Page 10 of Honor Bound

Roan’s breath hitched at her calm yet firm reply. “The capsule is here, isn’t it? Who was inside it?”

A quiet tension settled between them, the stillness of the moment underscored by the soft rustle of wind sweeping through the open balcony.

“I don’t want to take it from you,” he said carefully, his voice low. “But the information it holds could mean the difference between survival and annihilation. You’ve seen what Andri and my father are capable of. They won’t stop searching for it—and if they find it here, they’ll bring their destruction with them.”

Roanna turned to face him, her eyes narrowing slightly. The serenity in her expression did not falter, but there was an edge to her gaze now, sharp as the jagged cliffs of Plateau’s islands.

“And what of you, Roan?” she asked, her voice as steady as a mountain. “What will you do with this knowledge? Will you wield it as a weapon, as they would? Or will you bury it, hiding it away until it becomes a forgotten relic?”

Her words struck like a blow, and Roan flinched inwardly, though his expression remained composed. He stepped closer to the balcony’s edge, his hands gripping the railing as he stared out at the endless expanse of ocean below.

“I don’t know,” he admitted after a moment, his voice barely audible. “But I can’t ignore it. The pods are more than relics—they’re proof of something greater. Something that terrifies them.”

“And it terrifies you as well,” Roanna said, stepping beside him.

He glanced at her, startled by her perceptiveness. “I fear what it means for the galaxy,” he admitted. “For all of us. If the myth of the Ancients’ return is true…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I need to understand why. And I need to understand what it means… for me.”

Roanna studied him in silence, her expression softening slightly. “You carry the weight of many lives, Roan,” she said. “But the burden of understanding this is not yours alone to bear.”

Roan turned to her fully, the vulnerability in his eyes tempered by determination. “I’m not asking for it to be mine alone. I’m asking for your help.”

Her expression shifted, a mixture of sadness and something he couldn’t quite name. “The capsule is here, Roan,” she said. “But its contents are not meant for the Legion, nor for you. It belongs to the one who came in it.”

“Who?” Roan pressed, his voice sharpening despite himself.

Roanna casually looked toward the horizon, her tone thoughtful yet distant. “She is unlike any we have seen before,” she said. “And she has not yet chosen her path.”

“She?” The single word hung in the air, heavy with implications.

Roanna turned back to him, her expression firm. “You will meet her soon enough,” she said. “But I warn you, Roan—do not underestimate the power of what you seek. It will not bend to your will, nor to the will of the Legion.”

Roan’s chest tightened, frustration bubbling beneath his calm exterior. “You’ve already made your decision,” he said quietly, a bitter edge creeping into his tone.

“I have,” Roanna confirmed. “But you have choices left to make. I pray you choose wisely.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken tension. Roan pushed back from the railing, his hands clenched into fists. “I won’t let them destroy this world,” he said finally, his voice resolute. “Or her.”

Without another word, he turned and strode back toward the staircase, his steps heavy with purpose. Roanna watched him go, her expression unreadable as the wind carried her final words, spoken so softly he wondered if he had imagined them.

“And what of yourself, my grandson? Will you destroy, or will you be saved?”

* * *

Roan descended the spiral staircase with quick, purposeful strides, the intricate carvings along the walls a blur in his periphery. A sense of urgency coursed through him, tightening his chest and quickening his breath. His grandmother’s words echoed in his mind, their meaning now clear. The garden. She hadn’t named it outright, but she had guided him with the subtlety of a Plateauan elder.

Breaking into a jog as he exited the cathedral, Roan crossed the hanging bridge, its wooden planks swaying slightly beneath his boots. The air was crisp and carried the faint, sweet scent of blooming pitavia vines. Overhead, a flock of erebidae moths darted through the sunlight, their translucent wings catching the light like shards of stained glass.

He reached his ship, his thoughts already ahead of him as he climbed into the cockpit. There were only three places his grandfather might be, and Roan’s instincts pointed him to the most remote: the floating islands near the ice shelf. It was an isolated location, the kind of place no one would think to search—except someone who knew Calstar.

The journey took him over a dozen islands, each one a marvel in its own right. Towering cliffs covered in vivid green moss jutted from the misty expanse below. Rivers twisted like silver threads across the surfaces, spilling into waterfalls that dissolved into vapor before reaching the ocean. Some islands were connected by delicate natural bridges, their rocky arches framed by flowering vines that swayed in the breeze. Others floated alone, serene and untouched, their jagged bases hanging like suspended roots.

At last, Roan spotted the small hut and the sizeable garden nestled on one of the higher islands. The island floated farther above the ocean than most, its porous rock glinting faintly in the pale sunlight. A spiral of smoke rose from the hut’s chimney, twisting into the sky like a silent beacon.

He circled the island once, scanning for a place to land. As he maneuvered his ship into position, his lips quirked into a faint, wry smile. His grandfather hadn’t made this easy, as usual. The small island’s uneven surface offered little room for a starfighter, but Roan managed to find a narrow patch of solid ground near the edge of the garden.

Exiting the ship, he paused at the base of the platform, taking in his surroundings. The air was colder here, carrying a faint briny tang from the distant ice shelf. The wind tugged at his cloak, ruffling the hem against his boots as he stood still, his eyes narrowing at the thin plume of smoke rising from the hut.

He knew Calstar wouldn’t be inside. His grandfather had always preferred the outdoors, finding solace in the sun’s warmth and the whisper of the wind.

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