Chapter Text
Ribbons of gas and dust weaved through the cosmos in an elegant dance, illuminated by spotlights of stars. The Qayas’homa Nebula was a rainbow cloud drifting through emptiness. Sharp edges clawed out into the blackness; many said they looked like the mountains of old. To so many in the past, this would’ve been the work of the gods. Their incomprehensible, beautiful art hung in the vastness of space. This would be the sign of their existence, of their love for their creations and the reality they crafted for their children.
But to her eyes, all she saw was mindless, uncaring destruction.
That was what they all saw.
“Staring at Qayas’homa again?” a voice said behind her.
Rhoa only sighed in response as the nebula stared back through the window. She rested her forehead against the flawless glass. The sight of the nebula became unbearable yet oddly alluring, like a moth to a flame. She closed her eyes as the air shifted next to her. Lykan hummed a note as he draped his arm over Rhoa’s shoulder.
“Who knows how long it’s been since the star died,” Lykan murmured, rubbing circles into Rhoa’s gray skin. “This nebula has been around since the Galactic Collective found it.”
“Nobody could help them,” Rhoa said. “They were left to die.”
Lykan paused for a moment as she filled in the next part of his speech for him. “If anyone was here, I’m sure they faced their end with dignity, just as ours did.”
“Somebody should’ve helped them,” she mumbled. The tone was defiant, sad, and defeated all at once. The nebula said nothing.
Lykan hummed a reply as he rested his head over hers. This argument, if it could be called that, happened many times at each passing of a nebula or a white dwarf. Rhoa would stand at the window, weep, and Lykan would come to comfort her. Finally, she opened her eyes, glazed with tears. Tears for a civilization that possibly never existed, that she never met, that died at some unknown date.
At this point, they both knew nothing could cushion such a tragedy so close to the heart, so Lykan simply brought his other arm to bring her into a total embrace. Rhoa sobbed silently, her tears staining his hard armor.
How do you mourn a place that was never witnessed?
How do you mourn a home you never lived in?
“Should we visit Grandmother?” Lykan said as the idea hit him. “I know she always cheers you up, better than I do.”
Rhoa’s weeping didn’t stop suddenly. She hiccuped and gasped quietly, slowly processing the words through the sudden bout of grief. There was only one person that held such a title. Not only Rhoa’s own grandmother, but the grandmother of the whole vanguard. Her stories, no matter how they ended, always brought the spirits up. She knew how to inspire in the face of despair, in more ways than one.
Rhoa simply nodded, and Lykan smiled. He moved his hand to grasp her and gave a soft squeeze as he stepped to lead her to the room everyone knew.
Grandmother was an enigmatic woman. She had a real name, but it had been long since anyone used it. Anyone who was her friend, privy to say that name, was long gone. Grandmother was the closest thing to ancient in the entire space fleet. She reached way past the expected lifespan of their race at an astonishing 249 years, nearly half a century more than most. Though she could barely walk without aid, her old revolutionary spirit never faded, like a raging flame that refused to give out. That flame was warm and bright, no matter the darkness around her. Grandmother was a true inspiration.
She was the last one to witness home.
“Hello, Grandmother,” Rhoa said as the doors slid open at her approach. Tear stains rippled down her scaly skin like dried riverbeds, but she couldn’t care less. Rhoa knew Grandmother accepted all who sought her presence.
Grandmother was standing in front of the mirror, dressed in armor of the days of her youth. Rhoa never truly got used to it. Such armor seemed ill-fitted on her weakened body, heavy and cumbersome, yet Grandmother wore it with pride. The helmeted face turned to Rhoa, and the air of a smile came with it. She silently held her arms out, wordlessly giving the invitation. Rhoa laughed softly as she stepped over and gently wrapped her arms around the old lady. In response, Grandmother squeezed as tightly as she could, still impressive at her age.
Dropping her arms, Grandmother took a moment to stare at Rhoa, eyes hidden away in the mask of her old guard. In lieu of words, she tilted her head, asking the question on her mind.
“Lykan and I came here to visit you,” Rhoa explained. “He…I…we hoped you could…”
“Could you tell us the stories of home again?” Lykan continued for her as Rhoa choked up. “They’re always an inspiration.”
Grandmother stood for a moment. Her hands rose up, and slowly and awkwardly she formed the gesture, which one?
