The first thing Lucas learned about captivity was that silence could be weaponized—not the absence of sound, but the removal of meaning.
He awoke suspended in a vertical restraint cradle, his spine locked rigid, wrists bound behind him by bands that hummed softly against his skin.
The chamber was narrow, metallic, dimly lit by thin veins of white light crawling across the walls like trapped lightning.
He could not tell how long he had been unconscious. Time did not behave normally aboard Khar'Vael vessels—or any vessel without windows.
Around him, other prisoners hung in identical frames. Humans. Non-humans. Shapes Lucas did not have names for. Some struggled. Some whimpered. Most were already quiet.
The ship moved—not with vibration, not with sound, but with pressure, a crushing inward pull, as if space itself were folding tightly around the hull.
Lucas swallowed. His throat burned. Rin… the name surfaced before fear could.
Rin is alive… I have to believe it, he told himself, determination taut and worry coiling like iron bands in his chest.
He did not know why. He only knew he had to believe it. Perhaps Rin was in another chamber aboard the same ship—or maybe separated onto another vessel. He did not know.
They probably separated us while we were unconscious… he thought, heart tightening.
But still… he believed.
He's alive… I know it. Wherever he is… he must be.
Hope flickered fragile and stubborn, refusing to be snuffed out.
He strained against the restraints, pain lancing through his shoulders.
The bands tightened in response, sending a cold shock through his nervous system. His vision blurred. White bled into black.
A flat, synthetic voice sounded from nowhere.
"Resistance is inefficient."
Lucas forced himself to go still, chest heaving, heart hammering.
In the silence that followed, something stirred—a faint awareness, a warning that prickled along his spine.
Then Rin woke screaming.
The sound tore from his throat before he even understood where he was. He lay on a grated steel floor, slick with oil and blood. Chains bit into his wrists and ankles. Heat rolled over him in suffocating waves. The air reeked of iron and ash.
He realized slowly that he too was aboard a Khar'Vael ship—perhaps a different chamber, perhaps a different vessel entirely. But the hum, the pulse of machinery, the metallic scent—all confirmed one truth: he was in their custody.
Not dead. Worse.
Floodlights flared above him. Figures stood along a raised platform. Khar'Vael overseers, black-gold armor reflecting firelight in jagged lines. Behind them, massive furnaces roared, vomiting molten slag into channels carved across the cavern floor.
"Stand," one commanded, voice booming with cold, unyielding power.
Rin spat blood onto the floor and tried to push himself up, jaw clenched, breath ragged.
A shock ripped through the chains, pain exploding behind his eyes. Muscles locked.
His scream echoed once, sharp and raw, then vanished beneath laughter from the platform above.
"Again," the overseer said, detached, precise, merciless.
The chains released. Rin dragged himself onto his knees, breath ragged, teeth clenched. He stood, trembling yet resolute.
The pain did not fade; it taught. Something inside him split open—a sharp fracture of rage and fear.
Across the void, Lucas gasped, breath sharp and shallow, heart hammering against the restraints.
He had felt it. Not seen. Not heard. Felt.
Rin… you're alive. And you're in pain, he thought, desperation clawing, cold and raw.
The connection vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving Lucas cold, shaking, suspended in the cradle.
A panel slid open in Lucas's chamber wall. A Khar'Vael entered, the air thick with menace.
Up close, the creature was worse than the broadcasts had shown. Pale stone-like skin stretched tight over sharp bone. Eyes dark and reflective, revealing nothing. Black-gold armor pulsed faintly across its form.
It stopped in front of Lucas, gaze lingering, oppressive.
"You are quiet," it said, probing. Icy. Heavy. Pressing against his thoughts.
Lucas did not answer. Jaw tight. Chest taut with restrained defiance.
The creature tilted its head, studying him.
"Quiet ones endure longer," it continued, deliberate, predatory.
It raised a device. Light flared. Lucas's restraints disengaged.
He dropped to the deck, legs buckling beneath him, catching himself before collapsing completely. Pulse racing.
The Khar'Vael gestured toward the open corridor, voice metallic, echoing with authority.
"Move," it commanded. Sharp. Final. No room for hesitation.
Lucas obeyed, stepping cautiously, every motion careful, echoing across the metallic floor. Other prisoners shuffled alongside him, hollow-eyed, fear pressing like a tangible weight.
Corridors stretched endlessly, veins of dim light pulsing beneath translucent walls. Shadows shifted like living things. Lucas could not tell if the ship was grown or built; the walls seemed organic, almost breathing.
Eventually, they reached a hangar. Beyond the force barrier, stars twisted and bent as the vessel prepared for a void jump. Transport shuttles detached. Prisoners were herded inside silently. Lucas kept his head down, counting steps, holding his breath against uncertainty.
As the hatch sealed, Lucas glimpsed markings carved deep into the main vessel's hull. Symbols old, deliberate. Warnings etched in shapes no one had used for centuries.
The shuttle jumped. Space collapsed. Pressure pressed against Lucas's chest, making it difficult to breathe, then vanished abruptly.
Meanwhile, Rin awoke in a different chamber aboard another Khar'Vael vessel. Narrow. Metallic. Reeking of oil and machine heat. Chains bit into his wrists and ankles, holding him in place. Floodlights flared above. Overseers observed him, black-gold armor glinting.
The ship moved through the void. Heat rolled in waves; metallic air thick with the scent of machinery and blood.
Rin spat blood onto the floor, tried to push himself up. A sharp shock traveled through his chains, pain exploding behind his eyes. Muscles locked. His scream echoed once, then vanished beneath the overseers' laughter.
"Again," they said. Detached. Precise. Cruel.
The chains released. Rin dragged himself onto his knees, breath ragged, teeth clenched. He stood, muscles trembling. The pain did not fade; it taught, opening something inside him.
Though separated by void and steel, Lucas and Rin were faintly aware the other existed somewhere—unseen, unspoken, yet felt. A thread unbroken across emptiness.
Rin's overseers stepped closer. Collars snapped into place, sending shockwaves of agony down his spine.
"You live if you work. And you work… until you break," one sneered, taunting, merciless.
"Try harder," Rin spat, voice low, teeth clenched. Defiance flickered through the pain—raw and fiery.
The collar discharged. Pain seared through him. Yet Rin laughed—a raw, bitter spark of rebellion in a world built to crush it.
Somewhere, impossibly far away—or closer than he dared imagine—a brother stirred. Shadows of doubt and fear clung to him. He did not know if Lucas was still alive, but one certainty remained: he would find him… no matter what.