The Kaleid-One drifted through hyperspace, the ship's hull humming with soft pressure shifts as it cut through folded spacetime. Inside, the silence was almost sacred. No alarm pings. No idle AI chatter. Just the sound of machines breathing, and two people carrying their own heavy silences.
Lu'Ka sat in the command deck, a data-slate resting uselessly in his hands. Readouts scrolled past his vision, meaningless. His mind was somewhere else.
Five days since they left Dakun.
Five days since his world tilted.
He had found what the entire galaxy had forgotten.
And now she was here.
Niri.
He heard her before he saw her. Bare footsteps tapping lightly against the deck. He looked up as she entered, her small frame wrapped in loose ship-issued clothing—dark grey, simple, practical. She still clutched the strange orb tightly in her hand like a tether to reality.
Her blue eyes locked onto him immediately. Sharp. Unblinking.
Niri crossed the command deck without hesitation. Her gait was steady now, her injuries healed far faster than the med reports had predicted. The nanites helped—but there was something else in her biology that even the ship's medical AI couldn't explain.
She stopped two paces in front of him.
Lu'Ka set the slate aside, meeting her gaze fully.
Niri wasted no time.
She pointed at herself. Tapped her chest once.
Then pointed at him.
Talk. Now.
Lu'Ka said nothing. He straightened slowly, reading the intent in her posture. She wasn't afraid. She wasn't attacking.
She was demanding answers.
Niri turned sharply and pointed at the holographic projection—the spinning glyphs still rotating slowly in the air. Ancient human script. The script no species had ever managed to translate.
She stepped closer, touching the projection carefully, as if grounding herself.
Then, she looked at him.
Tapped her chest again. Then pointed to the glyphs. Then back to him.
Lu'Ka understood immediately.
> "You have my words."
Then she gestured out into the stars beyond the viewport.
And pointed back at herself again.
> "Take me home."
Lu'Ka felt his pulse spike.
He opened his mouth to answer, but Niri beat him to it.
Her voice was rough, but the ship's AI caught enough for a basic translation.
> "You know where."
She said it with certainty.
No doubt. No hesitation.
Lu'Ka swallowed hard, throat dry.
He shook his head slowly.
"No," he said.
Niri's frown deepened.
She stepped closer, almost chest to chest with him now.
Not a threat.
A plea, disguised poorly as anger.
> "You have," she insisted, pointing again at the glyphs.
> "You know."
Lu'Ka's hands curled into fists at his sides. Not from rage. From helplessness.
He wanted to give her what she asked. Gods, he wanted to. But he couldn't.
He pointed at the glyphs, then spread his hands wide in a universal gesture of helplessness.
"I don't know," he said again, firmer.
He touched his head, then shook it.
> "No knowledge."
Niri watched him closely.
Slowly, she lowered her hand.
Her mouth tightened into a thin line. Her shoulders stiffened.
The realization hit her.
She took a step back, almost stumbling.
She shook her head once, twice.
> "No home?" she asked, voice cracking.
Lu'Ka didn't answer.
He couldn't.
Niri's arms wrapped around her torso, as if to hold herself together.
She turned away, her small frame rigid, staring out into hyperspace's endless swirl.
Lu'Ka could almost hear her heart breaking.
Not with noise.
With silence.
He moved cautiously, retrieving the data-slate.
He approached her slowly.
Niri didn't turn.
He tapped the slate, projected the glyphs into the air again, making them float between them.
He pointed to the glyphs. Then gently to her.
Then to the ship.
"Here," he said.
"With me."
"Until we find answers."
Niri turned, expression raw.
She looked at him like she didn't believe him.
But she also didn't walk away.
Slowly, she reached out and touched the floating glyphs.
Her fingers passed through the light, scattering it into fragments.
She whispered something—too soft for the AI to catch fully.
Lu'Ka caught two words.
> "We remain."
He froze.
His blood ran cold.
Those glyphs—
The same ones that had haunted his career.
The same ones that had no translation.
And she had said it like breathing.
Like memory.
She didn't realize what she had done.
She didn't understand the magnitude of what her people's survival meant.
But he did.
Gods, he did.
Lu'Ka knelt carefully, lowering the slate.
He pointed at her again.
Then at the swirling glyphs.
> "Your language."
Niri nodded, confused by his reaction.
To her, it was obvious.
Of course it was her language.
Of course it said what it said.
To her, it was just the way things were.
She stepped forward again.
Blue eyes wide.
Trusting in the wrong way.
> "You know."
> "You take me."
> "My people."
Each word hit him like a blade.
He rose slowly, every movement careful.
He shook his head once more.
> "I don't know where."
> "We don't know."
Niri's fists clenched.
> "You have script!"
> "You have ship!"
> "You have—"
She broke off, choking slightly on anger, frustration.
Lu'Ka stepped forward and raised both hands, palms outward.
"I know your words," he said slowly. "Not your world."
The AI struggled to bridge the gap, but the simple truth passed anyway.
Niri shook her head, stepping back, hitting the wall with a soft thud.
She pressed her forehead against the cold surface, eyes closed.
She stayed like that for long seconds.
Breathing.
Struggling.
Fighting the despair clawing inside her.
Lu'Ka let her.
He gave her the space.
When she finally turned back, there was no anger in her face.
Only exhaustion.
She moved toward him slowly, every step deliberate.
She tapped her chest.
Pointed at him.
Then drew a slow circle in the air.
The galaxy.
Us.
Together.
Lu'Ka understood.
He nodded slowly.
"Together," he said.
Niri watched him for a long time.
Then—reluctantly, stiffly—she reached out.
And touched his arm.
A single touch.
A contract.
Not trust.
But acceptance.
She would stay.
She would learn.
And he would find a way to help her.
Or die trying.
Lu'Ka exhaled, the tension bleeding from his frame.
He led her gently toward the navigation console.
He pointed to the stars.
He began to teach her the names.
One by one.
A new language.
A new beginning.
And behind it all, a secret bigger than either of them could imagine.
The girl from a species that shouldn't exist.
The survivor of a civilization no one even remembered how to fear.
And somewhere, out in the stars, her people—
Lost.
We remain.
And now, so did she.