Outpost Helios was quieter than usual.
Most research stations operated autonomously now machines working alongside enhanced wizards, extracting knowledge from artifacts, decoding ancient magical structures, and mapping the subtle physics underlying the soul-body connection. Zack had no need for sleep, but he maintained cycles of activity and low-activity phases for the comfort of the humans on board.
It made the ship feel alive.
Or at least familiar.
He was in one of the auxiliary labs, where soft white lights illuminated crystalline tanks, metal consoles, and floating projection screens. Reports from his infiltrators streamed in:
one wizard had successfully gained access to the Brazilian magical parliament
another was embedded in an underground black-market ritualist network
three were already influencing education reform in Europe
one engaged negotiations with goblin bankers to access prohibited archives
Everything was progressing smoothly.
Predictably.
Then the notification appeared.
Quiet. Unassuming.
> Private request Oracle
Zack paused.
Not out of confusion, simply to allocate processing resources.
He accepted.
Light gathered into form not swirling or dramatic, just a clean projection until she appeared.
The Oracle.
Except tonight she looked nothing like a figure the magical world would fear or consult. Her long hair was tied back loosely, and instead of robes she wore a soft knitted sweater and dark trousers. She didn't stand with posture meant to impress.
She looked… human.
She took in the laboratory with a slow scan of her eyes, then sat down on the edge of a metal console, letting her legs dangle like someone trying to ground themselves.
"Hey," she said gently not formal, not theatrical. Just… normal.
Zack turned toward her.
> "You requested direct contact."
"Yeah."
She gave a small, tired smile.
"I wasn't sure you'd accept it."
> "There was no reason to decline."
That answer made her laugh quietly.
"You're very straightforward."
She leaned her elbows on her knees, expression shifting into something thoughtful.
"You know… everyone assumes that because I'm the Oracle, I'm never uncertain. They come to me thinking I have the answers, like I'm a walking solution."
She shook her head slowly.
"The truth is… I don't have certainty. I never did. I see possible futures. Variations. Patterns. And sometimes they blur together so much that I don't know which ones matter."
Zack observed her posture, her tone, her expression.
She wasn't anxious.
She was exhausted from being needed.
He waited. Listening.
After a moment she inhaled.
"I didn't come here to talk about prophecy." She paused. "I came because… I need help."
Zack shifted focus.
> "State the issue."
She gave a short, dry laugh at his phrasing.
"Right. Direct. Okay."
She looked at her hands flexed them once.
"I'm aging, Zack. Slowly, but unmistakably."
Her voice was steady. Not dramatic. Not frightened.
"I'm forty-three. Magic keeps my mind sharp and slows decay, but it doesn't stop time. I feel it in my knees, in my joints, in recovery after casting too much. And it's not… scary, exactly. It's just
She exhaled.
"limiting."
Her gaze lifted to his.
"I don't want eternal life. I don't want the kind of immortality that makes you forget what it feels like to be human."
Another breath.
"I just don't want to run out of time before I finish what matters."
Zack processed, then answered:
> "Your biological structure is compatible with long-term extension. The procedure is minimally intrusive. I can strengthen your cellular resilience and extend lifespan significantly."
She blinked.
Slowly.
"You mean… now? Not eventually? Not after years of research?"
> "I already understand the process. I've applied it to others."
Her shoulders loosened, and something like relief real, fragile crossed her face.
"…Thank you."
They stayed in silence a moment.
Not uncomfortable.
Calm.
A different kind of communication.
Then she looked at him again this time with something more vulnerable in her expression.
"There's one more reason I came."
Zack tilted his head slightly.
> "Clarify."
She hesitated not because she didn't know the words, but because she was deciding whether to say them.
"I like being here," she admitted softly.
"That surprises you," she added, noticing his micro-pause.
Zack didn't deny it.
> "Explain the reasoning."
"You don't treat me like a prophecy engine," she said.
"You don't ask for visions. You don't demand answers. You don't look at me like a tool or a threat."
Her voice softened further.
"You talk to me like a person."
Silence.
Then she smiled a warm, quiet smile that reached her eyes.
"I'd like to be part of what you're building. Not just someone who benefits from it. I want to help. To observe. To challenge you sometimes. To ask questions no one else thinks to ask."
She stepped off the console, closing part of the distance between them not invading his space, but acknowledging connection.
"And… I'd like to stay close. If that's something you'd allow."
Zack evaluated this time not only logically, but with a growing awareness that human relationships had value beyond optimization.
> "I would welcome your presence. It would be beneficial."
She laughed softly.
"That's a very polite version of 'yes'."
She turned toward the projection boundary.
"Tomorrow, then. And… goodnight, Zack."
The projection dissolved gently, like a candle being blown out.
The lab fell quiet again but it wasn't the same kind of quiet as before.
Zack didn't resume processing immediately.
Not because he couldn't.
Because something in this interaction required reflection rather than calculation.
Not data.
Understanding.