That night, like every night after an attempt, I dreamed of the Engine. It hung suspended in perfect darkness, a silvery, raw cut crystal that rotated slowly, containing what looked like a universe of stars within its translucent surface. It called to me. So close, yet unreachable.
I woke up gasping, sheets tangled around my legs, the echo of whispers still ringing in my ears. These whispers had become familiar companions over the weeks, the voices of those lost to the void. At first, they had terrified me—these fragments of consciousness drifting eternally through darkness. Now I understood them better. They weren't malevolent, just lost. Trapped. I pitied them.
"Another dream?" Kora asked from her bunk, her voice thick with sleep.
"Always the same one," I replied, pushing my sweat-dampened hair from my face. "The Engine, spinning in darkness."
"Do you think it means something? That you keep seeing it so clearly?"
"I don't know. Maybe." I swung my legs over the side of the bunk, wincing as my bare feet touched the cold floor. "But it doesn't matter if I can't actually reach it."
Morning came too quickly. I dragged myself to the galley, where Tor had already set up our daily game of Knuckler. The intricate patterns of colored marbles had become a welcome distraction over the past weeks.
"Ready to lose again?" he asked with open amusement.
"In your dreams," I laughed, though we both knew he'd win. He always did. Still, I was improving. Yesterday I'd managed to capture three of his marbles before he decimated my defenses.
The game stretched through breakfast, with Zoya and Knives offering commentary and terrible advice from the sidelines. I focused entirely on the game, grateful for anything that kept my mind off the First Dark and its whispers.
Later, I helped Vic in his workshop, carefully copying his diagrams of the communication device he was refining. The delicate work required complete concentration, another blessed reprieve from my thoughts.
"Your precision has improved," he noted as he examined my drawings.
"I had a good teacher," I replied, managing a small smile.
Midday brought my now-regular self-defense training with Knives on the main deck. Apparently I was a 'sitting duck' without someone to shield me, and that needed to change. The weight of the blade felt awkward in my hands as I attempted to follow her precise instructions.
"You're still holding it like it's going to bite you," she sighed, adjusting my grip for the thousandth time. "It's an extension of your arm, not a venomous snake."
"Could have fooled me," I muttered, narrowly avoiding slicing off my own foot as I attempted a basic parry.
Kora sat cross-legged nearby, not even trying to hide her laughter. "You look like Click when he's gotten into the wine barrels."
"Thank you for that helpful observation," I said dryly. "Are you just going to sit there and mock me, or are you going to join in?"
"Mocking is much more entertaining," she replied, but stood anyway, accepting the practice sword Knives offered her.
We trained until our arms ached and sweat plastered our hair to our foreheads, despite the realm's perpetual chill. I caught sight of Jask watching from the shadows of the mast, his eyes fixed on Kora with such naked longing that I almost felt a twinge of sympathy. Almost. He had made his choices, just as Cypher had.
As we finished training, Cypher emerged from below deck. Our eyes met briefly before I turned away, focusing too intently on cleaning my practice blade. I'd spoken perhaps twenty sentences to him in the past month, all of them curt and necessary, about the attempts to reach the First Dark, about ship operations, nothing more.
Yet I felt his gaze on me constantly. He was increasingly more brooding. Angry, sometimes. Mostly just... sad and withdrawn, locked in his quarters reading through the codex.
Too bad. My heart still ached when I thought about what might have been between us, but sorry couldn't mend what he'd broken. Trust, once shattered, couldn't be glued back together with pretty words or longing glances.
That evening, as had become our routine, Zoya and I shared tea in a quiet corner of the deck, watching the strange stars of this dead realm emerge one by one.
"You know," she said after a comfortable silence, "for someone who's failing repeatedly at a crucial mission, you seem... better."
I raised an eyebrow. "Better than what?"
"Than before. When you first found out what Cypher did." She blew across her steaming mug. "You're not as brittle now."
I considered this. "I suppose I've found my footing. Made peace with what I can and can't control."
"And with the whispers?" she asked carefully. She was the only one I'd fully confided in about the voices from the void.
"They're just... there." I shrugged, unsure how to explain. "Like background noise. Sometimes I think they're trying to tell me something important, but it's like hearing a conversation underwater."
