Sinovan and Marana had done a great job keeping The Gloomhog tidy, but something about their predicament made the place feel delicate and unclean like a week-old chunk of raw poultry meat, left forgotten in the storage. The air seemed stale, blanketing everything in a nauseating dampness, sullying hope and harbouring uncertainty and desperation. 

The world that Marana had known was crumbling like rotting wood. Neva was lost. Aeroz had let loose its armada of battleships to fight against the threat of the raiders and had razed Neva in its wake. 

Before she had set off from Aeroz, the Confederacies had agreed to hunt for Zov’ha; they had believed that she was the answer to defeating the unified raiders. Parpa Dourne! It had been his idea! Marana could hardly believe the consequences of his words! So much carnage… and for what? Her dissident views had forced her into self-exile. Could she have stopped this if she had not run away? She clenched her fists to rid herself of these ravenous thoughts that plagued her mind. 

Shaking like a rabid dog, pumped up on too much caffeine, she lay on her back on the floor of her truck. Mr Murderclawz did his bit to soothe her by sitting on her metal chest and purring — she could feel him vibrate all the way to her spine.

There was no one to watch Zov’ha for the next few hours. Subeya was running errands for the monks who had escaped the devastation of their cathedral. It had been two days since their flight from the demolition — many of the monks had escaped unharmed, and the hundred-or-so who had survived were camped on the shores of Lake Na’amel, plotting their next move with Aekis and Anandil Homa at the helm. Sinovan tended to the wounded, and Efiros helped in any way he could.   

Marana had worked tirelessly over the last two days — after several hours of intense surgical procedures, she had successfully conducted Zov’ha’s corpus callosotomy — split brain surgery. The “Ghost” was contained to the left side of Zov’ha’s brain to prevent it from completely taking over her body and mind. 

The consequent medical reports showed that there was no major brain injury, a promising hope. 

For all the theorising Marana had done of why the Ghost had entered Zov’ha’s brain at the time of her failed assassination, there were only two possible explanations: The Ghost was greedy — the pellet that had embedded in Zov’ha’s temple had residual Autoichorium, and the Ghost wanted more of it; or, it wanted to protect Zov’ha, who had something better — Omnichorium. 

Whatever the reason, Marana was glad that Zov’ha had survived.

The pellet had been torpedoing at high speed and could have only been impeded if the Ghost had reacted within microseconds. That’s super fast! This revelation scared as well as fascinated Marana. Nano machines with independent thought and action… with high precision and impeccable speed… What else were the Astraleids capable of? 

No longer on life-support, Zov’ha slept peacefully on the retractable stretcher of the Gloomhog —  exactly where Marana had been not long ago when she had been shot with the bullet that had shattered her glass-frame body. Fragments of memories, of what she perceived during her treatment by Sinovan and On’jar, raced through her mind. This was different. Somehow, this was worse! 

Mr Murderclawz hopped off Marana’s metal frame as she sat upright. Lying down was not going to accomplish anything! And so she returned to sit beside Zov’ha and monitor her condition.

‘Dear Zov, please I…,’ Marana curled her delicate human fingers around Zov’ha’s hand. ‘I’ve a confession to make. I’ve been a bad frien’... n’ a bad person.’ She hesitated, licking her dry lips and swallowing. ‘Gosh, this sucks!’ It was bad enough being alone at times like this, but talking to a comatose patient seemed like an ill attempt at containing an impending insanity. 

She stared at Zov’ha with bated breath. Any moment, now, she would open her eyes! Oh, who am I kiddin’? There was no telling when she would awaken… it could be years! She shivered as the truck’s air con sent a blast of cold air her way.  

‘Like I was sayin’,’ still jittery, she let out a sharp breath. Remorseful and contrite, Marana could not bring herself to face Zov’ha, so she stared at her own feet instead. ‘I’ve been a bad frien’, in sayin’, it’s not just what I’ve done, but also what I had thought. In the past, that is. 

‘I was scared. We were in confusin’ times, y’know? I’d just come out of confinement from Lüstravyr, n’ gotten back my old job. With all the crappy politics at work, I think I just… broke. 

‘N’ then we set off huntin’ those beasts — the Gloomhogs. We were testin’ your spear, ya remember, dontcha? And ya…’ Marana choked, trying to speak past the lump in her throat. Fighting back tears, she released her tightened grip on Zov’ha’s hand, which she realised may have been a bit painful if she was awake. Taking a deep breath to eschew an emotional outburst, she continued, ‘Ya snarled at me, girl… It was barbaric! I was so afraid! Your eyes were… monstrous! And your fangs! 

‘And after that there were so many unexplainable things, like how’d you survive fallin’ off the beast? It was all really frightenin’! I thought you were some crazy fugitive, cuz you had no history n’ all.  

‘Anyway! I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout it. Back then, I had no idea what ya had been through and I’ve been foolish… and selfish. And that thing when I sneaked a peek at ya biochip…’ Then she dared herself to look at Zov’ha again. ‘I’m so sorry!’ 

She let her tears fall then, hiding her face in the thick foam blanket that kept Zov’ha warm. Marana was the spirit that kept things positive in their motley group. But now, her flame had run out of air, gasping for life, and so she just sat curled up, draining her emotions, which felt like wringing a soaked woollen scarf — no matter how hard she forced herself to stop, the water seemed to ceaselessly pour out. 

After what seemed like ages, she sat up, her eyes red and puffy. Zov’ha was like a stone statue. Her sharp nose and thin upper lip were capped with droplets of sweat. Her strangely-large eyes were effortlessly shut, thin lines of white tattoo were marked on her eyelids. 

