Tales of flame and void

The morning after the Wall of Flame visit arrived too quietly for Atiya's liking.

The sun had risen over the Yaisha estate in hushed tones, casting amber light across the high glass windows of the hangar. The air felt oddly heavy, like the residue of Yaishna's words still lingered—soft, burning, inevitable.

He adjusted his scarf, still thinking about the flame's whisper. It had seen him. Acknowledged him. And yet…

Beside him, Zelaine yawned without elegance, hair tied up in a lazy twist that still somehow managed to look imperial.

> "I hate early mornings," she muttered, stepping past him.

> "It's almost noon," Atiya said dryly.

> "Exactly."

They approached the docked ship—a Yaisha-class Leviathan Cutter, custom-built for rapid private traversal between realms. Polished obsidian plating covered the exterior, trimmed with filigree of gold-veined fireglass that shimmered when the light struck it just right. It didn't so much sit on the platform as loom—lean, regal, and waiting.

The front bore the Yaisha family crest: a spiral of flame swallowing itself.

As they stepped onto the boarding ramp, soft pulses of light activated beneath their feet—a security measure, and a subtle reminder that only flame-recognized blood could enter unchallenged.

> "Still excessive," Zelaine muttered, brushing her fingers along the rail. "It's just a trip to ANSEP, not an imperial parade."

> "Try telling that to Yaishna," Atiya replied. "I bet the toilet on this thing is gilded."

The entrance slid open with a smooth shhhk, revealing a hallway lined with matte-black walls, faintly embossed with veiled flame motifs. The air inside was cool, but not sterile—it hummed with energy, as if the ship itself were alive and aware of its passengers.

Velvet-seated compartments lined the side walls, enchanted to adjust their temperature and texture based on the seated passenger's Yai alignment.

Atiya dropped into one and stretched, arms behind his head.

> "I still can't get over that wall," he murmured. "It felt like it was staring back."

> "It probably was," Zelaine replied. "That flame's older than most nations. You think it doesn't remember things?"

He didn't answer. The ship began to hum, a low, steady vibration as it prepared for departure.

From the wide viewport, they watched the estate draw back—the domed citadel, the spires of silent flame, the distant silhouette of the Wall.

As the Leviathan Cutter detached and slipped into phase-transit, the world warped, bending light and space around the ship like melted glass.

Their journey to ANSEP had begun.

---

Atiya dropped into one and stretched, arms behind his head. The seat adjusted instantly, sensing his Yai signature — warming at the base, firm at the shoulders, a subtle pulse of energy aligning with his own flow.

Zelaine flopped down across from him with much less grace.

> "I still say this whole trip is unnecessary. ANSEP can wait."

> "Tell that to Yaishna," Atiya replied. "Apparently rest is a sign of weakness."

Zelaine rolled her eyes but said nothing more. Her gaze drifted to the ship's interior — the soft pulse of crimson light along the walls, the faint etchings of Yaisha scripture, half hidden by matte finishes.

The ship lifted silently, barely a tremor underfoot. Outside the glass wall of the hangar, the view shifted — the estate, the Wall of Flame in the far distance, and the endless clouds above it, like molten silk rippling under a false sky.

---

✦

Atiya drifted into sleep. Not all at once, but slowly — his vision blurred, not by fatigue, but by pull.

Then…

He stood before the Wall of Flame again.

But it was different.

The flames weren't red.

They were white.

Soundless.

Empty.

A single silhouette stood inside it — faceless, slender, shifting like a smear of ink. He couldn't move. Couldn't speak.

And yet…

> "You still wear a name not yours,"

the figure whispered.

"How long will you pretend to be what you are not?"

Atiya screamed.

---

He woke with a start.

Zelaine glanced sideways but didn't comment. Her expression said she'd seen that before — and maybe more than once.

> "Nightmare?" she asked, barely hiding her concern beneath sarcasm.

> "No. Dream," he muttered.

> "Same thing."

---

✦

When they docked, the station was already alive with movement.

