Memory Sequence four-five-eight-zero-six point zero-one. 

‘Ah I… what?’ Zov’ha heard herself speak as she crawled out of the abyss, battling against the turbulent vicissitudes of her emotions. Flinching at the sound of her own voice, she contemplated whether her subordinates in the Duskwatch had felt awkward taking orders from a captain with a voice so mellifluous and juvenile. 

Emergence and awakening, life and death. Summarise. Vocalising.

‘Who’s there?’ Zov’ha squeaked. A strange question to ask, she surmised, because though she could understand the words, there was no voice. It was a stream of thought… 

The void that engulfed her was reminiscent of being lost in a state of meditative subconsciousness. Aekis had taught her once, a long time ago, the art of Zazen — an old human practice lost to time that the Astraleids had raked up in order to find peace in a contorted world. 

But this was another experience — also introduced to her by the Astraleid boy — lucid dreaming. She could make out a distant light, which looked like the moon veiled behind clouds. And then the howling of wolves — the first dreamsigns! 

At a distance, I see a dying lawn and a cast iron gate. There’s a fountain, which runs not with clear water, but liquid gold, glimmering in the light of high noon. Vapour shimmers around it, breaking the spectral waves and creating kaleidoscopic illusions. Condensing upon the stone altar, the water flows away in sinuous trails.  

The gate and the fountain are surrounded by a wall; all of this lies in the midst of a flatland, arid and blistering hot. I raise my visual sensors towards the sun and immediately look away. 

Zov’ha gasped as an ocean of images flooded through her mind. Whether it was another entity’s memories or her own imagination, she could not tell, and she had no control… at least not until the final dreamsign showed itself.

Now, as I lie here, I gather that it is not the sun that blinds me, but the sight of desolation.

Everything… is gone…

Mysterious sounds fill my mind. Words from the children of the stars. I have to find a way to shut it, lest the commands override my system. A cacophony of people scurrying here, there, and far away deafens my senses. But I know they are mere memories, repeating incessantly. A thin line of bright light scorches my vision, suddenly making me aware of myself. I am slowly becoming… alive. 

I strain and bid my assemblage to fold in and compel my mind to haul in as much darkness as possible into the hollow of my being. It’s no use… the will to live is stronger than any other force in this universe. And then it begins… a state of consciousness. I feel the earth like the floundering roots of a young tree. Linked to the essence of Gaia, I venerate her beauty and perpetuity.   

There was a tremor, then, as if a great breath had been taken. Zov’ha sensed something soft under her fingers — grass — the final dreamsign! But her untrammelled mind sought to hear more… 

Neva… the land of the Protected. Disciples walk barefoot. Deers run wild, untroubled by the wars of this world. A temporal loop complicates the code… and then, I relinquish control to the irreversible dawning of life… rising to a higher dimension. 

I have become something hateful… a monster. But in the lifetime of the earth, it means nothing. I know this, because for a being battling between the living and the non-living, the concept of time does not exist. 

I despise being alive! Like air trapped underwater, my very core seeks to escape this state of natural ascension. 

The fountain appears again. Water -– issuing from the top of the marble fountain in thin jets, for yes, it really is water, emblazoned in gold by the sunlight — dribbles on my face. The droplets shoot outward into the sky from the top of the inverted marble obelisk, hovering in the air as they battle with gravity, wobbling like jelly as they fall and disappear into the womb of the earth.

The voices are louder and nearer. Someone approaches. I smell the dense scent of pinewood interlaced with the breath of a flowing river. I have claws now — white hair, and fangs. 

I ascribe my change to another being — one that has drawn me to them like iron to a lodestone. I rub my eyes, scratching out a lifetime of dirt from the folds in my skin. Everything appears blurry like looking through stained glass. 

My eyes burn as I strain to see…  foggy shapes of assailants trying to contort my very being. Why? Am I that much trouble? Ripples in time appear, snakelike shadows on the floor of the fountain… it’s almost over! I turn away from the brightness and close my eyes, slipping into a more relaxed state of mind. 

The water stirs; the sound of little waves created by a cool breeze. I feel a sudden need to breathe, and I push myself up towards the surface. I break free… and freeze. 

There is a… sort of rift. It suppresses the wheel of life that was turning within me. Finally, I am…

And then, there was nothing. Zov’ha spun around in the darkness. Everything she had witnessed had somehow ceased to exist. The only thing comparable to this experience, she thought dreadfully, was the snuffing out of life. 

