Rescue vessel Scythian. Medical bay.
Maria's eyes open slowly—
like petals after a long winter.
The soft blue glow inside the pod begins to fade.
She inhales.
Deep. Deliberate.
And with that breath—
life returns.
I'm... here. I'm me again?
She reaches upward, pushes the lid open.
The air is cold, sterile.
The world tilts slightly, but it's real.
She sits up—tentative, as if relearning how to be alive.
But her eyes—
they are clear.
As clear as a sky after a storm.
She remembers herself.
**
Command deck.
Captain Manuel and engineer Pietro work in silent unison, hands gliding across the navigation console, chasing signals, reading pulses in the fabric of space.
The screens flicker.
Data pours in like breath—steady, synchronized, automatic.
And then—
like a ghost—
Maria appears in the doorway.
She stands still, her head slightly tilted.
A quiet, glowing smile warms her face.
She doesn't want to break the moment.
Her heart races—
as it did her first day aboard the ship.
Pietro spins around—
He hadn't heard her.
He felt her.
"Maria?!" he breathes—
as if reality just slapped him awake.
"It's... really you?"
He's on his feet in two steps, wrapping her in a careful embrace—
as though she's made of glass.
"But how? Are you—are you okay?"
"Completely," she answers with a spark of brightness.
She accepts the hug like she's reclaiming her body.
"Ready to work."
Manuel approaches.
His steps are heavy—
but fast.
He looks at her not as a subordinate—
but as a miracle.
His hug is firm, almost fatherly.
"We're so glad you're back," he says quietly.
His voice cracks, just for a moment, but he catches it.
"How did you recover so fast? What happened?"
Maria steps back, just slightly.
Her eyes flicker—uncertainty, memory, something deeper.
"I don't even know where to start..."
She looks down.
"The solar flare... it overloaded my systems. I blacked out. But in that blackout… I wasn't alone."
I was with someone. With a god.
Hanaris.
Or the one who claimed to be him.
But it felt... real.
"He healed me. Completely."
Manuel pulls back.
There's worry and wonder on his face.
His hand presses instinctively against his chest.
"Praise Hanaris," he whispers.
Pietro echoes the phrase—same gesture,
but there's doubt in his voice.
A flicker of rational fear.
Maria continues—
her tone soft,
but charged with a kind of vibration that makes the words feel alive.
"I saw... a vision.
A desert.
Warm sand.
A sky so blue it hurt."
"I walked among beings.
Sentient, but not like us.
I could feel their pain,
their longing,
their faith."
"Millions of them.
Moving as one."
She pauses.
Lowers her eyes.
Her fingers tremble.
"I was one of them.
I walked with them."
Silence.
So complete, it feels like the bridge is sealed off from the rest of reality.
Manuel and Pietro don't interrupt.
They just listen.
"But then something appeared."
"A being. Massive. Burning. With a sword of fire."
Pietro and Manuel exchange a glance—
their faces pale.
"It blocked the path.
And it spoke."
She lifts her gaze.
In her eyes—
ice.
"'All who do not obey the will of Kairus must die.'"
"And I knew it wasn't lying."
"It destroyed them all.
To the last.
Without mercy."
The bridge feels empty now.
Compressed.
The air thicker.
"The will of Kairus?"
Manuel echoes—his voice brittle, like frozen metal.
"Yes." Maria nods.
"He's real. He's here. And he's a punisher."
She pulls out an amulet from beneath her clothing.
The light falls on it gently—like candle flame.
It glows.
As if alive.
"This symbol… it was carved into the hilt of his sword."
Pietro leans in, eyes narrowing at the emblem.
His jaw tightens.
His fingers twitch nervously.
"The same one we sold to Ivor…"
His voice is caught between awe and dread.
"So that really was Kairus.
Not a metaphor.
Not a myth."
Manuel stays silent.
His expression hardens.
Something doesn't add up.
Something's too... convenient.
"So… on Earth, faith in Kairus is spreading just as fast as belief in Hanaris…" Maria says slowly.
"But you know what's strange?"
She looks at them—
and in her gaze is something wild, conflicted, shaken to its core.
"I think I understand Kairus better than I understand Hanaris."
A pause.
Then she adds:
"What do we even know about Hanaris?
They promise us resurrection in Osari.
But when?
How?
Who's seen it?"
Manuel rubs his chin.
Shakes his head.
"This is all… strange.
Too strange.
Maybe we're being played."
"I know what we need to do," Pietro says, lifting his head.
There's energy in his voice.
Focus.
Fire.
"We're going to ask Hanaris himself.
I'll handle it."
"I'm with you," Maria replies—quiet but firm.
"This is no longer faith.
It's a challenge."
Manuel rolls his eyes and sighs.
Softly.
With a weary sort of grin.
"Of course.
And I suppose I'll be the one left prepping the ship for war."
Pietro claps him on the shoulder.
"Don't be mad, Captain.
I swear—divine consultations only after our shift."
Manuel shakes his head, but there's already a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Fine. But if you start skipping your watches, I'll go see a god myself.
And I'll bring a list of complaints—starting with your duty schedules."
They look at each other—
And suddenly, laughter.
Real.
Unfiltered.
Not manic, but warm—
like rain after a long drought.
They're alive.
Together.
Still able to laugh.
For now, the burden of gods rests on their shoulders—
But in this moment…
they're simply friends.