#n-7000

Deep in the desert of my heart, a lonely flower blooms—

Although Tataru had never set foot on Ultima Thule, her favorite ballad echoed across the barren landscape of dead stars. It drifted above the sandy dunes of the Ea, whose people had long ago forgotten what it felt like to vibrate one’s vocal chords in a rhythmic and pleasing manner. It echoed in the craggy cliffsides of Reah Tahra, where dragons in decaying nests recalled the long-lost days when they, too, had lifted their voices together in song.

Yearning for the heavens above—

The refrain reached Base Omicron, sensors and satellites alight with its warbling vibrations. Military units paused in their daily tasks, clawed hands grasping at the air as they processed the foreign noise as illogical data. The only song heard in this place was of utter despair, not love.

To quench my thirst for you—

In the Last Dregs, the melody was finally lost amidst the clanking platters and rattling silverware. The only one able to hear its faint stirrings was possessed of large, furry ears. 

“Hmm?” Jammingway turned, tilting their head and cupping one ear to better hear over the buzz of multiple conversations. Closing their eyes, they focused on the tiny voice that seemed to call from beyond the very stars themselves.

“Analysis?” N-7000 joined them at the edge of the café’s large stone steps, hovering in place as it waited for the Loporrit to speak.

“Unless my ears deceive me—and it’s rare they do—that sounds an awful lot like Eachna.” N-7000 whirred, gears churning as it scanned the distant horizon.

“Affirmative,” it replied, after a moment’s processing. “Approaching life-form from the ship Ragnarok meets appropriate specifications for classification as allied unit D’arcy, Eachna. Estimated time of arrival: one bell.”

“Mother be praised!” Jammingway cheered, pumping their furry fist with excitement. “Perfect timing, too! You couldn’t ask for a better day for a picnic; not an astromagnetic storm in sight. I’ll go right now and start a fresh batch of carrot soup.”

“This unit does not understand the motive behind such actions.” N-700 buzzed thoughtfully. “Allied unit Eachna has shown an average satisfaction rate of 27.4% for carrot soup. Alternate menu items guaranteed to achieve optimum satisfaction rates: roast hamsa, seaweed salad, braised—”

“What are you talking about, you bucket of bolts? Everyone loves carrot soup!”

_______________________________________________

Eachna panted as she climbed the sprawling structure above Base Omicron, one hand rubbing at the persistent stitch in her side. The rock-strewn path zigzagged beneath her boots, precarious footholds anchored by solid bridges of aquamarine crystal. In some ways, the fragmented landscape reminded her of the Floating City of Nym, although these floating structures were devoid of life yet. The few scrubby vines that sprouted among the stones were brown and dried, crumbling to ashen powder beneath her heels.

At last she crested the final rise, standing on the solid expanse of barren land that bordered the abandoned plaza. The Last Dregs glowed brightly in the perpetual twilight, a true beacon of hope outshining everything for malms around. Even the fluorescent lights of the Omicron base weren’t half as bright. She quickly passed through the dusty plaza, drawn to the golden warmth that seemed to emanate from the café.

As she approached, she realized that the number of customers had nearly tripled in size since her last visit. Shadows danced along the curved shelves as Elysion’s inhabitants passed through the café, milling about on the stone steps and leaning against the round pillars as they conversed with one another. Omicron units hovered from station to station, waiting tables and explaining the menu to curious patrons. Other units scanned the finished diners as they bussed the tables, cataloguing the different gustatory sensations before delivering them to groups of delighted Ea.

A Karellian soldier, seated at a table of friends and former enemies, noticed her and waved cheerfully. Eachna waved back, the hairs on her bare arm lifting as a levin-charged Miw Miisv drifted aimlessly by. A ghostly dragon took to the skies, soaring high with an echoing roar. Her mouth watered at the rich scent of freshly ground coffee carried on its pale wings.

She couldn’t help but smile, cheeks dimpling at the sight of so many people. For untold ages, despair had held full sway over this empty land; now, both the café and its patrons were thriving. If Stigma-4 continued to create replicas from the dead stars, Ultima Thule would be filled to flowing with new life in no time at all.

