Chapter 1: Horizon Base

Fafinyo woke with a start.

The air caught in his throat. He sat upright in bed, eyes wide, hands clutching the sheets, his heart pounding against his chest as if he were still trapped inside an evacuation ship.

For a few seconds, he had no idea where he was.

There was no fire.

No screaming.

No blue sky splitting apart above his head.

There was only his room at Horizon Base.

The low ceiling glowed with soft rootlight. The walls, built from bluish stone and recycled metal panels, trembled faintly with the movement of the base coming to life. The first light of Rep-Oluzion streamed through the round window. Outside, the purple sky was beginning to open over the mountains, and the three suns slowly appeared, as though the universe were in no hurry at all.

Fafinyo took a deep breath.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then he looked down at his right arm.

The Ω symbol glowed faintly beneath his yellow skin.

"Not again," he muttered.

He covered the mark with his hand as if that might switch it off.

It didn't.

His hair gave him away too. The tips, normally green, had turned gray with fear. Fafinyo ran both hands through it, somehow making it even messier than before.

"Perfect. Now even my hair wakes up dramatic."

He tried to get out of bed with dignity.

He stepped on a metal part he had left on the floor himself.

The part rolled.

Fafinyo lost his balance, flailed his arms, crashed into a shelf, and knocked down three tools, two rolled-up blueprints, and an impulse sphere that definitely was not supposed to be charged.

The sphere came alive with a hum.

"No, no, no—"

A small blue blast threw him backward.

Fafinyo ended up sitting against the wall, his orange cloak tangled around his neck and an adjustment wrench hanging from his hair.

Silence.

Then he sighed.

"The day just started, and it's already trying to defeat me."

His room looked less like a bedroom and more like the hideout of someone who had declared war on organization. Old ship parts covered the table, circuits sat inside mugs, metal plates were shoved under the bed, tools littered the floor, and blueprints were stuck to the walls beneath hastily scribbled notes.

His green boots rested in one corner. In another, a small wheeled cart waited beside the door. It was old and dented, and one wheel squeaked louder than all the others, but to Fafinyo it was perfect. He used it to haul scrap he found in the wreck fields near the base.

His current projects were spread across the main worktable.

A light blaster that only fired if you spoke nicely to it.

An energy blade that glowed for three seconds before shutting itself off in shame.

And a portable shield that, according to the original design, was supposed to protect half a body.

According to reality, it protected one knee.

Fafinyo picked it up and stared at it solemnly.

"Today, you will prove your greatness."

The shield spat out a spark.

"That attitude isn't helping."

The door opened.

Orak stood there.

Orak was the supervisor assigned to Fafinyo at Horizon Base. He was also, according to Fafinyo, living proof that the universe could manufacture patience and give it a threatening face. Tall and broad, with dark copper-toned skin and light Organic Alliance armor, Orak stood with his arms crossed and the expression of someone who had spent years waiting for exactly this disaster.

"Explosion?" he asked.

Fafinyo raised one finger.

"Technically, it was a sudden displacement of energy."

Orak looked at the blue scorch mark on the wall.

"That's a small explosion."

"But an ambitious one."

Orak closed his eyes for a moment, as if asking every star above Rep-Oluzion for patience.

"Supplies are arriving at the skyport today. I don't want you anywhere near the unloading platforms."

"Perfect. I didn't want to be near them either."

"Or underneath them."

Fafinyo opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

"That was unnecessarily specific."

"Because I know you."

Orak stepped into the room and nudged a loose nut out of his path with one foot. His gaze moved from the mess to Fafinyo's gray-tipped hair. Some of the hardness left his face.

"Another nightmare?"

Fafinyo hugged the portable shield to his chest.

"No."

Orak looked at him.

"Fine," Fafinyo said. "Yes. But it was short. Efficient. An optimized nightmare."

"Fafinyo."

He looked away toward the window.

From there, he could see the lights of Horizon Base turning on one by one. Sometimes he liked watching them. They reminded him that he had survived.

Other times, he hated them for exactly the same reason.

"I'm fine," he said.

Orak did not answer immediately.

Then he walked to the table, picked up the small smooth stone Fafinyo kept in one corner, and set it back down where it had been. It was the only thing Fafinyo still had from Fafyr. It did not glow. It had no power. It was useless for building anything.

It was simply from his world.

"You don't have to be fine all the time," Orak said.

