Chapter Text
From the forest to the middle of the sea, everything feels numb. Maybe it was that shining machine, slicing through my brain in search of any trace of the Sullys, that caused this. But as each day passes, time flows the same — an hour might as well be a minute. Nothing changes.
Quaritch tries every way he can to make me react, talking about the Sullys, the Omatikaya, anything that might drag me out of this stupor. But nothing works. Looking at him stirs almost nothing in me anymore; the anger, the resentment, the sadness — all buried as deep as I could manage.
I won’t give him the pleasure of my emotions.
When the RDA realizes I have nothing left to offer, they simply give up. They slap a collar on me and hand me over to Quaritch, as if to say, “Take care of the problem you brought.”
The scientists and recoms seem sickened by the ship’s swaying, but I watch everything absentmindedly. It’s my first time seeing the ocean.
Seeing so much water is a little frightening, but there’s something soothing about the rhythmic rise and fall of the waves.
“Boy! Step away from the edge and get over here!” Quaritch shouts from the doorway, one hand extended as if ready to chase me if I were to dive in.
Not that the thought hasn’t crossed my mind, but honestly, it’s a bit insulting how little trust he has after all these days. I walk toward him slowly. They might be in a hurry, but I’m not. If they’re going to drag me around, it’ll be at my pace.
As soon as I’m close enough, his hand presses against my shoulder blades, nudging me inside. I don’t resist. I just cast one last glance at the sea.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a flash of pink that oddly resembles a nrrtsyal. I straighten up, trying to get a better look, but Quaritch stops me.
“Let’s go, we don’t have all day,” he says, pushing me further in. “You’ll have plenty of time to stare at the water later.”
I glance back at the deck, but there’s nothing there anymore. Maybe I imagined it. They live in caves — they’d never be caught above the surface, let alone out in the open sea.
The air inside the ship greets me, and I quickly remove my mask. After a lifetime of wearing one, it’s starting to irritate me every time I have to put it on. Maybe the RDA masks are built differently, but even the air they filter seems wrong somehow. It burns my nostrils and irritates my skin.
Inside, metal walls stretch high, lined with weapons and gear. Some of the other recoms are scattered around, chatting with soldiers. The few scientists stick close to the hologram table, avoiding interaction with the military.
Whether it’s because of the atrocities happening around them, or simply because they think the soldiers are idiots — I couldn’t say.
Another soldier appears by my side, grabbing my arm and dragging me toward my room — or cell, depending on how you look at it. As we walk down the corridors, one wall opens into a large window overlooking the sea. It’s closer to the water than the deck, giving a better view of the sun’s reflection dancing across the clear waves.
It’s beautiful.
A smile touches my lips for the first time in days.
Distracted by the sight, I barely notice the pink speck drifting closer until it’s right in front of me, pressed against the glass.
The nrrtsyal again.
Its wings, which glow like the colored lanterns Norm once taught me to make, seem even brighter under the sunlight. The intricate patterns become clearer, drawing me closer to the window, eager to marvel at it.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the soldier snaps, shoving my shoulder.
“Trying to admire it, idiot. Don’t you people have anything beautiful back where you come from?” I shoot back sarcastically. Rude man. Are all people from Earth this impolite?
“These damn hippies and their stupid planet,” he mutters to the floor before glaring at me again. “It’s just a bunch of water. What’s there to look at? Let’s go, kid, curfew’s over.”
He pushes me down the corridor. When I turn back to retort, my eyes dart toward the window — only to find no trace of the colorful wings.
Only the rolling sea remains.
I stare at the glass in disbelief. What the hell? She was right there.
Once inside my room, still bewildered, I remember something that’s been nagging at me for days. I turn to the soldier — whose name I’ll never bother to learn — and ask quickly before the door closes.
“Could you bring me a pair of scissors?”
He looks at me strangely, suspicious — which, to be fair, isn’t entirely undeserved when sharp objects are involved.
Z-Dog still has a nasty scar on her shoulder from when I stabbed her.
“And what do you want that for?”
“I want to cut my hair. It’s starting to bother me,” I say simply.
Bother me is an understatement. The closest description is exhaustion — I’m tired of carrying the weight of the dreads on my head. At High Camp, where I could properly care for them, the thought of cutting them never crossed my mind. But here, where it’s been at least two weeks since I’ve washed it, all I want is to get rid of them.
They’re heavy, worsening my headaches, and so filthy they’re starting to smell. Cutting them isn’t a loss anymore; it’s a relief.
Kiri would probably argue, insisting I trust her skilled hands to care for my hair. But Kiri isn’t here now. None of the Sullys are.