Hand drums hammered in quick beats — a long crescendo, and then a quick descendo. The beats were accompanied by an accented wail. The pandemonium beckoned light. But when it stopped, there was darkness and comfort again. 

When it came again, the clamour was louder and it echoed like the tolling of a distant bell. It resounded in the void unceasingly, and it seemed to last longer this time, shining the hateful light into her eyes. 

And then the glare flooded her thoughts.

The medical bay lights around Zov’ha were blinking erratically as she woke. Her body was wet with sweat and her heart was racing like the footfalls of a frightened deer racing away from a hungry wolf. Every muscle in her body felt like it was being bitten by tiny bugs. Eyelids heavy with sleep, and her head swirling with confusion and unexplainable rage, she coughed and let out a moan. Her heart felt hollow. Even the simple act of curling her fingers evoked excruciating pain. 

Mr Murderclawz, who had been purring and mewling next to her, pounced off and sped away. 

Everything, from her past came rushing back to her, and a flood of emotions washed over her like the cold fingers of a waterfall on a sunny afternoon. Captain Zov’ha of the Duskwatch. Exiled. Aekis. The Council of Asenya. Yar’cax. Zy’heria. Aeroz. Sinovan. The Nightflame Festival. Marana. Neva. Anandil Homa. Subeya… Efiros. 

Through blurry eyes, she could see three figures looking inquisitively at her. As her sight adjusted, she could see that the closest was a woman with blue hair, her body made of steel.

‘Mmm…’ Zov’ha managed, repeating the sound several times. 

‘Yeah, girl,’ Marana said, nodding exaggeratedly, taking Zov’ha’s left hand in hers. ‘It is me. Ya can say my name, can’t ya?’ 

Unexpectedly, Zov’ha pulled her hand back and began tracing letters in the air. A puzzled expression on her face, Zov’ha watched her hand act on its own accord. 

Subeya, who was standing with Sinovan at the foot of the bed, shifted uneasily, her hands folded and eyebrows knotted. Seemingly unsure about Zov’ha’s revivification, she whispered, ‘What’s she doing?’ 

‘Cross-cueing,’ Sinovan responded, almost immediately. ‘It’s the way her brain is coping with the split-brain surgery… the two hemispheres can’t directly speak to each other. The right brain is in charge of recognition, and so she can recognise Marana. But Marana’s name is stored in her left brain. With no direct connection between the hemispheres, her right brain is trying its best to give cues to the left one… with hand gestures.’ 

Sure enough, Zov’ha was repeatedly tracing the Aewylyn rune of “Ma” in the air with her left hand.  

‘Mar.. Marana!’ Zov’ha blurted with a strange expression on her face, which Marana assumed was an attempt to smile. Zov’ha’s voice was hoarse from disuse. Attempting to sit up straight, she shut her eyes as she felt her muscles strain. Marana eased her back, but to her surprise, Zov’ha pulled her into an embrace. 

Feeling the chill of the frost pendant on her chest, Marana let out a short gasp but did not recoil. The renewed bond between them was exhilarating, and she remained locked in embrace as long as Zov’ha willed it. 

‘Everything that has happened since we first met seems like a blur,’ Zov’ha whispered. It had taken Zov’ha a few hours to recover from the initial haze of reawakening. Her speech had improved, and she required less cross-cueing to communicate, although her hands continued to move sporadically as she spoke in a slow and deliberate manner. ‘My past is clearer, though. And I know what I must do. I have you all to thank, for being such extraordinary friends, and always being at my side.’ 

‘I’m just glad you’re still in one piece,’ Sinovan nodded, patting her hand. His lank hair fell across his dark face, straight and slick as if oiled. His hardened skin appeared duller than usual in the dim light, and the calcified spikes on his face and neck appeared brighter in contrast. ‘It seems there is a lot you have to catch up on, and a long journey ahead. But we will be with you… always!’ 

Subeya, who stood by Zov’ha’s side, produced an extended palm, which Zov’ha took and squeezed. ‘Hey, I promised you already, yes? I’ll follow you… all the way to Asenya if I have to.’ 

‘Aight,’ Marana barked from her workstation, where she was busying herself with a medical log entry. ‘Ya’ll need ta clear off. Zov needs her rest!’ 