Fafinyo tried to smile.

"That sounds like something a person says right before giving me the day off."

"No."

"You destroy hope very efficiently."

"But I do want you to eat something before you go to the workshop."

Fafinyo raised his eyebrows.

"So I can test the shield?"

"I didn't say that."

"It sounded like that."

"It sounded like: if you're going to disobey me, at least do it on a full stomach and with an adult nearby."

Fafinyo frowned.

"I'm seventeen."

"Exactly," Orak said. "Old enough to understand instructions and still too young to follow them."

Fafinyo opened his mouth to defend himself.

Nothing useful came out.

"That was offensively accurate."

Orak headed for the door, but stopped before leaving.

"And Fafinyo."

"Yeah?"

"If the dream comes back... find someone. Don't wait for it to destroy you from the inside."

Fafinyo went quiet.

Then he gave a small nod.

"Understood."

Orak left.

Fafinyo took a few seconds before moving. Then he quickly dressed in his dark gray-black clothes, pulled on his green boots, adjusted his orange cloak, and pushed the small wheeled cart toward the door. The cart squeaked as if complaining about the burden of existence.

"You're being very dramatic today too," he told it.

The cart kept squeaking.

Before leaving, Fafinyo touched the stone from Fafyr with two fingers.

"Today I'll actually do something useful," he whispered.

The stone, as always, did not answer.

Horizon Base was already awake.

The corridors filled with footsteps, voices, breakfast smells, and service announcements. Families from different species left their rooms for the common dining hall. Organic Alliance recruits passed by in light armor. Technicians carried energy crystals. Small children ran between columns of rootlight until some adult reminded them that a military base was not a playground.

Although, to be fair, some playgrounds on Rep-Oluzion had more alarms.

Fafinyo made his way through Horizon Home, the base's residential district. Refugees from countless worlds lived there: translucent-skinned beings, furry aliens, bright-eyed insectoids, families covered in soft feathers, elders with curved horns, and children who spoke languages Fafinyo could not understand but laughed just like everyone else.

Horizon Base was a refuge, a workshop, a fortress, and a home.

For Fafinyo, it was almost home.

Not completely.

Part of him still expected to wake up on Fafyr.

"Hey! Public menace with a cart!"

Kael appeared perched on a railing, spinning an electrical component between his fingers. He wore the grin of someone who had either already made a mistake or was about to make one.

"Good morning, Kael," Fafinyo said. "Lovely to see you in such a safe and officially authorized position."

Kael looked down at the railing.

"Authorization is a feeling."

"I don't think Orak agrees."

"Orak doesn't believe in happy feelings."

Kael jumped to the floor and pointed at Fafinyo's hair.

"Nightmare or failed invention?"

Fafinyo touched his head.

"It's almost green again."

"The tips are still gray."

"That's style."

"That's trauma with extra volume."

Fafinyo glared at him.

Kael raised both hands.

"I say that with scientific affection."

Before Fafinyo could answer, a calm voice came from the side corridor.

"If you're done diagnosing each other, Orak is waiting for the prototype."

Nyra walked toward them with quiet, measured steps. Her pink hair was pulled back, she wore a light training tunic, and she had the same serene look that always made Fafinyo feel as though every one of his secrets had been badly hidden.

Fafinyo straightened much too quickly.

"Nyra. Hi. We weren't diagnosing each other. It was a technical conversation."

"Kael said 'trauma with extra volume.'"

"An advanced technical conversation."

Nyra looked at the wheeled cart, then at the device in Fafinyo's hand.

"You brought the shield?"

Fafinyo smiled and raised the prototype proudly.

"Compact impulse shield. Lightweight, elegant, and ready to revolutionize modern organic defense."

Kael leaned closer to inspect it.

"Wasn't that the one that only protected one knee?"

"It has evolved."

"Does it protect two knees now?"

Fafinyo lowered his eyes slightly.

"One and a half."

Nyra blinked.

Kael put a hand over his heart.

"We are witnessing a revolution."

Fafinyo felt the tips of his hair grow warm. A faint red appeared among the green.

Nyra noticed.

She did not smile.

But she almost did.

That was worse.

The Organic Alliance workshop occupied a wide platform near the training yard. It was half workshop, half armory, and half the place where Orak pretended not to know how many rules Fafinyo broke every week.

Kael insisted that made three halves.

