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Pamarthe – Brune Family Hangar – Inside Ship – Hours Later
The sound of the blowtorch sputtering, then dying with a soft hiss, echoed through the ship, leaving the hallways in a thick, humming silence. The only sound now was the low, steady pulse of the nav core—alive again, glowing faint blue in the dark.
Lioras lay against the cold metal wall, the back of his head resting comfortably as his eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open. He was truly exhausted. He could feel the ache in every joint, the burns and cuts etched into his skin from sharp metal edges and the heat of the blowtorch biting into his nerves.
His tools were scattered around him—wrenches, wires, a half-empty canister of coolant. The floor was littered with metal shavings and stripped insulation.
He yawned, letting his head tilt back as he tried to stay awake, wondering how long he'd been in the ship. The roof still had holes in it. Through one of them, he could see the faintest hint of morning light bleeding into the sky.
"They don't pay me enough for this," Lioras muttered, voice dry and half-asleep.
He remembered a year ago, at just twelve years old, when a similar loop played in his head—right here, in this same hallway. He chuckled, the sound dry and faint, as the memory surfaced: his father cursing at the nav system like it had personally insulted his mother.
Back then, Lioras thought the ship was magic. And in some ways, he still did.
While everything else in his life felt distant or confused, the ship understood. It held the memories. It held him together.
This ship was a part of him in a way he could never fully explain.
Lioras slowly picked himself up, a wave of dizziness washing over him. He pressed one hand to the wall for balance as he made his way through the ship's narrow halls. He'd planned to walk home—but he was just too tired.
The halls were dim, seeming smaller than his younger self remembered—but the walls were still strong, still holding everything together. Every step echoed like a memory.
He passed the old mess hall, where Halric once broke his foot slipping on a pile of eggs. Lioras shook his head, smiling faintly. He still couldn't believe Halric was the older one.
Then came the dent in the wall—Jace's doing, from that time he threw a wrench during a fight. With him, of course. Lioras chuckled. Some things never changed.
He could never explain it, but Jace always seemed to place his problems on him. Maybe that was his escape. Maybe Lioras was just the easiest target.
He sighed.
This ship had seen everything. The anger. The laughter. The fights. And somehow, it was still standing.
It would still be here long after they were gone. "I promise that," he whispered.
He stopped in front of a doorway and pressed the button on the panel. The doors slid open with a tired hiss, revealing the room inside.
It didn't look warm. In fact, it looked like someone might've been murdered there. Honestly, he wasn't sure he'd even be surprised.
The walls were dry and cracked. The room was stripped of anything resembling comfort. The bed looked like it had been cobbled together from shoelaces, tape, and nails. But at this point, anything would do.
And really—what was one more nail in the coffin of his future?
His steps were slow. Very slow. He reached the bed and gently lowered himself onto the cold, damp mattress, wet from rain leaking through the ship's broken roof. The chill of the room seeped into his bones. The nails dug into his back.
But in the cold, in the ache, in the ruin of it all—he found one small semblance of peace.
The silence.
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