Page 96 of Ravaged By the Reaper
God, my lyre.
That old wooden thing—half-cracked, with strings replaced a dozen times—used to sit in my quarters like a relic. I’d pluck out sonatas until the walls softened and I could hear myself again.
I left it behind in Alliance space. Like I left the rest of her behind—the girl who knew melodies better than war strategy. The girl who blushed. The girl who still believed art could shift the world.
I press a palm to the cold glass, exhale. My breath fogs the viewport. Fades.
The ache deepens.
I hear the hatch open behind me but don’t turn. His presence is unmistakable. Heat and metal. Ozone and storm. Haktron fills a room just by breathing.
“You’ve been up here awhile,” he says.
“I needed air.”
“This ship doesn’t have any good air,” he mutters. “Just recycled tension.”
I huff a laugh. It’s not joyful. “Better than recycled dreams.”
He’s silent a beat. Then, footsteps. Heavy. Intentional. He stops beside me, and we stare out together.
“What dreams?” he asks.
“The ones that didn’t make it past the first kill.”
He tilts his head. “Talk to me.”
I hesitate, fingers flexing against the glass. “Do you know the first song I ever played in public?”
“No.”
I smile, small and bitter. “Debussy. Clair de Lune. I was twelve. My fingers shook so badly, I thought I’d botch it.”
He waits.
“But I didn’t. I played it perfectly. Every note. And when I finished, there was this silence—not like this ship’s silence. Not cold. Not afraid. Just… still. Full.”
“And you miss that.”
“Every damn day.”
I turn to face him. “I know what we’re doing matters. I believe in it. In us. But sometimes, I wake up, and I don’t recognize the hands I used to make art with. They’re weapons now.”
He cups my jaw, thumb brushing my cheekbone. “Weapons can create, too.”
“Not the kind I’ve been wielding.”
He pulls me in close, voice rough. “Then let’s make something different.”
“I don’t even know who that girl is anymore.”
“You’re her. And more. You're the girl who stared down Malem Karag and made him blink.”
I bury my face against his chest, inhaling sweat, steel, and something warm beneath it all.
“I just… I don’t want to lose myself in being strong,” I whisper.
“You won’t,” he murmurs. “I won’t let you.”