N-7000 might call it a job well done, but it was so much more than that. The Last Dregs was standing proof of convictions she’d held for ages, ones so deeply rooted that it was near impossible to convey in words. Her heart swelled in her chest, fit to burst with the overwhelming rightness of it all.

“Eachna!” Jammingway called to her from the café entrance, waving with both arms as they ran towards her. “Welcome back, it’s been far too long!”

“Correction,” N-7000 buzzed, floating a half-step behind. “It has been exactly seven moons, two weeks, four days—”

“Oh, hush! You know what I meant, Forky!” Eachna couldn’t help but laugh at the scrunched little scowl on their face. “And anyway, who’s counting?”

“It has been a long time,” she conceded, kneeling down to clasp Jammingway’s proffered paws. “I can see the Last Dregs is doing well for itself. There’s not an empty table in sight.” Her lips quirked as she caught sight of a quivering Ea, clearly overcome by the culinary sensation it was experiencing. Its fellows bombarded it with countless questions, gelatinous heads detaching to float above the Omicron barista’s dome.  

“Isn’t it a dream come true?” Jammingway gushed. “Even the Nibirun have settled in and made themselves at home. I actually caught one laughing the other day—laughing! It’s better than I could have ever imagined; the place practically runs itself. Not that I need you taking that as another sign to hibernate,” they added, glancing accusingly at N-7000.

“Fret not. Hibernation is not within this unit’s near future.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Eachna laughed. “All of it, really.” Turning, she looked again at the patrons enjoying their meals. The golden light blurred and she blinked in surprise, reaching up to find that tears were building at the corners of her eyes. She swallowed back the lump in her throat, heart pounding almost painfully in her chest.

Thanks to Meteion, she had suffered alongside these people. She had watched their destruction, felt their anguish, mourned their deaths. Their undying despair had wrenched her heart in twain more than once during her journey to the center of the dying sun. Some had inspired pity, others anger. But every last one of them had been in immeasurable pain. Even the Nibirun, who chose peaceful death over a life with no purpose, had been in pain.

To see them now, knowing where they had once been…. Jammingway was right: it was a dream come true. They deserved this second chance at life, to make right the wrongs which had led to their destruction. They deserved to learn and grow, to achieve happiness for its own sake. She turned her eyes to the vast star above the café, the wellspring of pain that had served as Metion’s nest. How many memories remained inside, trapped by the twisted dynamis of their own despair? 

I want them all to have this second chance. Every last one of them.

“And anyway,” Jammingway prattled on, oblivious to her musings, “since you’re here, I thought we might have a picnic! I packed all the best foods the café has to offer. We have carrot soup, carrot salad, carrot juice, carrot cake—”

“Oh… erm, that’s… that’s great!” Eachna managed a smile, brows knitted in consternation. “I’m sure it’ll be delicious.”

“Be at ease.” N-7000 fairly vibrated with something akin to self-righteousness. “Unlike certain annoying life-forms, this unit took allied unit Eachna’s satisfaction rate into account when choosing appropriate sustenance.”

“Hey! What are you saying?” Jammingway fumed. “Eachna loves carrots just as much as I do! Don’t you?”

“I don’t hate carrots, per se….”

“Allied unit Eachna’s average carrot consumption does not exceed one half of her nutritional intake. As such, this unit took the liberty of adding—” N-7000 trailed to a stop, hovering silently with one arm outstretched.

“With what!? Just what have you added?” Jammingway insisted, stomping their feet. “If you’ve squashed my carrot cake by crowding the basket, I’m going to be very cross!” 

“New life has arrived in Elysion.” N-7000 whirred, effectively ignoring Jammingway’s one-sided tirade. “Repeat, new life has arrived in Elysion. Scanners indicate only one life-form at this time.”

“What? Only one?” The carrot cake was completely forgiven—or forgotten for the time being—as Jammingway immediately shifted into entrepreneur mode. “That’s odd. Normally they show up in groups. Still, you know what they say: where one is, more may follow. The picnic will just have to wait. You don’t mind, do you?” 

