Page 9 of Honor Bound

As the ship’s engines roared to life, Roan gripped the controls, his jaw tightening. He was heading toward answers—and perhaps a reckoning. The galaxy was shifting, the threads of the past tangling with the present in ways he couldn’t yet decipher.

And as the ruined city of Jeslean disappeared beneath him, one question burned in his mind: If the Ancients have returned, what role was he destined to play in their awakening?

* * *

Three days after departing Jeslean, Roan broke through the treacherous outer rings encircling Plateau, the planet at the galaxy’s edge where his mother’s people had built their sanctuary. His starfighter’s shields flared, the shimmering energy field deflecting waves of magnetic interference and particulate debris that swirled through the upper atmosphere. The ship shuddered under the strain, but Roan’s hands remained steady on the controls, his concentration fixed on the navigation panel.

Beyond the cockpit, Plateau emerged like a vision torn from myth. Massive floating boulders hung suspended in the thin, mist-laden air, their jagged surfaces veiled by ribbons of vapor. A quick glance at the scanner confirmed what Roan already knew—many of these formations were illusions, clusters of dust particles held together by the planet’s unique gravitational anomalies. Although, many others were real and solid enough to shred his ship if he miscalculated his trajectory.

He adjusted course, the sleek ship slicing through the mist as he threaded his way toward the first of Plateau’s floating islands. These were no illusions. Each was a marvel of natural engineering, rising from the ocean below on invisible currents, their porous rock buoyed by gas pockets formed deep within volcanic fissures. Towering waterfalls tumbled from their edges, the water dissipating into sparkling clouds of mist before it reached the planet’s surface.

Roan’s jaw tightened as the familiar landscape filled the viewport. He had visited this world in secret during his youth, slipping away from his father’s control to breathe in the culture and freedom of his mother’s people. Now it had been years since his last visit, and the sight of it stirred something raw and unsteady in his chest—a mixture of longing and dread.

He angled the ship toward a large island, its silhouette dominated by a towering black cathedral carved directly into the volcanic rock. Soft, fluffy clouds parted as he descended, their delicate wisps clinging to the ship’s hull before disintegrating into vapor. The mist from a nearby waterfall swept over the starfighter, briefly obscuring his view before the island reemerged, vibrant and unyielding.

The cathedral loomed ahead, its polished walls gleaming like obsidian in the waning sunlight. Roan’s lips pressed into a grim line as he made a low pass over the island. He didn’t need to announce his presence; his maternal grandmother, the matriarch who ruled Plateau, would already know he was here.

Circling once more, Roan selected an adjacent island tethered to the cathedral’s by a series of hanging bridges. The ship touched down on a gravel clearing, its engines whining softly as they powered down. Roan exhaled and unstrapped himself, the tension in his shoulders refusing to ease.

Outside, the air was heavy with humidity and faintly sweet, carrying the scent of blooming flora and the earthy tang of wet rock. A gathering of Plateauan locals had already formed, their curiosity evident in their wide eyes and hesitant whispers. Before Roan could step down the platform, a group of leather-clad security sentinels emerged, dispersing the crowd with efficient but quiet authority.

He descended the ramp with measured steps, his boots crunching against the gravel. The sentinels saluted him as he passed, their postures rigid, their eyes betraying a mix of deference and unease.

Word of the Legion’s destruction must have reached the planet,he grimly thought.

Roan’s own unease only deepened as he approached the hanging bridge that connected to the cathedral island. The familiar path, lined with carvings and floral arrangements, seemed unchanged, but its serenity was more a fragile veneer over the tension that hummed beneath the surface.

Residents called out friendly greetings as he walked, their voices warm but subdued. He bowed his head in acknowledgment, his heart twisting at their reception. These people—his people—knew nothing of the violence that tainted his life. The Plateauans lived in a culture of education and nurturing, a sharp contrast to the bloody machinations of the Legion. The weight of that contrast settled heavily on him, each step along the bridge driving it deeper.

At the foot of the cathedral’s steps, Roan paused, his gaze lifting to study the new statues that adorned the path. One, in particular, caught his attention: a depiction of Jemar de Rola, a former Knight of the Gallant, standing with a hand resting on the shoulder of his young son. The likenesses were striking, almost haunting, and Roan felt a flicker of unease. The deaths of Jemar and his son had not been accidents—they had been warnings. Warnings the Legion had issued with ruthless precision.

His fists clenched at his sides as he climbed the steps. He could not pretend innocence. The blood of countless innocents stained his hands, the result of a system he had been powerless to defy. Now he had no time to dwell on his culpability. This visit was not about absolution—it was about survival.

The cathedral’s black doors stood imposing and silent, guarded by two sentinels who pressed a lever to admit him. As the heavy doors creaked open, a flood of light spilled into the corridor, illuminating the polished floors and intricately carved walls within.

Inside, mirrors strategically positioned throughout the cathedral reflected and amplified the sunlight streaming through narrow windows, bathing the nave in an almost ethereal glow. Roan’s boots echoed on the smooth stone as he walked the length of the wide hall, his focus briefly lingering on the towering columns that framed his path.

At the far end, a spiral staircase wound upward, its carvings depicting celestial maps and ancient legends. Roan ascended quickly, his tension mounting with each step. At the top, he was greeted by a set of double doors, their surfaces etched with a depiction of stars being born from cosmic dust.

His grandmother stood waiting, her figure framed by the open balcony. The expanse of ocean stretched out beyond her, its surface glittering like shattered glass under the soft light.

“Grandmother,” Roan said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him.

Roanna turned, her expression serene, though her eyes held a sharp curiosity. “Roan,” she greeted him, a gentle smile gracing her lips. “It has been too long since you last visited.”

Her words carried a subtle reprimand, but Roan did not step forward to receive her outstretched hands. Instead, he kept his distance, his shield of composure cracking as he exhaled heavily. Roanna studied him before she turned and walked out onto the balcony. He silently followed her.

“Yes. It has been too long. How is Grandfather?” he inquired, stepping forward to stand next to her.

“Calstar is tending his plants and talking to the wind. He would enjoy it if you would ask him yourself, but that is not why you have come,” she responded.

“I don’t have much time,” he confessed.

Guilt ate at him when she turned away with a sad smile to stare back out at the ocean. He touched her arm. She tilted her head, but didn’t look at him.

“I’m looking for something that came from a distant world,” he quietly murmured.

“Why do you seek it, Roan?” she asked.

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