Warrex hauled Roy and Eryndra aboard, his muscles taut and face strained from the nonstop pulling. Lutrian lay on the deck nearby, babbling incoherently, eyes rolled back, foam flecking the corners of his mouth as the mana exhaustion left him barely conscious.
"Hang in there, buddy," Warrex grunted cheerfully, sweat pouring down his skin, clearly relishing the physical challenge. "Almost got you."
Roy collapsed onto the deck as he released his barrier, the bliss he felt from the fact his head wasn't in agony dazed him. Before he could even regain full awareness, Takara rushed forward, eyes wide and full of relief, wrapping him tightly in an impulsive hug. Roy froze internally, skin crawling with an instinctive aversion to touch, but forced himself to endure it, he owed her that much.
"Glad you're back, Captain," Takara whispered, voice cracking slightly.
Warrex stepped back with a satisfied grunt, giving Roy a broad, sweaty thumbs-up, while Washington snapped into a crisp, respectful salute. One by one, the Presidroids quietly climbed aboard, water dripping from their gleaming frames.
"Thank you," Roy managed hoarsely, barely audible.
"Captain, infirmary," Washington suggested gently but firmly, noticing the blood streaming slowly from the wound on Roy's cheek.
"Right," Roy murmured, staggering to his feet, steadying himself on a nearby console as he followed a Presidroid medic toward the infirmary.
Inside, a Presidroid in a frilly nurses uniform moved with practiced, blinding efficiency, swiftly stitching beneath Roy's skin, the thread weaving in delicate, patterns. Within mere seconds, the wound was sealed, as though the slice had never occurred.
"Excellent work as always, Burr," Roy said silently, avoiding the Presidroid's expressionless face, then turned to leave for the bridge.
Roy limped slowly onto the bridge, still dripping seawater, leaning heavily against Eryndra's supportive arm. Trauma etched deeply into every line of his face. A profound silence fell, crew members stepping aside instinctively, giving him respectful but concerned space.
Serenity's flower trembled gently. "Captain, I—"
Roy lifted a shaking hand, cutting her off abruptly. "If anything hostile approaches, flee immediately," he rasped coldly. "And if running fails, nuke them until the entire ocean is molten glass. I don't care."
He ran a trembling hand through his damp hair, expression hollow and distant. Turning toward his quarters, he barely acknowledged Takara's hesitant step forward.
"Roy?" she began, voice tentative, gentle.
Roy turned away slightly, unable to meet her eyes. "I'm fine," he murmured flatly. "I just…need rest."
He locked gazes briefly with Warrex and Lutrian, his stare empty, drained of life. Then, a faint, timid cough drew his attention toward Serenity's enclosure. There, a tiny new avatar—small, shy, hesitant—peeked cautiously from behind Serenity's main flower.
"H-hello, Captain," she stammered softly, floating nervously upward to perch atop her flower. "I'm…here now, too."
Roy's gaze flicked briefly to the avatar, but then moved past her, staring through the bridge windows at the endless ocean. His heart jolted painfully, an instinctive terror clawing at his chest. Without a word, he staggered into his room, slammed the door shut behind him, and locked it with a resounding click.
A moment later, the faint sound of the room's lights clicking on echoed through the silent bridge.
Then… silence.
Roy didn't emerge for the rest of the day.
They tried gently coaxing him over the intercom, Serenity softly pinging messages. Takara even knocked once, hesitant and careful. There was no response, not even a whisper. With Roy absent, Takara took tentative command for several uneasy hours, guiding operations until Serenity fully regained her composure. The Nightshatter felt strangely empty, hollow without Roy's voice and presence filling its corridors.
Over the next two days, the ship gradually restored itself to full power. Engines hummed steadily again, weapons systems cycled smoothly. Eryndra noticed the subtle shift, feeling a quiet relief in the returning stability, but Roy remained locked away, silent, refusing food, ignoring all communication.
Father Skeleton's bones remained swept neatly into a somber pile in one corner, a quiet reminder of recent chaos. Teddy and Lincoln had arranged them carefully, hopeful he might reassemble, but the pile stayed stubbornly inert. Even Takara, fully recovered from her injury, found herself staring wistfully at the bones, nudging one gently with her toe. "Could you put yourself back together soon? You're the only non-creepy skeleton..." she whispered quietly, voice small in the emptiness. Nothing stirred.
Late in the evening, Warrex and Lutrian took turns trading stories in low voices, trying to distract themselves from the oppressive quiet. Eryndra drifted in occasionally, listening silently, eyes flicking frequently toward Roy's locked door, heavy with unspoken worry.
At the close of the third day, Serenity's voice broke decisively through the silent gloom. "We'll play one of Roy's favorite movies," she declared gently, almost hopeful. "He loves old Earth cinema. Maybe… maybe it'll bring him back out."
"Dumb plan," the new AI said as her avatar bounced around on her flower. Serenity's avatar quickly formed, dove off her own flower and on to the new one, tackling her sister.