Marana stared at her for a while, rubbing the back of her head, feeling the short hairs of her undercut that felt like velvet. ‘I said I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout things. I’ve been thinkin’ a lot, actually. And I’ve figured stuff out.’

As she lifted herself off the seat, Marana’s metal body groaned like a machine — she’ll have to spend some time oiling up soon. Walking over to the workstation in the centre of the Gloomhog, she produced a black, oval stone from a pocket-sized vault that slid open with the touch of her finger. It was Zov’ha’s memory stone. Marana had run a thin silver chain through the breather hole on the top so that Zov’ha could wear it around her neck.  

From the same vault she took out another pendant — a pea-sized, glassy, brillitanltly-white octahedron crystal, which had a high-alloy steel top and bail. The crystal’s surface appeared to have ice fractals, as if it was frozen. To touch: it was biting cold. Treating it like a cube of ice, Marana gingerly juggled it between her hands, quickly unclasped the silver chain and strung it along with the black memory stone. 

Walking back, she carefully fastened the two-pendant necklace around Zov’ha’s neck and placed the oval stone and the octahedron crystal on her chest. 

‘There,’ she said, satisfied with the arrangement. ‘I made the frosty, li’l, white one specially for ya!’  

She beamed, staring at the necklace like a child who had just finished a drawing and was innocently admiring their own penmanship. ‘I’ve had a bit of an epiphany. Guess what, when ya came to save me in Lüstravyr — before we blew it up — ya used my freezer to get those icicles outta your hands to beat the crap outta Jeshka!’ She let out an agitated chuckle as it brought back sour memories. Sitting down again, she touched the blanket where she had been crying. It was still damp. 

‘N’ then somethin’ happened,’ Leaning back, she stared at the ceiling. ‘Whatever’s in your blood — Omnichroium, I suppose — it changed, sorta evolved. You could use stone n’ mud n’ whatnot. Guess it happened after that Nightflame festival. You were so pissed with me, your Omnichorium didn’t give a shit if there was no ice! It evolved to mimic anythin’ non-organic around. That sucks, it can do that!

‘Considerin’ we didn’t meet after that for a long… long time, I can’t say when your hardcore pains started, but if I’d ta guess, it was after your body began mimickin’ anythin’ other than ice. You can handle ice well enough, but not stone, or mud, or anythin’ that’s more complex. Ice is what… solid water! That’s easy for the Omnichorium stuff to mimic and your body to handle, hey? It’s ice… just hydrogen and oxygen.

‘I remember studyin’ that there’s different phases of ice. There’s regular ice, n’ amorphous ice, n’ superionic ice, n’ Ice Two, Ice Three… and yadda yadda... Some phases of ice haven’t been discovered, most can only be made in a lab. So I was thinkin’ since Frost Ash is “so cold that it burns”, it’s pro’lly one of those crazy phases that don’t actually exist naturally. It’s just your body’s Omnichorium doin’ shit it likes’

Marana straightened up, continuing to ogle at the octahedron pendant. The brilliant-white texture of the crystal was so enigmatic that she could hardly look away. ‘So I made ya that ice trinket… thingy. I found a piece o’ my old glass body — that glass mat’s got extreme temperature resistance. Hooked up a semiconductor, a coolin’ chip, n’ a kinetic harvester to it. It’s just a really cold piece’a glass. But it continually freezes water from the air. So ya don’t have ta go lookin’ for ice. You’re always carryin’ it with ya! A bit of ice… n’... a bit of me.’ 

Realising that Zov’ha couldn’t hear what was being said, Marana looked away in disdain. But every word she spoke eased her burden, and it felt like her past actions were being expiated. ‘Hopin’ ya won’t have any more pain, girl… cuz, that pendant oughta let you create your icicle-y weapons instead of generatin’ hurtful stone claws ‘n all. It’s butt cold! But ya’ll get used ta it. N’, I hope ya’ll forgive me, some day, frost princess! The pendant’s a start… I hope.’ 

Marana’s throat was parched. Feeling like some pressure had been drained from the swelling in her heart, even though it wasn’t truly a confession because Zov’ha hadn’t heard a word, she felt better and let out a long sigh. Even though no one was watching, except Mr Murderclawz, who was curled up in his usual spot on the top shelf behind Zov’ha, Marana couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed. 

Hoping to get a bit of fresh air, she shook her head and marched towards the exit. She was greeted by a gust of frigid wind as the doors slid open. The summer’s heat had been abruptly thwarted by a sudden onslaught of swollen black clouds. It had rained all night long during Zov’ha’s surgery, and it had continued to rain the next day, making everything soggy and damp. 

The Gloomhog was parked in the meadow of Anandil Homa’s farm, where they had camped after escaping the destruction of Neva. To the surprise of the resident farm animals, the party had bustled about to build a temporary shelter around the hover truck. 

Marana bent forward to hop out, only to be stopped by Mr Murderclawz’ mewing. He had hopped down to rub his head against Zov’ha’s cheek. 

‘Dontcha go troublin’ her,’ Marana reprimanded, hugging herself from the chill coming in through the doors. ‘She’s been through hard times as it is!’

As a response, the large cat curled himself near Zov’ha’s head, tucking himself beside her shoulder and head, and continued mewing. 

There was a beeping in the truck’s medical system, alerting Marana about some diagnostic assessment.  

‘Muffin?’ Marana barked, hoping it was just another matter that Honeymuffin could solve while monitoring Zov’ha. 

‘Patient’s melatonin levels are dropping rapidly,’ came the system’s automated voice. 

Marana’s gasp was almost inaudible over the harsh wind and sudden pattering of raindrops on the truck’s roof.