Fafinyo insisted science should not be constrained by geometry.

As a junior Alliance recruit, Fafinyo was not allowed to lead missions or handle heavy weapons without supervision. He was, however, allowed to use part of the workshop to experiment with recovered scrap. His inventions were not always elegant, safe, or easy to explain in a report.

But some of them had saved lives.

That was why the Alliance kept him around.

And why Orak pretended not to notice when Fafinyo labeled explosives as "high-energy tools."

In the testing yard, several recruits practiced with energy spears, living shields, and impulse weapons. Beyond them rose the blue mountains, with all three suns climbing into the purple sky.

Orak waited beside a long-armed soldier with a suspicious expression.

"You're late," Orak said.

Fafinyo looked at the suns.

"I arrived at a dramatically appropriate moment."

"Late."

"Appropriately late."

Orak held out his hand.

Fafinyo gave him the prototype.

"Compact impulse shield, version 3.5."

Kael whispered,

"What happened to version 3?"

"We don't talk about version 3."

"And 3.4?"

"Even less."

The soldier strapped the device to her forearm and activated it.

A blue shield appeared with a clean hum.

It was bright.

It was stable.

It was very small.

And it protected exactly her left knee.

The yard went silent.

Kael began clapping slowly.

"Magnificent. The safest knee on Rep-Oluzion."

Fafinyo raised one finger.

"Before you mock it, remember that many battles are lost by underestimating joints."

Orak rubbed his forehead.

"Fafinyo."

"Impact test," Fafinyo said quickly. "Give it an impact test before you judge it."

Orak looked at him suspiciously, but motioned to one of the recruits. The recruit picked up a training launcher, set it to low power, and aimed at the shield.

"Half power," Orak ordered.

"Three quarters," Fafinyo said.

"Half."

"Heroic half."

"Half."

The recruit fired.

The energy bolt struck the tiny blue shield.

The shield did not break.

Quite the opposite.

It absorbed the hit, vibrated hard, and for a moment expanded a second layer of energy that covered almost the soldier's entire body. The blue wave shoved the firing recruit backward and knocked out three nearby training markers.

Everyone went quiet.

Even Kael.

Then the shield made a ridiculous noise, like a metallic sneeze, and shrank back down until it covered only the knee again.

Fafinyo smiled slowly.

"Aha."

Orak stared at the device with carefully restrained surprise.

Nyra stepped closer.

"That wasn't luck."

"Thank you," Fafinyo said.

"It was also unstable."

"Less thank you."

Orak took the device carefully.

"Can you fix the expansion?"

Fafinyo stood a little straighter.

"With better parts, yes. I need small impulse cores, conductor plates, and maybe a field stabilizer that hasn't been chewed on by electric fungus."

Kael nodded.

"Getting picky, aren't we? He won't even take chewed parts anymore."

Orak looked at Fafinyo.

For the first time that morning, he did not look merely tired.

He looked worried and proud at the same time.

"This could be useful."

Something warm spread through Fafinyo's chest.

He did not say it, but those three words meant more than any applause.

Then the skyport alarms sounded.

They were not attack alarms.

They were emergency-arrival alarms.

The entire yard changed pace. Recruits lowered their weapons. Orak grabbed the communicator from his shoulder. Nyra turned toward the north platform before anyone said a word. Kael stopped smiling.

Fafinyo's stomach tightened.

They all ran to the elevated corridor.

From there, they watched three ships descend toward Horizon Base's skyport. They were not combat vessels. They were refugee transports: old, damaged, smoke pouring from their engines, black scars streaking their hulls.

One of them landed badly.

Metal screamed against the platform.

The hatches opened.

And the refugees began to emerge.

Some walked on their own. Others had to be carried. There were adults covered in ash, elders with makeshift bandages, small creatures crying in strangers' arms, families looking back as though they expected one more person to step off the ship.

A child came down from the second transport clutching a piece of burned cloth. His eyes stared at nothing.

For one second, Fafinyo forgot to breathe.

He saw himself.

Seven years old.

A ship.

A lost world.

"Where did they come from?" Kael asked quietly.

Nyra studied the traces surrounding the ships. Her expression hardened.

"Lyr-Vana."

Fafinyo knew the name. A small planet of suspended gardens and bridges of water. A planet with no reason to be at war with anyone.

Orak slowly lowered his communicator.

"The Imperial Network."

No one needed another explanation.