Rhoa’s mouth opened to speak, but Lykan continued, “tell us how the Galactic Collective saved us from the Sahoma Nebula.”
This was simultaneously Rhoa’s favorite and least favorite. But it served its purposes. Grandmother held still for a moment, but nodded. With slow, creaking steps, she sat down on her bed with the couple right beside her. With the same slow gestures of her hand, she told that very story.
Long ago, when Grandmother was barely an adult, a revolution was raging in the homeworld. The old kingdoms were rife with corruption, oppression, and war. The peasantry was made to fight and die for the royalty’s petty squabbles without any say of their own. Daughters were sold to nobility as wives to curry favor and finance, sons were sent to war the moment they became an adult. Anyone who tried to say no to this backwards way of life was deemed a heretic, and they and their children were dealt cruel, horrible punishments.
Grandmother’s hands trembled at this part, muddling the words her gestures were communicating. No matter how many times she told this story, the quivering always came. Rhoa took her hands for a moment. The armor was cold and strong, withstanding the two centuries of time in the cosmos. Grandmother inhaled raspily as the helmet amplified the coarse breathing, but soon she calmed and her hands stilled. Rhoa gave her a warm smile. Grandmother returned to the tale.
That was when the revolution came, named the Revolt of Dawn. The two greatest figures of their history emerged to liberate the people. Marshal Vosa Kurhom, clad in steel armor, led her revolutionaries through the streets to capture the capital. Risan Lodhoma, her second in command, was right behind her like he had always been. Grandmother was with them as well, weaving through the dark to take out the biggest threats to the Revolt. Anyone who had the power and mind to stop them was silenced by her blade.
It was truly a glorious time. Even in Grandmother’s silent language, Lykan and Rhoa could feel the pride swelling in her heart. Kurhom was still an influential figure, despite passing away long ago. Armies rallied around her as she spread the Revolt to every corner of the old warring kingdoms, eliminating the bloodlines and replacing them with her republic. Her iron armor was still worn by their current leaders in the interstellar age, a testament to her never-ending vision of liberation and equality.
Long had the peasantry been crushed under the heel of the higher classes and their unending bloodlust. Kurhom and her comrades had finally united the land for the first time in millennia, and freed them from the cruel injustices of the past.
She was the reason they were saved in the first place.
Alas, the sun of the mystical homeworld shone down innocently on the streets smothered in blue blood, both peasant and royal from the intense struggle. But that never spoils the mood. All across the newly united republic were celebrations of freedom, freedom from war and death. That day, the sun set, whispering goodnight in the final rays of light the liberated nation would ever see.
For the next day, Vosa and her closest comrades, along with a solid number of the population, woke up in a strange environment. It was unlike anything anyone had seen before. How to describe it? Grandmother’s hands waved out. It was incomprehensible to me, and it’s the only home you know.
“Sterile,” Rhoa said for her.
“Alien,” Lykan added, unable to hold back his laugh.
New, Grandmother decided.
The story resumed. Initially, they were alone. Kurhom and Lodhoma, while confused themselves, did their best to calm their people in the new confinements of what looked to be a steel room, windowless, with a strange feeling that echoed the weight of their homeworld. Their own bodies felt different, lighter. Children had fun jumping higher than they were used to, while their parents desperately tried to keep them in their arms.
“Citizens,” Marshal Kurhom called. Despite the fact that Grandmother was silent, Rhoa could hear the historical woman’s voice clearly. All that time watching her recorded speeches helped in something. “Please, do not fear, we must unite as we did just now and assess this new threat.”
Much to my chagrin, I could barely help, Grandmother gave an audible sigh. Even back then very few people knew the silent language. I could only stand by and keep people in line as I did before.
“You kept them safe,” Rhoa and Lykan said simultaneously.
I suppose I did, Grandmother laughed with all of her heart. It threw her into a coughing fit, a nasty one, but she recovered and kept going.
Just as Kurhom soothed her people’s nerves, a door…opened, not like any door Grandmother knew. It slid and disappeared with the strangest sounds, like machinery but different. And from it, came equally different people.
Rhoa and Lykan knew these “different” people, and they weren’t so different. They, with the rest of their generation, grew up with these people. “Aliens” was not a term to be used in the Galactic Collective. They were all people, just different.
