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Pamarthe – Brune Family Hangar – Inside Ship
"Reality," Lioras whispered, thinking of the final word in his diary—a word that seemed so simple, yet meant so much more to him.
He enjoyed writing his emotions. It healed him in a way he couldn't quite explain. Putting words on the page helped him digest himself—to truly understand who he was. To love and hate himself at the same time.
The hole in the ship's roof was leaking again. Rainwater cascaded down the walls. Lioras sighed. This was getting ridiculous. A ship should be treated with love and care. Honestly, how did his father even fly this thing? One wrong turn and it would probably explode—taking him with it.
Lioras tutted. "Good riddance if it did."
His eyes fluttered as the morning sun poured through the hole, blinding him for a moment.
Yeah... probably time to make the trek home.
A low creak followed as he sat up. The nails in the mattress had left tiny impressions in his skin. His clothes were damp, and his throat was dry.
He took one last look at the room, wondering if maybe—just maybe—he could make it better one day. He might never get to use his genius on this planet, or even this island, but perhaps he could use it to fix this ship.
Lioras shook his head. No point dreaming when he was still living in a nightmare.
Outside, the hallway was quiet. The tools from last night were still scattered where he'd left them. The nav core still pulsed faintly in the dark—a quiet showcase of his work and talent.
At the ship's exit, he didn't say goodbye. Not because he didn't want to, but because every time he looked at this ship, it reminded him that there was a galaxy out there. And maybe—just maybe—he could have a purpose. Something more than what was planned for him.
Lioras had always wanted to be a pilot. To explore the stars. To fight pirates and the like. But his father never allowed it. He believed Lioras could never be a pilot—too different, too untraditional. He hadn't learned the same things his father had. In his eyes, Lioras didn't belong in space. He needed to stay and help the family.
That meant Lioras was destined to be a fisherman. A miner. A shop owner. All respectable paths—but not the life he imagined.
There weren't many ways off this planet, especially without money. And so, Lioras was stuck. Stuck with a family that hated him. On a land with no purpose, and no future in sight.
But the deepest wound? The one that cut the most?
Who his father saw as his successor.
Jace.
His duplicate.
His clone.
Lioras chuckled—not because it was funny, but because it wasn't. Just an empty laugh, the kind that slipped out when life felt too cruel to cry about.
And with that, he left the ship behind and stepped into the morning light.
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Pamarthe – Village Path
The walk home would be long. But at least it would be quiet.
Lioras inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar scent of his home. The air on Pamarthe always smelled like dust and metal—like the planet itself had never quite healed from whatever came before.
The morning light was bright. The sky above stretched in a washed-out blue, streaked with thin clouds that looked like they'd been painted on with a tired brush.
As he walked the gravel path leading to his village, he wondered what today would bring. Would the loop continue? Or would his family surprise him—would something fresh and new begin?
He heard footsteps and lively chatter as he walked, each step leaving a soft imprint in the gravel. And when he reached the top of the path, he saw that the village was already awake.
Vendors were setting up stalls along the main road, their voices loud and cheerful in a way that felt almost offensive. Children ran past him, laughing, kicking a dented can like it was a ball. A woman nodded at him in passing. He didn't nod back.
He walked in silence, hands in his pockets, eyes low—trying to hide in shadows that had never really been there.
That was, until he bumped into a bystander, knocking them over.
"Hey, watch where you're walking, yeh little shit!"
Lioras froze, stunned, not fully understanding what had just happened. Then, quickly, he reached down and helped the person up, apologizing profusely.
"I'm so sorry—I don't know what happened. I tend to get lost in my own world sometimes," he said, hoping to defuse the situation.
"Yeah? Well how 'bout you get lost—before I shove my foot up your ass."
Lioras sputtered, completely thrown off.
"I—I didn't… listen, this wasn't—I, uh… uh…"
All of a sudden, the man burst out laughing.
"I'm only joking, lad! Aha—honestly, yer nearly shat yourself. It was just some bants, wasn't it? You can breathe. I'm not gonna kick your ass."
Deeply relieved, Lioras gave the man a pointed look—though the fifty-something-year-old just laughed at the sight of a thirteen-year-old trying to look serious.
"You shouldn't do that to people," Lioras said, his voice slipping into something more childish than the deeply empathetic tone we'd seen before.
The old man laughed again. "Oh yeah? Why not? Think being a kid gives you some kind of privilege? Like you get to ignore the rest of the galaxy?"
Lioras didn't know what to say. This man was obviously senile and strange—on an intergalactic level.
"What? Nothing to say?" the man grinned. "Exactly. That's why I'm the adult and you're the kid. I know more about this universe than you'll ever dream of."
Lioras didn't know why, but something about the way the old man spoke hit a nerve. Snapped something inside him.
Honestly, who did this guy think he was? He didn't understand reality—his reality. Lioras was getting fed up with this old man's antics.
He locked eyes with him and snapped, "Shut up, old man. Who the hell do you think you're talking to?"
The old man shot back, "Hey, you're the one who was rude and didn't watch where you were going! And who the hell do you think you're talking to, you little midget? And old? I ain't old—I'm vintage. I don't look a day over thirty-four."
Lioras stared at him, speechless.
The man's head was full of grey hair. His face looked like it had been put through a blender—and the doctors had just given up. Who was this guy fooling?
Lioras was starting to think he should run. He might be in more danger than he realized.
He started scanning the surrounding area, already planning an escape route—
but before he could move, he heard the old man give a light chuckle.
"Sorry, lad. Didn't mean to scare ya. Just… not many people talk to us old folk anymore. I needed something to brighten my day for the next few months."
He was so confused right now. Like—seriously—this man might have the biggest personality disorder he'd ever witnessed. One moment he was an angry sailor, the next he was questioning reality, and now he was a kind old man?
Nah. He wasn't buying it.
But…
Something in the man's eyes made him pause. Made him rethink what he was about to say.
Instead, Lioras sighed and muttered, "Don't worry about it, old man. I… I get how loneliness can mess with you sometimes."
The man heard the tone in Lioras's voice and looked at him with new eyes. His own tone shifted—more serious now, a stark contrast to his earlier antics.
"Hm. You know… you're different from the other kids I usually see around here. Something about your eyes. I don't know—I've only seen that look in men much older than you."
The atmosphere shifted. Silence settled between them—neither one speaking, still holding each other's gaze. But no more words were needed.
Lioras liked the silence. It felt like striking metal with a hammer—each beat forging him stronger.
Then, the man broke it.
"What's your name, kid?"
Lioras looked at him. "Lioras. Lioras Brune."
He paused, then asked, "Yours?"
The old man smiled.
"Call me Wren."
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