Page 16 of Honor Bound

“And what happened to the Ancients?” Julia asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Calstar sighed, his unfocused eyes drifting toward the horizon. “It is said that the Ancients built gateways to other universes, hoping to share their knowledge and gain new wisdom across dimensions, vowing to return one day to this universe. But they never returned.”

A heavy silence fell over the patio, broken only by the rustle of the wind. Julia felt her pulse quicken, her thoughts spiraling. Gateways to other universes. The idea was staggering—and terrifying—that the story Calstar was telling wasn’t a fairytale but real. She knew because her father had discovered one—and she and the others aboard the Gliese had traveled through one such gateway.

Roan’s voice cut through the quiet, dry and edged with skepticism. “The Ancients built gateways and disappeared,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “It makes for a good story, doesn’t it?”

“They disappeared—until now,” Calstar replied.

“And why is that? Why wait all this time to suddenly return?” Roan asked with a cynical expression.

Calstar shrugged. “Perhaps they found what they were seeking. Or perhaps they would only return when we needed them the most.”

Julia’s heart hammered and her temper rose at Roan’s dismissive tone. But his eyes betrayed a flicker of something deeper—an unease he couldn’t quite mask. Especially when Calstar gave her a brilliant smile, as if he knew something neither of them did.

“Good stories often have some truth in them,” she again reminded him in a calm voice.

Roan’s lips quirked, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “And sometimes, they’re just stories,” he said.

Julia met his gaze, her mind swirling with possibilities. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more than a story—and that somewhere in the mix of myth and history lay answers to questions she hadn’t yet dared to ask.

* * *

The evening settled over the island with a quiet stillness, the air cooling as the last traces of sunlight dipped below the horizon. Julia stood near the edge of the patio, her arms crossed loosely as she watched Roan walk toward his ship. His stride was purposeful but unhurried, his silhouette sharp against the faint glow of the ship’s navigation lights.

She let out a slow breath, her chest tightening with mixed emotions she couldn’t quite untangle. Roan was a puzzle—a man who revealed so little yet commanded so much attention. Her thoughts shifted to the day’s events: Calstar’s stories, the subtle tension in Roan’s manner, and the weight of the unspoken truths hanging between them.

If the Legion arrives before I find the others…The thought trailed off, too heavy to finish.

After shaking herself free of her reverie, Julia turned back to the patio and began clearing the dishes from their meal. The simple task offered a welcome distraction, her hands working in steady, familiar motions. She rinsed the plates in the small basin Calstar had set up, the gentle splashing of water a counterpoint to the faint, ethereal hum of bioluminescent insects fluttering in the garden.

Calstar appeared in the doorway, his expression gentle but weary. “I’ll say goodnight, my dear,” he said, his voice tinged with the quiet resignation of someone who had long made peace with his own limits. “A man my age needs his sleep.”

Julia smiled gently, wiping her hands on a cloth. “Goodnight, Calstar. Rest well.”

He nodded, lingering for a moment as if wanting to say more but choosing instead to retreat into the warmth of the hut. Julia watched him go, her chest aching with a protective tenderness she hadn’t expected. After turning off the lights, she stepped outside, drawn by the cool night air and the garden’s quiet tranquility.

The stars above Plateau were breathtaking. Unfiltered by atmosphere, ambient light, or pollution, they burned with an intensity that made her heart ache. It felt as though the sky was alive, a vast tapestry of light stretched so close she could reach up and touch it. She paused near the edge of the garden, tilting her head back. Slowly, she raised her hand, her fingers brushing against the emptiness, a childlike wonder blooming in her chest.

“What are you doing?”

The deep voice startled her, breaking the stillness. Julia turned sharply to see Roan emerging from the shadows, his features partially illuminated by the starlight. His expression was curious but guarded, as if uncertain whether to smile.

She lowered her hand, feeling both embarrassed and amused. “I was… wondering what it would be like to touch the stars,” she said, her voice soft. “Have you ever felt like they were so close you could almost reach up and touch them?”

Roan’s gaze followed hers to the sky, his sharp features softening in the glow of the celestial light. “Not since I was a boy,” he admitted. “You still think that way?”

Julia smiled faintly. “I try to. My father helped with that. He taught me to look up, even when things felt as though they were falling apart.”

Roan stepped closer, his presence grounding yet strangely magnetic. “Tell me,” he said, his voice low. “What did he teach you?”

Julia hesitated, then gestured to a stone bench nearby. “We lived in a place called Arizona. It’s beautiful—if you like dry, deserts and mountains. It can get very cold at night there. Similar to here, only drier… much, much drier,” she began as they sat down. “I was ten years old, tired and upset. My mother had canceled another visit—too busy, as always. My father, Harry, decided to take me out to study the stars. I thought it was a terrible idea. I was mad at the world and not liking it very much. The last thing I wanted was to be dragged out into the middle of nowhere again and sleep outside in the cold. Harry told me it was just what I needed, I just didn’t know it yet. Once we reached our campsite, I told him I wanted to build a huge fire to warm me.”

“Did he? Build you a fire to warm up?”

Roan studied her face, lifting a hand to brush strands of her hair back when they blocked his view. She gave him a rueful smile and tilted her head back to look up at the stars. She hadn’t missed the look in his eyes, as if he wondered if fathers really did things like that for their children.

She shook her head. “No. He told me the sky was filled with fires, billions of them, each warming a celestial body and giving it life.” She glanced at Roan, her voice softening as she continued. “He bundled me up, brought out two cots, and we lay there, staring at the sky. He told me stories—stories about the constellations and how they got their names.”

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