But what a shock Grandmother and her people felt at the sight of these people, and that was just their looks at first glance. They seemed to show none of their body, as it was encased head to toe in armor. Plated steel in a rainbow of colors, the helmets were entirely opaque with black visors staring back. Except for one, who had two eyes staring out through the dark, and their mouth as well. They greeted Kurhom and her kind with bared teeth, what was once a cultural gesture of aggression. The strange folk seemed to recognize their faux pas, and closed their mouths.
The second shock was the ability to understand each other.
“Hello,” the strange beings’ leader said in a language known to Grandmother and her people as Tahalos’hi, named Common in the Galactic Collective. “We’re glad our first meeting didn’t start with immediate bloodshed!”
They laughed. Kurhom narrowed her eyes, “why do you speak Tahalos’hi?”
The stranger paused. “Oh, Common can be found in all planets. It’s quite strange when you think about it. There could’ve been someone before us…”
This leader, long dead like Kurhom, continued on and on about this strange language they both knew. It wore her patience thin.
“Enough!” Kurhom interrupted, loud enough to make the strange, short leader jump. Kurhom walked up to him, using her height to her advantage. “Explain to me now, alien, are you the one who took us here?”
The leader nodded, not at all fazed by Kurhom’s intimidation. She narrowed her eyes. Grandmother had stepped up to stand beside her, so did Lodhoma. Still, the leader stayed stoic, though he did look a little worried…if Grandmother understood these different facial expressions right.
“Then why have you taken us here?” Kurhom asked again, staying calm herself. She could now see how strange this leader’s armor was. It seemed far beyond her understanding. What could they be dealing with?
“Because you and your kind proved yourselves worthy,” the leader said, habitually baring his teeth again. He caught himself, fixed it, and continued. “We saw the whole revolution you did! No one else on your planet demonstrated such a thing. It only seemed right to save you all, we do need more for our cause.”
Save. That word froze their hearts. Rhoa felt it too. Lykan looked to her, sympathy filling his eyes.
“...Save?” Kurhom echoed. She had caught it too. “What do you mean by save?”
The leader paused, chewing his lip. Then, he sighed. Suddenly, clicks and shifts filled the air as the walls began to move, and just like that there were windows. Where opaque white walls stood was transparent glass that felt much too smooth to be the glass they knew. But from there, they saw something beautiful but terrifying. Something Rhoa saw every day.
The grand tapestry of the galaxy stood before them. Stars, more than they could count, filled their vision. Empty black made the void which only allowed the infinite stars to shine even brighter. Kurhom and her people were shocked beyond words. Even a confused and scared populace could see the true magnificence that is the interstellar gallery.
However, this admiration was cut short. The strange leader gestured to Kurhom to follow, to one of the window walls. With Grandmother and Lodhoma right behind her, they stared in even more awe as the leader tapped the glass, summoning magical circles and symbols that he navigated with alarming speed.
One final tap and the window started to shift. Instead of the wide expanse of space, the colors morphed and swam to form a different image. It showed a bright yellow star, circled by 3 planets. A red one was closest, a yellow one the farthest, but in the middle was a planet colored blue and green that was familiar. Too familiar.
“Mrehaia,” Rhoa whispered.
Mrehaia, Grandmother repeated. In the dim light of the dusty room, Rhoa could see a tear roll down Grandmother’s neck from her masking helmet. Mrehaia was a beautiful place. I wish I could show you her splendor. Both of you. Bright blue skies like our blood, fresh air blown by cooling gales. Plants bore the sweetest fruit and the most gorgeous flowers. The desert dunes stood tall against the blazing sun. Oh the sun…how I miss her. How she greeted us every day and said goodnight every evening. She gave us color, heat, light, life, everything. I wish I could say thank you. Before it was too late.
Rhoa closed her eyes. How could she imagine such a place, so different from the starships she grew up on? The recycled oxygen, manufactured food, nothing but the endless cosmos and black voids, was all she could picture. Paintings did exist, made by artists Grandmother shared the old planet with. Rhoa could stare at them for hours. Numerous songs were dedicated to the glory of Mrehaia, and she knew them by heart.
Nothing could stop the inevitable. Time marched on to the great demise.
The strange leader stood silent as he let his new guests stare at the screen, marveling at seeing their home at such a new angle.
“Return us to our home,” Kurhom demanded. “I refuse to stay here for a simple congratulatory.”
“It is more than that,” the leader said. His tone was different. Melancholic, pitiful.
