Ken had left two days ago, waving from the back of a cab while making a joke about blowing up a planet if Ash didn't call him. The door closed behind him, and the silence moved in like it had been waiting.
Kesher was asleep on the couch, one leg dangling off the edge, mouth slightly open, his hair curling messily over his face. His guitar was still resting against the wall nearby, and a half-finished cup of tea had gone cold on the table.
He turned to grab his bag, but his foot tapped something on the floor. Kesher's diary. It was thick, covered in worn leather, stitched together by hand. The pages were rough, stuffed with crumpled notes, dried petals, even what looked like an old feather once. But one page was wide open. Ash didn't know why he looked down. Maybe he was curious.
The page wasn't a poem, not really. Not structured, not flowing like Kesher's usual lyrical sadness. The ink was heavier, smudged like it had been rewritten over and over again.
Ash read. "The kingdom drinks and sings as the crowd smiles widely. They don't see the jester. He dances near the throne, whispering jokes with blood on his sleeves. The harbinger is watching. It waits for the sacrificial fires to burn—three of them, fated since before breath was given to flesh. The blood prince, the killer queen, the raging inferno. But the jester is tired of jokes. He slits the offering's throat before the smoke can rise. No stain, no prayer. The harbinger ascends. And something far older begins to wake. Who crowned the jester, anyway?"
Ash stared at the page. He didn't know what it was supposed to mean. He wasn't even sure if it was meant to mean anything. He stood there a little too long, staring at the messy scrawl, his mind too foggy to untangle it.
Kesher stirred behind him and muttered something in his sleep. Ash blinked and scribbled a quick note, "see ya later poet boy," and left the diary on the couch where he'd found it. He was running late anyway. Outside, the city was still waking up.
Ash kept walking, headphones in, but no music playing. He was just pretending to listen to something so people wouldn't try to talk to him.
The station wasn't far. He got there right on time—if you called being three minutes late "on time." The intergalactic vehicle was parked like a beast made of polished metal and humming lights. Sleek. Cold. Hundreds of seats and barely enough legroom.
Ash showed his ID, walked in, and found his seat by the window. He exhaled. Finally, some silence. And then a kid arrived. He must've been ten, eleven maybe. Messy hair, a backpack twice his size, and eyes like he'd just eaten too much sugar. He looked at Ash and smiled like they were long-lost friends. "Is that your sword?" the kid asked, pointing to Ash.
Ash gave a slow nod. "Yeah."
"That's sick. You ever fight dinosaurs with it?"
Ash blinked. "No. Not a lot of dinosaurs around."
The kid leaned back, cracking his knuckles. "That's a shame. If I had a sword, I'd go straight back to the Cretaceous. You know the Spinosaurus? Way cooler than T-Rex. People always think T-Rex was the king, but no way. Spino was taller, longer, and it could swim. It was like the crocodile version of death."
Ash raised an eyebrow. The kid wasn't done. "Also, did you know the Velociraptor was actually the size of a turkey? The ones in movies are fake. They're more like oversized chickens with teeth."
Ash blinked again. "That's… horrifying."
"I know, right?" the kid grinned. "Imagine being chased by a bunch of chicken-raptors in a dark jungle. I'd rather fight demons."
Ash chuckled softly.
The kid leaned closer. "So, where are you going?"
"Mission," Ash replied.
"Cool. I'm going to visit my uncle. He lives on a floating city where the gravity's all weird. One time, I puked, and the puke floated and hit me in the face."
Ash looked at him, unsure of what to say.
The kid nodded seriously. "I think that was a spiritual experience."
Ash smiled. Genuinely this time. It was odd, but in a weird way, the kid reminded him of Ken. He leaned back in his seat, eyes half-closing as the vehicle started its slow lift from the surface. Buildings shrank below them. The clouds thickened, stretching out like blankets torn by light.
A few hours later.
Ash stepped off the intergalactic public shuttle and into the quiet terminal. No announcements played. No crowd. He paused for a moment and looked back. The shuttle door was still open.
The kid was still waving. Ash let out a slow breath and waved back, a little late. The kid looked too excited to notice. His voice still rang in Ash's ears. "Actually, the Spinosaurus had a stronger bite force than we thought."
Ash gave him a final nod before turning away. His next ride was waiting just across the platform—sleek, black, and quiet, like a knife hidden in the dark. This one wasn't built for the public. It had no company logos on its sides except a silver sigil near the door—a cracked "S" split by a bolt of lightning. 'Sinclair Industries.'
The guards outside the vehicle looked him up and down before checking his ID. They scanned his retina, asked him to confirm his mission number, and then finally nodded him through. The door opened with a quiet hiss. Inside, the Sinclair transport was colder than the last one, but far more advanced. The seats were lean and long, like something out of an old science fiction dream. A control panel blinked gently near the front. There were only two other seats. One for the pilot. One for him.
He sat down slowly, letting his body sink into the seat, but the weight of his mind didn't follow. The door closed behind him with a low hiss, and the lights dimmed until everything inside glowed a cool blue. Outside the window, he could see the edge of the spaceport vanishing behind them.
He sighed and leaned his head against the backrest. There was silence. Real silence. Ash's eyes stayed open. He didn't feel tired. He didn't feel rested either. It was that strange emptiness that sat in between. His fingers flexed and curled. That old vision came crawling back again, the void, the face, the endless black with sharp white eyes.
No mouth.
No sound.
He sat up straight. "No," he muttered to himself. "Not this. Not again." He shook his head and forced himself to think about something else. Anything else. And that's when the kid popped back into his head again.
"Did you know some dinosaurs had feathers? They weren't scaly like the movies." Ash blinked. The image formed in his mind. A pack of angry chickens charging into battle.
He reached into his side pouch and pulled out a cold can of soda. It had a silly label. Something citrusy. He cracked it open. He took a long sip and kept his eyes on the stars passing outside.
He thought back to school. He remembered bunking school, running to the theater with his friends. They brought popcorn bigger than their heads. He remembered hiding behind trash cans to avoid the teacher, then running through the streets, laughing so hard he could barely breathe.
He missed that. Not the movie but the feeling.
He took another sip. The transport was smooth. No jerks, no turbulence. Just a low hum beneath his feet. He looked at the walls. Everything was clean. Chrome and matte-black surfaces stretched across the cabin like it was built by someone who hated color. There were no windows on the side. Just one big one near the front—and through it, only space.
Minutes passed. Maybe more. Hard to tell. Ash leaned his head back again, letting his mind wander. He kept reaching for comfort, anything that didn't lead him back to the dreams or the gods or the claws of death pulling at the edges of his memories.
"You'd think they'd make this for everyone," he thought. "Traffic down. Fewer accidents. Maybe even fewer disasters."
He sat forward and finished the soda. The stars outside were growing brighter now. The ship was slowing. He felt it in the way the air shifted. Like the pressure had changed around him. He leaned closer to the front window. Space stretched out in every direction like an endless sea, filled with distant suns and black patches where light didn't reach. No planets. No debris. Just quiet emptiness. He could see the void clearer now.
And then, he saw him. A single figure floating in the dark. A human form, not tethered, not in a ship. Just… floating. Arms slightly apart, body still, head tilted downward like he was waiting.
Dev. Amidst the stars. Alone.