The ANSEP base loomed over the edge of the docking ring, sharp-angled and multi-tiered like an ancient ziggurat of alloy and crystal. The uppermost levels shimmered under null-gravity shields. Research drones zipped overhead like birds without wings.

They were greeted not by officers, but by a familiar presence.

Crept Artem stood waiting, his arms crossed, leaning against a light column.

He hadn't changed — still in that plain black coat, a blade half-visible beneath, and an expression that could kill small talk.

> "You're late," he said without looking up.

> "We weren't given a schedule," Atiya answered.

> "Still late."

Zelaine gave him a quick glance.

> "You're on leave. Go kiss your wife or something."

Crept's expression twitched.

Just a little.

> "I was ordered to accompany you two to the lab."

> "By whom?" Atiya asked.

> "By your sister, of course. Apparently, you're too important to walk unsupervised."

---

✦

Meanwhile, deep inside ANSEP's primary research vaults…

Cornicius Corell stared at the floating object.

The box hadn't moved. Hadn't pulsed. Hadn't emitted a single measurable signal.

But it was there.

Unscannable. Untouchable by drones. And yet — when he looked at it, he felt as though it was looking back.

> "It has no molecular weight," said one researcher.

> "No temperature. No resistance," said another.

> "No presence," added Cilene, her voice flat. "It's like it doesn't exist. Yet we're wasting resources staring at it."

Cornicius didn't speak. He simply stepped closer, his gloved hand reaching out — not to touch, but to feel. A ripple moved through his Yai circuit, like gravity bending.

> "Commander Corell," Cilene said cautiously. "That thing… it resonates."

> "With what?" he asked.

> "With us."

---

✦

Later that evening…

Atiya parted from Zelaine in the outer wing. She was off to sleep, or to find coffee. Probably both.

His assigned quarters were quiet, untouched.

Except…

The door was open.

He paused.

No sign of forced entry. No alert from the system. Yet it was open. Light spilled inside like a whisper.

He entered.

> "If this is a prank, I swear I'm feeding you to Yaishna's pet serpent—"

But then he saw it.

Hovering in the center of the room was a creature.

Mechanical. Angelic. A spherical mass of silvery plates arranged like wings folded around a single central eye. Its form shimmered — faintly reflective, almost ghostlike.

It turned. The eye locked onto him.

It did not attack.

It simply watched.

> "Who… what—"

Atiya didn't wait. Threads erupted from his palms, stringing through the air like burning wire. He lashed forward.

The creature howled — not in sound, but in pressure — and shot backward.

It didn't break the wall.

Didn't shatter the window.

It vanished.

No space distortion. No Yai residue.

Gone.

Atiya stood there, heart pounding, hands shaking.

> "What… the hell was that?"

---

Somewhere deep within the lower recesses of ANSEP's forgotten laboratories — far beyond the monitored sectors, past the walls where even authorized clearance ended — the air shimmered.

Light bent. Space pulsed.

A soft, clicking hum echoed through the chamber, followed by a sudden distortion — as if reality twisted itself inside out for a moment.

And then, with no grand display or warning, the orb appeared.

The same mechanical sphere — wings folded in tight, its single central eye blinking like a camera shutter. It hovered above a stone-carved pedestal surrounded by glowing runes, quiet and alone in the cold dark.

> "You were seen," came a voice.

Not loud. Not angry. Just... amused. Genderless, unplaceable. Ancient and clean, like the edges of a well-honed blade.

The orb rotated slightly in midair, its metal wings flicking open for a brief second like a reflex.

> "He attacked first," it responded — its voice was neither robotic nor human, but something liminal. Echoing as though spoken from inside a cathedral made of bone.

> "And the Book?" the voice asked again.

A pause.

> "I do not have the Book of Voyages."

The air grew colder, as though something vast had just decided to listen.

> "Then," the voice said, growing distant, "find the one who does."

The orb's single eye narrowed, and in the dark, a flicker of gold passed over its iris.

Then silence returned — deeper than before.