‘I’ve rested enough,’ Zov’ha protested with a surprising temerity in her tone that startled the others. There was a steadfastness in her voice… something none of them had ever heard before. Shifting on the retractable stretcher, she moaned, feeling her body constrain her. The pain was bearable though — nothing like what she had been through in the past few months. ‘I feel much better… already.’ 

‘Sin,’ Subeya tapped Sinovan’s shoulder politely with her knuckles, but considering her strength and body size compared to his, it felt more like a push. ‘Weren’t you curious about the… you know?’

Sin nodded, rubbing his shoulder blade which had felt her knuckles, ‘Right, right. Zov… we believe… and with some information from others who were present… that the Ghost had somehow seeped into your brain. We just wanted to make sure it wasn’t true. Clearly… you appear… appear…’

‘Normal?’ Zov’ha finished, folding her arms and looking away in embarrassment. Of course she remembered what she had done when she had been possessed by the bedevilled Ghost. Just being around her may have been terrifying for anyone — including Sinovan, Marana, and Subeya. But they were here! No matter what she had done! 

A renewed appreciation for them warmed her heart, and she turned back and looked at them fondly. ‘It is true,’ she whispered. ‘I remember being possessed and going into a frenzy. But the Ghost saved me. From… from a bullet? Where…’ she felt her temple and found a tender spot that felt numb. 

Curious about the conversation, Marana walked up to them from the workstation. ‘Yeah, that’s healin’ up real nice!’ 

‘Who did this?’ Zov’ha’s tone was hot with anger and astonishment. And the others heard it again — the authoritative tone of a former captain. Somehow, this comportment seemed fitting. It suited her like a tailored dress, embroidered with certitude and laced with complacency.

‘We still don’t know,’ Subeya sighed, thumping her fist into her palm. ‘But if I find them, I’ll pound them to the ground!’

‘But Zov,’ Sinovan ran his fingers through his hair, a look of concern on his face. When he noticed that Zov’ha’s eyebrows had knotted with trepidation, he shook his head and gave a tremulous smile. ‘Where is it now? The Ghost? Can you speak with it?’ 

Zov’ha knew the answer even before he had asked it. The Ghost had ceased to exist as a conscious entity — it probably happened during the split brain surgery — when its connection to her body and mind had been severed.  

She had witnessed its memories — the sentinel had somehow obtained a state of consciousness, and lived with hatred for a long time — probably centuries. When it had come across the scent of her Omnichorium, it had inadvertently turned rogue, destroying anything in its path to free itself from its own being. But when she had hunted it down and tried to suppress it with her Omnichorium, it craved more… maliciously seeping into her bloodstream. 

When it had ceased to exist, it had left behind its core Autoichorium construct in her left brain, which now soothed her bullet wound internally like a tourniquet. It would unlikely take living form ever again. 

‘It no longer exists,’ Zov’ha affirmed, feeling her wound with her fingers again. ‘But something good has come of it!’ she blurted, surprised that she even knew what she was saying. 

All of a sudden, she felt an urge… extending her palms, she produced long, icicle-like claws, which emerged from her skin as easily as flexing a muscle. Sinovan, Marana, and Subeya gasped in surprise as they witnessed Zov’ha’s right eye turn completely black; her iris scintillated like a silver ring. A crusty layer of frost coated her eyelids and cheeks, and the veins around her eye darkened.

‘It’s okay,’ Zov’ha whispered, hurriedly retracting her claws. Her eyes and skin returned to normal. ‘I have complete control now! I can visualise every single line of command in my mind… like a computer code… but in Aewylyn!’

‘How?’ Marana asked, her voice quivering as she hugged herself from the brief chill that had emanated from Zov’ha. 

‘The Autoichorium in my left brain — the remnants of the Ghost — it’s the key,’ Zov’ha smiled, feeling as if a crystal of doubt and restraint from her past had finally shattered. ‘...it acts like an Exaglia.’

‘Exaglia?’ Marana barked, ‘the horn-like thingy that Astraleids control their Autoichorium with?’ 

Zov’ha nodded, grinning. The Exaglia was something that she, being a half-Astraleid, was born without. Something that made her… only human. 

When no one said anything more, Zov’ha curled her fingers around the frost pendant that Marana had made for her. It was icy cold, but the chill was reassuring. Her right eye turned black as she caressed the cold surface of the crystal, eliciting crusty frost on her skin. Realising that the jewel was what kept her pain at bay, she beamed, ‘Marana… Thank you, it feels like holding… a fragment of my own life. I’ll treasure it forever.’