“Not at all!” Eachna secretly breathed a sigh of relief. Carrots were not her favorite by any stretch of imagination, but Jammingway seemed determined to believe that everyone loved the orange vegetable just as much as they did. Perhaps she could sneak away long enough to check the contents of this picnic basket for herself….

“That settles it, then!” Jammingway beamed, hands on their hips. “Lead the way, N-7000! Let’s go meet our newest friend!”

_______________________________________________

“Are you absolutely certain the new life form landed up here?” Jammingway balanced precariously atop N-7000’s chassis, shielding their eyes with one paw from the glaring light of the dynamis staircase. The summit of the dead sun was shadowy in comparison, the bed of Elpis flowers a faint glow in the near distance. “All I see are stairs, stairs, and more stairs.”

“Affirmative. New life-form scan readings indicate this as the proposed landing trajectory.”

“But I thought that Stigma-4 created the simulations,” Eachna said, practically jogging to keep pace as they climbed the endlessly winding stairs. “Does the star just… spit them out?” Jammingway shrugged.

“Your guess is as good as mine. Normally they find Elysion long before we find them.” They lurched, grabbing hold of N-7000s rabbit ear accessories as the staircase grew steeper. “I wonder what sort of life-form we’ll meet this time? Do you recall any other civilizations from the Dead Ends?”  

“I don’t think so.” All the civilizations she’d seen in the heart of the dead star were already café patrons: sweet, chubby Grebuloffs; armored, pedantic Karellians; graceful, nihilistic Nibiruns. As she pondered these strange races, she found her own curiosity rising alongside Jammingway’s. What would this new life-form look like?

Would they be large and powerful like the wraithlike dragons, or perhaps smooth and gelatinous like the Ea? Figure after figure flashed through her mind’s eye: malformed voidsent, gaunt sin eaters, bewhiskered kobolds, feathery Vanu Vanu, impish pixies… would this new person’s shape be something familiar, or wholly new? Would they be calculating, or emotional? Despondent, or hopeful?

Lifting her eyes towards the summit, Eachna stopped short at the sight of a weapon at the top of the staircase: a long, curved blade, wider than the span of her arm at its thickest and tapering to a razor-sharp point. It was attached to an even longer shaft, knocked sideways as though it had fallen from a great height only to lodge itself deep into the cracked earth. Her eyes traced the familiar bony plating along the blade’s outer edge, breath catching in her throat at the sight of a broken revolver cylinder hanging askew from the handle.

“Oh, no.”

“What is it?” Jammingway leaned forward eagerly, ears pricked and nose twitching. “Do you see them?”

“It can’t be.” The reaper stone seemed to burn a hole in the pocket of her knapsack, the collected aetheric signatures within drawn to the scythe at the top of the stairs. She gulped back the emotions threatening to overpower her, gorge rising and fingertips tingling at the memory of fighting to draw her bow with slippery, bloodstained hands. Her very muscles seemed to burn with a phantom ache, the echoes of a fight that ended only when the last flickering embers of her life could no longer withstand the onslaught. 

“Eachna?” Jammingway looked at her strangely. “Are you alright? You look a little pale…. Well, you always look pale, especially here, but this is even worse—”

“Allied unit’s heart rate is increasing at an exponential pace—”

“It just can’t be!” Eachna took the remaining stairs two at a time, tripping on the topmost step in her rush and landing facefirst on the scorched earth. She stumbled to her knees, scraped palms burning as she brushed the stains from her trousers, and groaned aloud at the sight before her. “Oh, isn’t this just a—” Her tongue felt too large for her mouth, jaw working as she searched for the right oath to express the depths of her frustration.

“You!” she finally spat, picking up a handful of the ashen dust and flinging it—rather unsuccessfully—at the figure lying eagle-spread in a heap of crushed flowers. “Damn you to all seven bloody hells!”  

“What’s the matter? Is it a— wait a minute!” Jammingway practically wilted on the spot. “That’s no alien life-form! That’s an Etheiryan!”

“Scanners indicate unconscious life-form is composed of dynamis,” N-7000 protested.