Maybe it’s time to take a step forward without them, since finding them is no longer an option for me.
“They’re not here, and you won’t see them again. Maybe it’s time to start thinking only of yourself,” I think absently.
The soldier eyes me suspiciously but eventually nods.
“It’ll be brought with your dinner. Don’t try anything funny,” he says, closing and locking the door.
And once again, I find myself alone in the cold-walled room.
——————————
A few hours later, I’m standing before the narrow mirror.
The floor still bears the traces of what I’ve done: thick, heavy strands of hair scattered around, like pieces of a life that no longer belongs to me. The scissors, forgotten on the table, bear the marks of effort. My fingers ache at the slightest movement.
I stare at the reflection.
It’s strange. I can hardly recognize myself. The absence of weight on my shoulders makes me feel lighter, yet bare, vulnerable.
Somehow, it's a welcome change.
My hand runs through the curls, stumbling over the uneven strands, and a dry laugh escapes my throat. It’s been so long since I’ve seen my natural hair that I’d forgotten what it looked like.
Golden curls fall past my shoulders like a mantle. Honestly, it’s beautiful.
I didn’t expect it to be this long — I thought it would barely reach my ears. But the more I thinned and cut, the more the strands seemed to stretch.
“They look like sun lilies,” I murmur to myself.
Lost in my reflection, I run my fingers through my hair again and again, still getting used to the strangeness. The sensation is addictive — it’s so light, so soft.
So absorbed, I almost don’t notice when the ship suddenly starts to lurch. The first sway makes me brace a hand against the sink. The second shakes the entire room.
I only realize how serious it is when a piercing alarm starts blaring, echoing through the metal corridors. The door opens with a mechanical snap, slamming against the wall.
My body moves before my mind catches up — I walk to the entrance and peer through the gap, only half my face sticking out. The hallway is empty, deserted, as if everyone vanished. From the ceiling, I hear the muffled thundering of footsteps in unison. They’re probably upstairs, dealing with… whatever it is.
I shrug. Escape isn’t an option. Not alone. Not against armed soldiers, recoms, and who knows how many paranoid scientists. Besides, I’m exhausted. It’s been a long day, and tearing out dread after dread drained more energy than I’d like to admit. All I want now is a bed and silence.
But before I can turn away, a flash of color catches my peripheral vision — a vibrant pink, out of place in the ship’s metallic, sterile interior.
I spin around quickly.
At the end of the corridor, hovering like a fragment of a dream, is the same nrrtsyal I saw earlier. She floats gracefully, unaffected by the ship’s rocking, as if she weren’t miles away from her natural habitat.
How the hell did she get in here?
I take a few slow steps forward, mesmerized. The butterfly approaches in an unhurried, lazy flight, as if time itself bowed to her. When she’s close enough, I raise my arm, offering my open hand.
To my surprise, she accepts.
Gently, I lift her to eye level. Her wings flutter softly, displaying a pattern so intricate it looks handwoven by some artisan. Each line shimmers with pink and golden hues, glowing under the artificial lights.
“How the hell did you get in here, little lady?” I whisper, a small, childish smile forming. “You’re a long way from home.”
I run the tip of my finger along her wings in a hesitant caress. They’re firmer than I expected, yet still delicate — trembling slightly at each touch.
Then, I feel it.
A sharp sting.
“Ow!” I exclaim, jerking my hand back.
The butterfly… bit me?
I stare at my finger in disbelief as a small red mark begins to bleed. That makes no sense. Nrrtsyals don’t bite. They don’t hunt. They’re not predators.
I lift my gaze back to her, ready to scold her for attacking me, but something makes me freeze.
My blood has splattered onto her wings — a small dark streak against the vibrant pink. But instead of drying, it begins to spread along the delicate patterns, flowing like ink seeking spaces to fill.
And then it merges.
The red fully blends into the wing design, deepening the tones as if it had always been part of it.
I stand motionless, stunned.
The nrrtsyal suddenly takes flight, escaping from my hand. But instead of retreating down the hallway, she comes closer. Much closer.
My heart races.
She hovers until she’s just inches from my face. I could push her away — but I don’t. I’m captivated.
The tiny creature lands precisely on the tip of my nose. For a second, it feels like we’re looking at each other.
Then she spreads her wings.
They unfold sideways, covering my eyes and cheeks like a blindfold.
I think about pushing her away, but I don’t.
Everything goes black.
As if someone had snapped their fingers and erased the world.
My mind empties, clean and silent. There’s no alarm, no rocking ship, no metallic echo. Just absolute, deep void.
And then—nothing.