Pretty amazing to be something, at least.

been thinking a lot about little Drifter growing up all alone on the Zariman... so here's a fic :) to explore that. tw for loss of parents and some mild horror. also on ao3

The lights went out. 

The engines were dead. The halls were silent. The living and the crazed were gone. 

All that remained was a child. 

They were small and scrawny. Black hair, tinted purple just a mere weeks ago on a whim, now wearing off. The mind of steel, and a heart fluttering of fear like a rabbit. They still remembered the Indifference’s growl in their ears, and it chilled their blood to ice. The Indifference didn’t like the answer ‘no’.

The child picked up a lantern from the ground. The glass was still warm, and the coil within it was tinted a muted red. Flick, flick, flick. It did not turn on, no matter how many times the child flipped the switch. 

At the door, they slowly pulled apart the makeshift barricade. Chairs and desks and a bookcase. The doors of the classroom opened, though one remained stuck in its pocket. 

There was no one outside. 

The child swallowed. They wanted to call out names. But their voice was dry and scared and it didn't come out. So they walked onwards. Step after step after step. 

The Void flickered black and teal and silver outside the bay windows. It coiled and curled and purred, hurr hurr hurr, like a cat, wanting to sit on a lap. The child ignored it, even as it hit the glass and hammered and banged and begged to be let in, and spoke in voices.

The child found its room. It was only their room, now. For a moment, they felt the relief of freedom and ownership and adulthood. Then, they terribly wanted their parents. The child buried their face in their hands and wept. 

Hours passed. Days. The child was strong and stubborn and refused to die, no matter how much the Indifference wanted it. There was food aplenty aboard the dead ship, though the flora was poisonous, fed by the Void at its roots. The child cooked what was available, the many mushy nutritious cubes. Anything else, as if fascinated by shapes, they turned square too. Cut. Cut. Cut. 

Days passed. Weeks. Months? Dread and cold were taking space on the empty board. The child wanted to remember words, so the table acquired a name, and the cube dispenser, and the chipped cup, and a little toy that came with their Orokin-issued book with the wondrous “Tales of Duviri”. The child read the book to their imaginary class, flip the page, flip, flip, and with every story of emotion, they felt it subside. Soon, they knew the book by heart, every syllable, every letter. The warm yellow pages were a much more preferable thing than the begging of coiling Void-dread outside the windows. 

Until one day, the child stumbled upon a door in their rooms. It shone brightly and so invitingly. Within that light, there were gentle trees and curving trails and golden people. Even if that were a Void’s cursed gift, the child wanted to know and see. They pushed the door open… 

Perpetuate the cycle of life, guardian?