“Okay, okay! Don’t blow a gasket.” Jammingway slipped from the unit’s shoulders, dangling for a moment from one clawed appendage before landing deftly, if not gracefully, at its side. “So he’s a dynamis simulation. That still doesn’t explain what an Etheiryan was doing inside the dead star, nor how he came to be there in the first place.”  

“Oh… that’s partly my fault.” Eachna winced. “We had a fight to the death, and I might have left him there? Accidentally?”

“You—a fight to—left him—” Jammingway’s look of abject horror gave way to weariness. “I don’t even know which part of that sentence to address first.”

“It’s not like I meant to do it!” Gathering her courage, she crept close enough to toe the heel of one heavy boot. She kicked at it lightly, watching for any signs of regaining consciousness. “Of all the people in all the worlds,” she sighed, “why did it have to be you?”

“Parameters for acceptable simulations of life-forms for Elysion were recently altered by fluctuations in dynamis,” N-7000 stated. “Cause of anomaly: allied unit Eachna.”

“Me!?” she echoed in dismay. “But I didn’t even do anything this time! And I certainly didn’t ask for him!”

“Through dynamis, you expressed a desire—a “wish”, as this overexcited life-form continues to insist—that all sentient beings within Ultima Thule might experience a second chance at life through simulated existence. As this life-form’s last documented location was well within parameters, he has been restored accordingly.”

“I can assure you, this is not what I meant.” Eachna’s shoulders slumped. “Does this even count as a second chance? It’s not really him,” she pointed out. “It’s just a copy.” Even as she spoke, she remembered how he had once transcended death using the power of the Resonance. Could such a thing possibly happen again?

“Regardless of intent, this life-form form now exists in the same capacity as all other life-forms within Elysion,” N-7000 answered. “Metaphysically, we are but memories recreated for the purpose of continued study by Stigma-4. Alternatively, philosophical debate documented between the Ea and the Nibirun suggest that the nature of said existence—whether or not we are “real”—is wholly reliant upon individual interpretation.”

“That means it’s really up to him in the end, isn’t it?” Jammingway mused. “Still, we probably ought to wait until he’s settled in before asking those sorts of questions. Just thinking about them is enough to give me a headache.”  

“Cranial pain aside, this unit is in agreement.”

“That’s fine and all, but it still doesn’t help in this situation.” Eachna rubbed her eyes wearily. “You don’t realize what he’s capable of.” She let the knapsack slip from her shoulders, digging through the many pockets until she emerged with her battered codex. Flipping through pages of notes, she finally settled on one near the end and handed it to Jammingway. “This will tell you more than enough.”

“Archaic,” N-7000 buzzed, scanning the page and committing the contents to memory. “Assimilating data for future calculations—!! Results not favorable.”

“You’re not kidding!” Jammingway shook their head, paw sliding down the page as they read through the notes at a slower pace. “If this Zenos wakes up and decides to make Ultima Thule his new hunting grounds, all our hard work could be undone!”

“Calculated levels of despair exceed all known parameters.”

“My point exactly.”

“Query: what course of action should be undertaken?” N-7000 turned to Eachna, scratching its dome. “Immediate termination of life-form would directly oppose the mission objective.”

“That’s also not very fair, is it?” Jammingway closed the codex with a heavy thud. “If we judged every patron based on their past actions, the café wouldn’t have any clientele at all. And after all, you were the one who wanted everyone to have a second chance.”

“Agreed. This unit also acknowledges the accountability of allied unit Eachna.”

“Huh? Why me?!” Taken aback, Eachna raised her hands in an admittedly paltry defense. “What am I supposed to do about him? I can’t very well take him with me when I leave.”

“This is factual. In their current state, simulations would become highly unstable without an accessible form of dynamis. Departure is unadvised.”

“Bugger.” She gazed down at the Garlean prince, sprawled amidst the flowers. The expression on his face was calmer than she’d ever seen it, passive as though in deepest slumber. A part of her hoped that he might be dead, but even in the murky shadow she could see the regular rise and fall of his chest. Each breath stirred the fine blonde hairs trapped beneath his cheek, pale as death against the backdrop of his crumpled cloak.