A bright light filled the window screen, blinding many of them. They all shielded their eyes from the onslaught while the leader held still, simply closing his own eyes. His head was bent down, awaiting the grief.
Soon, the light diminished, and the true horror was revealed. A grand explosion, bigger and brighter than any bomb crafted on Mrehaia, swallowed the planetary system. Within seconds the circling worlds were incinerated, burning away into ash by incomprehensible heat. What was once their home, instantly recognizable, was engulfed in cosmic hellfire. Every castle, every temple, every statue, every river, every plant, every animal was destroyed. And it was all on display for all to witness
Billions of years of evolution, of history, all strife and joy, gone forever.
What emotion felt at this time was so strong it turned them numb, like a lightbulb bursting at overwhelming power. All Grandmother could really recall were the tears. Silent waterfalls fell down their faces as all-consuming destruction played in front of them.
What many could first feel was denial and anger. Kurhom herself refused to believe it, accusing the leader of trying to fool her. It nearly broke out into a bona-fide battle, but as he showed the people the science they could understand, it all became clear.
Their star, our sun as Grandmother emphasized, had died, gone supernova as the leader called it. Had he left the people on that planet, they would’ve been burned away in an instance with it. There wouldn’t be anything left of their memory.
They were saved.
All they had now was grief.
Grandmother dropped her hands, looking down as she sniffled. More tears had streamed down her neck than they realized. Rhoa too was crying, and so was Lykan. For a moment, they both embraced Grandmother, a quiet hug, relishing in that grief that carried over so many generations. A grief Grandmother knew firsthand.
After a while, Rhoa felt Grandmother squeeze her hand. She opened her eyes to see her helmeted face staring right back.
Promise me, she signed.
“Promise what?” Rhoa sobbed.
Promise me that you will find us a new home, Grandmother pleaded. That our people will know blue skies and fresh air again. That you and your children can witness sunrise and sunset, feel the true warmth of a loving star, and taste food grown from rich soil. These starships cannot be our home forever.
Rhoa blinked, trying to clear her watery vision. Why her? Why now? Grandmother told this story a million times over her extraordinary lifespan, yet she never made this wish. Yet still, her stare burned into Rhoa’s mind. That command echoed in her mind, growing louder and louder.
“...I promise, Grandmother,” Rhoa murmured, leaning her forehead onto hers. The grasp on her hand softened, and Grandmother gave a warm, comforting hum.
Another coughing fit racked the old lady’s figure, more intense than before. Lykan grabbed her shoulders to steady her while Rhoa ran for a glass of water. Recycled water taken from space clouds, she thought bitterly. What she would give so Grandmother could taste water from Mrehaia again. What did that taste like? She asked that question many times, the same answer was given many times, but it was still amazing to hear.
Grandmother drank the glass down in a second, gasping as artificial air rushed her lungs. One more cough escaped her, and the old room fell silent again. Lykan and Rhoa stood still as Grandmother steadied herself.
I need to sleep, she finally said.
“Sleep as much as you want,” Rhoa nodded. Lykan took her hand again, smiling without teeth. “We’ll see you when we wake up.”
Good night, Grandmother gestured. One she always used, even as terms of night, day, morning, and evening grew obsolete.
“...I’ll see you in the morning?” Rhoa tried, voice shaking.
When morning truly comes, Grandmother replied.
With that, the couple left the room. At the following waking of the starships, Grandmother was gone. She had passed in her sleep. Her last sunrise was 188 years ago.
30 years came and went, and many things changed. Rhoa had fought her way to the top of the Galactic Collective’s government, as high as she could, becoming the representative of her people. Lykan stayed by her side the whole time. Though she donned Vosa Kurhom’s armor, carrying that legacy, her heart stayed with the bright white set her grandmother died in. The promise she made still rang.
Find a new home, see blue skies, and witness the sunrise again.
Rhoa stared through that very same window she did decades ago. However, it did not show the cloud of death and destruction she once weeped over. It was something much different. She saw a bright yellow star, young and strong. Unlike Mrehaia’s old system, there were so many planets circling the star. Huge ones made out of brown and blue gas drifted at the outer edges, but inside were the small and rocky ones. Rhoa’s eyes fixated on one in particular though. It was deep blue, striped with green and small dots of white. Specks of light dotted its dark half.
She found a new home, but one challenge remained.
I promised, Grandmother.