Page 44 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol. 1
I pull on some comfortable pants and slip into my running shoes.
“Thanks, Wingo,” I say. “I’m heading out for a run. Stay with Ileana, okay? She’s still adjusting to the place.”
“I’ll take care of your beauty!”he replies with a little mental grin.
As I start my jog along the inner perimeter of the dome, I breathe in deeply, letting the fresh air fill my lungs. Each breath feels like it’s scrubbing away the stress clinging to my mind.
The soft breeze from the generators is a constant, comforting presence. As I run, I notice the subtle changes along the border since my last loop—some plants are still taking their time, while others have exploded with growth. Life here moves at its own pace.
I love the feeling of my body in motion, every muscle working in sync. On the SIL, we’ve got a pull-up bar mounted to the ceiling for static workouts—it hits most muscle groups—but nothing compares to running outside.
I slow down as I reach the edge of the small lake. I wonder what Ileana would say if she knew my home planet, Asgarne, is an island. That I could swim before I could walk. For nearly five years, I haven’t been able to go anywhere without that tight knot of anxiety in my chest.
But now, I’m finding my rhythm again. I focus on the sensations: sweat trickling down my temples, the steady thump of my heart, the rhythmic beat of my feet on the ground, my long hair swaying behind me. The rustling leaves and grasses soothe me.
By the time I circle back to my starting point, the sun is rising over MyFaS. I feel lighter. Running is the best way I know to clear my head after a nightmare. That moment with Ileana by the lake probably triggered this latest one. Thankfully, we’re on MyFaS. But I’m not always here when the dreams come.
I lean forward, hands on my knees, catching my breath.
I inhale deeply, taking in the crisp air of our waking bubble of life.
It’s a welcome change from the stress and guilt that usually follow me out of those dark places.
When I get back to the complex, I find Ileana and Wingo already up, sharing some fruit.“It’s a beautiful day,”echoes through the room, brushing away the last shadows of my nightmare.
“Hey,” I say, running a hand through my damp hair.
She doesn’t respond right away. I’m not sure she even heard me. Her gaze lingers on me—on the sweat still clinging to my skin. I’ve never thought of myself as particularly striking, but she seems to see something I don’t. I’ve noticed before how my presence unsettles her, just a little. Her eyes drift to my forearms, oddly fascinated. I mean, they’re just forearms, right?
She’s clearly caught off guard, cheeks flushed, and I can feel the tension between us. When our eyes meet, there’s a flicker of something unspoken. I raise an eyebrow and walk past her.
“I’m gonna hit the shower.”
As I scrub off the sweat and dust, my thoughts drift to her—my Soul Dedicated. On the SIL, I saw her broken, weighed down by grief and fear. But something shifted yesterday. She seemed lighter, more curious, even drawn to the world around her. I hope this place gives her the safety she’s been missing.
I’m not rushing anything. I know she’s healing from something painful—maybe even abusive. I want to earn her trust, step by step. I know I’ve caught her attention, but she’s human, not Asgarne. On her world, the idea of a Soul Mate isn’t something they grow up believing in. But on Asgarne, it’s real. It’s why leaving her was so hard. Now that I’ve found her, I’m not letting go. I’ll protect her. And yes, I’ll win her heart—but gently, patiently.
When I step out of the shower, I throw on a clean pair of pants and slip into my sandals. I skip the rest—no harm in using a little charm to my advantage, right?
Outside, I find Wingo and Ileana crouched near a violet-colored plant, deep in observation.
“So, what do you actually do all day when you’re here?” Ileana asks as I approach.
Ugh. That question again.
“Well… usually, we come to MyFaS between missions. We change clothes, fabricate a few fake parts for the black market, recharge a bit. We don’t stay long.” I keep it vague.
I haven’t exactly shared that part of my life with her yet. And now she’s waiting for a real answer.
“Wingo showed you the young biloa shoots?”
“That’s right,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “But you’re dodging the question.”
“She’s sharp!”Wingo laughs in my head.
Caught off guard, I have no idea how to respond.
“Don’t tell me you spend your days watching plants grow,” she says, clearly suspicious.