“Alright,” she finally said. “This is what we’re going to do. N-7000, I want you to take this scythe and hide it somewhere. The café, Elysion, Base Omicron: I don’t care, just so long as it’s in a spot he won’t be able to access easily. We have to make sure he stays unarmed until I can convince him not to go around picking fights with anything that moves.”

“Affirmed. This unit will follow your orders to the best of its abilities.”

“Jammingway, can you make sure no one from the café comes anywhere near this area for a while?” She ran both hands through her curls, tangling them in her fingers and tugging as she thought. “Hopefully I’ll have a plan by the time he wakes up, but in any case it’s probably best that I speak to him alone first. I don’t want to fight him again unless I absolutely have to.” There was no guarantee that she’d be so lucky this time, without the Scions there to pull her back from the brink with their healing magics.  

“You can count on me! I’ll make sure no one even looks in this direction until you give the signal!”

“As for me….” Eachna plopped down at his side, stretching her legs as she made herself comfortable. “You’re right. If I summoned Zenos, even by accident, that makes him my responsibility—at least for the moment. I’ll stay here until he wakes up. After that, whatever happens will simply have to happen.” Her tone was nonchalant, borderline cheerful; despite this, the flowers nearest her grew dull with unease.

“This unit would like to call your attention to the Gordhona Guardian located at the Last Dregs. Its protocols advise for the termination of rude intruders.”

“N-7000’s right.” Jammingway returned the codex, flapping their ears with a rosy smile. “If you get into trouble, just scream really loudly and we’ll come running to help. Okay?” She nodded, and together they watched as N-7000 wrenched the scythe from the earth, leaving behind a divot roughly the size of a small fissure.

“By the way, Eachna.” They stared openly at Zenos, nose twitching. “The way I understand it, we Loporrits have a different sort of society than the people on Etheirys. When he was helping us on the moon, Urianger told us all about the different type of relationships you all can have with one another. Some of them seemed relatively straightforward, but others were quite complicated.”

“Yes? What about it?”

“In the codex, you wrote that Zenos thought of you as his friend. But he also tried to kill you, and nearly succeeded.” Jammingway looked at her thoughtfully. “Is that a complicated sort of friendship?”

“I—” Before she could formulate a response, Zero’s words echoed in her mind. Zenos called you "friend." That's what you are? A friend?  At the time, she’d been too startled at the sight of his avatar made flesh to say much on the subject. Even now, she had no clue what—or how—she felt about the fallen prince. Jammingway waited patiently for her answer, bright eyes unwavering.

“I think… that it was very complicated,” she agreed slowly. “Whether it still is remains to be seen.” Jammingway nodded, reaching out to pat her knee gently before following N-7000 down the glowing stairs. Eachna watched them leave, squinting until they were little more than two floating dots in a sea of shadows. She reached out and picked a flower, twirling the stem between her fingers as she thought.

Everyone deserves a second chance, the little voice in her head whispered. It often reminded her of Fray, only less bloodthirsty and more argumentative. But society so loves to force its arbitrary rules. Gaius serves Werlyt while Yotsuyu lies cold in the grave. Miracles happen every day, but Hermes will never regain what was lost. You yourself are torn between your brotherly love for Themis and the knowledge that you are destined to end his life. Why must one earn repentance while another suffers? What balance can be found in this mindless rule?

They earn repentance through their deeds, she argued, plucking the petals from the stem. By learning from the past and choosing to make amends.

Is that the case? Well, then: who are you to deny him that choice? You are his mirror, the reflection of what he can become. If he must learn, then teach him. If he needs growth, guide him.

And at the end, if he still chooses to dream of battle? What then?

Why, then you take responsibility.

“Seven hells,” she muttered, casting the petals aloft. With no breeze to bear them, they fluttered to land at her heels. “How am I supposed to teach you to behave?” she asked the sleeping figure, tracing his jawline with her eyes. “Are you even going to listen to me?” But towards you and you alone, he behaved...differently. And I cannot fathom why.