As the plant brats fought, the rest of the crew gathered quietly, rigging up a makeshift projector screen on the bridge. Takara flipped through Roy's Allphone carefully, selecting a title labeled "Abeyance." Dark, grim scenes of desperate survivors fighting through zombie-infested streets flickered across the screen, eerie shadows stretching across the silent faces of the crew. Lutrian grimaced, Warrex watched with mild intrigue, and Takara flinched at sudden jump-scares, hope dwindling as Roy remained absent.
Eryndra sat quietly, eyes frequently drifting to the stairwell, waiting, wishing Roy would appear. But the film ended, credits scrolling silently in the quiet bridge.
Takara sighed softly, eyes downcast. "He always talked about this movie like it was sacred, a masterpiece he couldn't resist," she murmured sadly. "I thought for sure… he'd come out."
Eryndra nodded gently. "He just needs more time."
Lutrian, voice heavy with guilt, lowered the volume. "He saved me," he whispered bitterly, eyes distant. "Yet now, I can't do a thing for him."
Serenity quietly busied the Presidroids, assigning mundane chores to keep morale from slipping too far. Left without Roy's constant commands, the robots grew oddly mischievous, gambling with Sorrowclaw's stolen treasures, "repairing" minor ship damage with glue or tape.
Late that evening, Warrex and Lutrian playfully shoved each other, accidentally smashing open an outer door. Washington rushed in to scold them but Lincoln shoulder checked him through the window next to the door. Immediately after he began wrestling with Warrex.
Lutrian eventually found himself sitting alone outside Roy's locked door. He drifted involuntarily into an old memory, something deeply personal, something both comforting and unbearably painful.
The quiet pressed in, and he sighed deeply, wondering how long Roy's silence would last.
Lutrian closed his eyes.
Suddenly, he was eight again, feet pounding against damp soil, the castle shrinking into the darkness behind him. His cheeks burned hot with tears, his father's furious words still ringing in his ears. He'd slipped through the servants' gate, too small and insignificant for the guards to notice. Night fell heavily around him, and eventually, exhausted and trembling, he'd collapsed into a muddy field.
Davan and Ellisy, two farmers from the next town over found him there, half-frozen and filthy, beneath the glow of lanternlight.
They never asked questions, not his name, nor where he'd come from. They simply brought him home. Lutrian vividly remembered the farmhouse, humble and worn, but warm and filled with the scents of fresh bread and aged straw. Davan fed the fire while Ellisy fed him broth, both tasks handled with gentle silence. Lutrian had clung desperately to that quiet tenderness, like a drowning boy clutching driftwood.
For three precious months, he'd known freedom. He rose early to mend fences with Davan, the farmer always whistling soft, half-forgotten lullabies that filled Lutrian's heart with unfamiliar warmth. Ellisy taught him to fish by the creek, patiently untangling his line each time he botched the cast. They called him "Little Lute," teasing him kindly whenever he stumbled over his own small feet. They didn't know or didn't care that he was a runaway prince; they simply let him be their son.
Those three months were the purest happiness Lutrian had ever known.
His hand tightened unconsciously against his chest, a dull ache spreading beneath his ribs. The end came abruptly, mercilessly. Soldiers had stormed the farm, led by his father's grim-faced knight. They dragged Lutrian away as he screamed and fought, accusing Davan and Ellisy of kidnapping royal blood.
They executed them both in the village square.
Lutrian could never forget Davan's calm, resolute expression as he met death bravely, silently pleading with Lutrian's gaze to stay strong. He could never erase Ellisy's quiet, heartbreaking sobbing as she whispered his nickname one last time. He'd never forgiven his father for it, the king's voice still echoing coldly in his mind, "Justice is done." From that day forward, Lutrian barely spoke to the king, their relationship forever poisoned by bitterness and betrayal.
Now, here, alone in the corridor of the Nightshatter, that ache felt freshly carved. Lutrian clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white, grief and anger mixing into a toxic swirl inside him.
He drew a shuddering breath, wiping roughly at his damp eyes. From somewhere down the hall, Eryndra's soft voice called, gently pulling him back from the edge of memory. He opened his eyes slowly, gaze settling once again on Roy's sealed door.
On the third night, the corridor lights had dimmed to a comforting, muted glow. A strange, solemn hush settled heavily across the upper decks. Eryndra paced restlessly just outside Roy's locked door, arms tightly crossed, eyes shadowed with worry. Nearby, Takara had drifted into uneasy sleep in the captain's chair, head resting on her folded arms. Warrex had disappeared to the mess hall, seeking solace in solitude, while Lutrian had reluctantly retired to lie down, exhaustion finally overcoming his restless vigil.
From the shadowed hallway, Skelly Mom appeared quietly, her soft slippers whispering across the cool metal floors. She wore the familiar, worn, bathrobe she refused to replace, her hair carelessly pinned up in a messy bun. She approached Roy's locked door slowly, head tilted in silent contemplation.
Eryndra watched, suddenly alert, heart quickening at the gentle certainty in Skelly Mom's approach. Takara stirred slightly, raising her head sleepily, blinking away lingering fatigue to watch with curiosity and cautious hope.
Without a word, Skelly Mom raised a delicate, skeletal hand and gently knocked.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The soft echoes of her knock lingered quietly in the silence.