back. "Spark?"
Kaa-thyr lowered its arm and gave what might have been a slow nod.
Lyra asked, "Do you know where we are?"
Kaa-thyr turned its gaze toward the towering cliffs behind them. "Not… one place. Not… one time. All… drift."
Lucan blinked. "You mean… this isn't just one world?"
He frowned, trying to make sense of it. "Like... broken versions of places? All mashed together?"
Kaa-thyr gave a pause as if processing the thought. "Yes. Shattered… mirror. You… fall… through."
Then it turned, gesturing with a long finger toward a crystal-covered slope partially hidden behind jagged spires. "Come. Safe. Rest."
Lucan and Lyra exchanged a look. Lyra gave a faint nod.
They followed.
The path wound through jagged stone ridges and sloping crystal formations, finally opening into a cavern hollowed beneath the ridge. Warmth met them there—not just in temperature, but in feeling. A hush settled over the space, as if the chamber itself was holding its breath in quiet anticipation.
Bioluminescent crystals jutted from the ceiling and walls, casting a serene, purple-blue glow that made the air shimmer. Faint pulses moved through them like slow heartbeats, their rhythm syncing with something ancient beneath the ground.
Lucan stepped inside, his breath catching.
"It's beautiful." he murmured.
Lyra looked around, her eyes wide. "It's like… a cathedral made of starlight."
The floor beneath them was unnaturally smooth, like it had been shaped by invisible hands long ago. At its center lay a stone platform, slightly elevated, ringed by a halo of glowing fungi. The tiny caps shifted gently, reacting to their presence, dimming and brightening in an odd, mesmerizing pattern.
Kaa-thyr moved with quiet grace, approaching the center and lowering itself to the stone. It folded its limbs beneath it in a posture of calm. From a seam on its side, almost invisible, it pulled out a circular object—flat, smooth, and faintly translucent.
The alien placed it delicately on the center of the platform.
The moment it touched stone, the object came alive—lines unfurling like veins of light, nodes pulsing into existence, forming an intricate schematic that hovered slightly above the surface. Shapes spun and intersected: fragments of lands, symbols that shifted, orbs orbiting invisible axes. A map, but not of any single world—Lucan could feel that in his gut.
Lucan crouched, eyes fixed on the strange display. "Is this… where we are?"
Kaa-thyr gave no reply at first. Then, its voice rose again, low and deliberate.
"Fractured. Pieces… stitched. Rift… thread."
Lucan's breath hitched. He turned to Lyra, his voice barely above a whisper. "This isn't just one planet… This place… it's made of broken pieces. From different times… maybe even different realities."
Lyra stared at the spinning shapes. "A world built from ruins of other worlds."
Lucan exhaled slowly, awed and unsettled. "We didn't just fall somewhere… we fell through something."
Kaa-thyr stirred slightly, the glowing map casting shifting patterns of light across its obsidian skin. Its eyes flickered with faint white glyphs, pulsing softly like a slow heartbeat.
"You… drift," it said slowly, voice low and deliberate. "Shimmer-thin. Not… meant here."
Lucan swallowed hard. The weight of those words settled deep in his chest, pressing down with an unfamiliar heaviness. The idea that they were fragments—lost sparks—adrift without anchor.
He looked over at Lyra, searching for something to hold onto. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Lyra… what if we're not supposed to be anywhere? Not truly anywhere."
She met his gaze without hesitation, calm and certain. "Then," she said quietly, "if we can't go back to where we came from, we'll make a new place for ourselves—somewhere we belong now."
Lucan felt like the words should terrify him—but he was too exhausted.
"Why help us?" Lyra asked softly.
Kaa-thyr's response was delayed. "Long… watched. Silence hunts… spark. You… not prey. Yet."
"Silence?"
"Old eyes. Deep cold. Eats light."
Lucan sighed. "Didn't get it, but… okay."
A pause hung between them—long and uncertain.
Then, without another word, Kaa-thyr rose silently. The glyphs across its skin dimmed to a faint shimmer as it turned toward the far side of the chamber. It stepped across the crystal-lit platform with eerie grace, its form momentarily outlined in pale bioluminescence before vanishing into a narrow slit between the stones. The passage sealed behind it with a low hum, leaving Lucan and Lyra alone in the soft, glowing quiet.
"I'm tired," Lyra whispered.
Lucan gave a soft laugh. "I passed tired three hours ago."
She sat down on the stone, legs stretched out. Lucan hesitated, then wordlessly moved beside her. A long silence passed before he leaned his head against her thigh.
Lyra froze for a moment.
Lucan murmured, "Is this okay?"
She relaxed. "Yeah. It's okay."
For several moments, neither spoke. Lucan let the quiet wrap around him. Her presence was warm. Familiar. Safe.
"My head's pounding." he muttered.
"Mine too."
"I used to wonder what space would feel like. What it'd smell like. I thought it'd be cold and sterile, like… hospital corridors."
Lyra chuckled. "This place is definitely not sterile. More like an alien forest with an attitude."
Lucan gave a faint smile but didn't respond immediately. His eyes stayed half-closed, fixed on the slow dance of light above them.
"I didn't have parents, you know." he said quietly. "Grew up with my grandfather. He was… rough around the edges. Ex-military type. Always had this cold stare, like the world owed him a fight."
Lyra tilted her head, listening.
"He used to say, 'If you're too tired to move, imagine something chasing you. You'll run just fine.'"
"Was he kind?"
Lucan hesitated, a shadow passing over his face. "In his way. He didn't smile much. Didn't talk unless he had to. But every time I messed up or got sick, he was just… there. Never made me feel like I had to earn it."
Lyra looked down at him, her voice soft. "He sounds like he loved you."
"I think he did. He just didn't know how to say it." His throat tightened slightly. "I keep wondering if he's okay. If he even knows I'm gone."
Silence crept in.
"I didn't say goodbye." Lucan whispered. "One second I was with him, the next I was just… gone."
Lyra brushed her fingers through his hair, gently untangling a silvery strand. "He raised someone strong. He'd want you to survive. To keep going."
Lucan shut his eyes again, her touch grounding him. "I hope he doesn't think I ran away."
She rested her hand against his temple. "He won't. Not if he knows you."
"I miss him." Lucan breathed. "And I hate that I can't do anything for him now."
Lyra leaned closer, her voice a quiet vow. "We'll find a way. Maybe not back—but forward."
Lucan opened his eyes, gaze lifting to hers. "Thanks."
"You're not alone now either."
He smiled faintly. "Yeah. You're here."
"Always."
Before anything more could pass between them, Kaa-thyr stirred. Its head tilted upward, listening to something only it could hear. The crystals pulsed once—then dimmed.
Kaa-thyr's voice rumbled low. "Not safe long. Night… wrong here."
Lucan sat up slowly, the weight of fatigue still thick in his bones.
"Then we leave at dawn?" he asked.
"No dawn. Not here. Time… twists."
Lyra stood. "Then what do we do?"
"Follow… below. Path breathes. But you must… be still inside."
Lucan narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean?"
Kaa-thyr didn't answer. It simply turned and gestured toward a dark tunnel behind the crystal wall—one that hadn't been there before.
The opening shimmered faintly, like a wound in the world.
Lyra reached for Lucan's hand. "Let's not keep it waiting."
Lucan squeezed her fingers gently. "Yeah. Together."
And with that, they stepped toward the path that led into the unknown.
Behind them, the cave sighed—like a memory fading into the dark.
[End of Chapter 7]