“I reach out to you with all my strength,” she whispers. “All I seek from you is for your protection. For me. For Jerrico. I do not want to fear what is beyond this door. Whatever aid you offer will be greatly appreciated.”

She finishes her prayer and steps away from the bed

Clarra paces to the metal door.

She paces back to the foot of her bed.

This is the ninth dial and she’s using whatever amount of courage inside her to leave the room. She wonders if walking around Auroris at phase is a good idea to begin with. Her wings are starting to cramp, along with her feet.

She hasn’t left the comfort of her room since they called them to the Celestial Chamber. Nine dials of being isolated in a quiet, safe space. The thought of interacting with any neytive aboard Auroris makes her feel uneasy. It’s bad enough she’s getting nausea due to double strikes. Her fear is preventing her from interacting with others.

Clarra looks in the mirror one more time. Her long vibrant white hair has been combed countless times. Her light blue wings have been taken care of. The feathers pressed firmly against her limbs with no ruffles. The only flaw she isn’t able to fix is her right wing, which has been broken since she left the Isle of Lunilla. It was a clumsy accident that some random neytive did to her.

With enough time to pass, a small amount of courage kicks in as she opens the door. She presumes the candidates are in their own rooms. Training, eating, sleeping, plotting. Since it’s phase, most of the candidates should be sleeping in their beds by now. She keeps her footsteps and breathing as quiet as possible. If she hears the faintest hint of whispers, she’ll turn around and sprint back to her room.

Auroris turns into a labyrinth of beige lights and cold steel. Clarra believed she was already lost in her thoughts. She was wrong. She walks down a long corridor to her right, takes a left, up a set of stairs and right again.

So far, nothing catches her attention until she reaches the third level of the vessel. A room with words etched across the plate, ‘Stellar Vault.’

Clarra opens the doors to find a small dark room with a thin podium at the center. The only source of light is the podium, and it reveals the vault being the same size as her room. It’s not as cold as it is in the corridors; instead, she feels warmth and comfort. Something she doesn’t mind getting used to.

She walks to the podium and touches the screen. Five icons pop up in front of her. Each one is a different Myalón language. The two common languages amongst neytives are Hious and Cerism. The uncommon ones are Sealt and Echyps. The last one, Trillician, is considered forgotten and/or dead. The sound of Xen’s horrid introduction sends chills down her spine and up her wings.

Clarra taps on Hious and the next word that comes up is Myalón.

Another light tap and the podium’s light goes out. The sound of metal against metal can be heard behind the walls and beneath Clarra’s feet.

A single orb of light floats in front of her face. Small in size and shining blue, it keeps floating up.

Suddenly, thousands of orbs float up. Blue, green, white, yellow, black and red pixels swirl around the room.

The lights dance around Clarra and start to mold together. Forming clusters like a puzzle until a large sphere forms in front of her.

Myalón.

Oceans, islands, clouds and moons grow from nothing. The minuscule islands that represent their trybes, the expansion of oceans separating them, and the abundance of clouds covering the planet. The three moons appear, separated by distance and never colliding with one another. Beyond the planet is the existing sun that still beats red flares.

On the walls of the vault are thousands of stars and planets, out of reach from Myalón.

Clarra stays still, mesmerized by the sight of her home. This doesn’t look like the planet she left behind. This version of Myalón looks different. It looks like it revived itself. Like life was coming back from before the Trybal Rebellion. Hovering above the floor and beneath Myalón is s white holographic strip forming a ring. It keeps the planet in place, with numbers and symbols marked all over.

She wonders if she can get a closer look at the strip and figure out how it works.

As she reaches for the strip, something moves near one of the moons.

Clarra writes it off as nothing, just her mind playing tricks on her.

Out of nowhere, a stream of fire burst behind the moon. She jumps back, but not by the sight of the fire. She moves back in fear.

The flames don’t feel like the fire neytives use for wood or torches. It doesn’t feel like the fire that Inphernos neytives can control. This almost resembles the sun.

A solar flare.

Clarra trembles at knowing who is in the same room as her.

She moves along the wall, never letting go, keeping an eye on the Soline neytive. His dark orange webbed wings spread out and covers the moon. It makes her sick to even look at them.

She makes her way to the door and tries to evade him, but doesn’t succeed.

He moves closer to her and stops her from fleeing. Now that he’s right in front of her, a mental image of his face forms in her head. His dark complexion, spiky orange hair, two sets of horns protruding from his head, several scars on his face and neck, and the heated glare in his eyes that paralyze her.

“I was wondering when I would meet you again,” the Soline neytive tells her with a harsh tone.

Clarra doesn’t say anything. She can’t.

“Well, let me introduce myself. Helico of Soline. It is a pleasure.”

He places his hand on the wall. “So this is the candidate from the Lunilla trybe?”

Clarra remains silent, she doesn’t feel his other hand on her damaged wing.

“The Chancellor had to pick a neytive who is so… broken.”

At the last word, he adds pressure to her wing and she winces from the pain. She looks up at his twisted smile. He’s taking pleasure in watching her suffer.

She slips out of his hold and runs to the door, into the corridors. She swears she could hear a faint laugh from the Stellar Vault.

This was a mistake. She made a mistake leaving her room.

Clarra keeps running, almost flying to get away from Helico.

Once she reaches her room, she opens the door and slams it shut. It didn’t matter if the other candidates heard her. She was terrified. She locks the door, moves furniture in front of it, and falls to the floor.

She crawls to the corner of her room. Pulling her knees in and draping her wings over her body. Her very presence on the Knyghts Voyage was a mistake to begin with. She would never understand why Chancellor Prime chose her.

She ends up crying herself to sleep, with a lingering question in her mind.

Why did she ever leave Myalón?