Red-eyed robots.

Black ships.

Worlds turned silent.

Fafinyo clenched his fists.

The Ω symbol glowed beneath his sleeve.

"What are we going to do?" he asked.

Orak looked at the refugees.

"Treat the wounded. Register survivors. Reinforce our defenses."

"That's waiting."

"That's protecting."

"It's not enough."

Orak looked at him sternly, but his voice was not harsh.

"I know."

That answer disarmed Fafinyo more effectively than any scolding could have.

Orak lowered his voice.

"But when people arrive like this, the first thing they need is to know they've finally stopped running."

Fafinyo looked at the child with the burned cloth.

He wanted to accept that answer.

He couldn't.

Because he had run once.

And part of him had never really stopped.

"We need better weapons," he said.

Kael closed his eyes.

"Tell me that sentence isn't the beginning of one of your plans."

Fafinyo took a deep breath.

"I have a plan."

"Of course you do," Nyra murmured.

"A good one."

Kael tilted his head.

"Actually good, or good on the Fafinyo scale?"

"The Fafinyo scale just protected a knee spectacularly."

"A historic knee," Kael admitted.

Fafinyo looked at Orak.

"Let me go to the nearby wreck fields. If I find better parts, I can stabilize the shield. We could build more of them. They might help the defense posts."

Orak shook his head.

"Not now."

"Orak—"

"Refugees just arrived from a planet under attack. I don't need to lose an impulsive kid with a heroic-inventor complex on top of everything else."

Fafinyo went still.

Orak sighed.

"One hour. Don't cross the outer ring. Don't climb into sealed containers. Don't touch anything marked with Imperial Network symbols. And log your departure."

Fafinyo smiled.

"That was a yes wearing armor."

"That was an 'if you don't come back, I'll go find you myself so I can yell at you.'"

"Still counts."

Fafinyo ran to the workshop entrance and grabbed his small wheeled cart. He pushed it toward the east gate, its wheels squealing all the way down the corridor.

Kael shouted after him,

"Your cart sounds like it's calling for help!"

"It's excited!" Fafinyo shouted back.

Nyra called to him before he crossed the exit.

"Fafinyo."

He stopped.

Nyra walked closer. Her pink hair moved gently in the wind coming through the gate. Her expression was serious, but not cold.

"Don't do this out of anger."

Fafinyo wanted to answer with a joke.

He couldn't find one.

He looked toward the refugees.

"I'm doing it for them."

Nyra held his gaze.

"Then make sure you come back. Improvised heroes can die too."

The words hit him harder than he expected.

For some absurd reason, his hair flashed red at the tips.

Kael saw it.

Fafinyo pointed a finger at him.

"Not one word."

Kael raised both hands.

"I didn't say anything. My silence is being heroic."

Fafinyo left Horizon Base through the east gate.

The wreck fields stretched beyond the fence of rootlight and stone. Under Rep-Oluzion's purple sky, the mounds of scrap looked like small mountains of dead metal. Broken ship wings jutted from the ground, engines lay half buried, defense plates were covered in blue moss, and cables twisted through glowing roots.

The wheeled cart squeaked steadily behind him.

To anyone else, it was garbage.

To Fafinyo, it was a language.

Every piece said something: I was an engine. I was a shield. I was a door. I was a weapon. I was a home. He only had to listen closely enough to discover what it could become next.

He began filling the cart.

One impulse coil.

Two conductor plates.

An almost intact weapon grip.

A stabilizer covered in dust, but thankfully untouched by electric fungus.

"Now you're cooperating, universe," he said.

Then he felt it.

Pressure in his arm.

Fafinyo stopped.

The Ω symbol glowed beneath his sleeve.

"I don't like it when you do that without warning."

Between two heaps of metal, a blue light flickered.

Once.

Then again.

Fafinyo pulled aside rusted plates, dry cables, and tangled roots. Underneath them he found a long container, partially buried, made of a white material that did not belong among the ordinary wreckage.

No rust.

No cracks.

No moss.

It was too clean.

As if it had been waiting.

Fafinyo swallowed.

"Orak specifically said not to climb into sealed containers."

The blue light flashed again.

Fafinyo knelt beside it.

"Technically, I'm still outside."

He wiped the surface with his sleeve.

A plate came into view.

Four black letters, cold and perfect.

A.X.E.L.

The Ω symbol on his arm answered with a sudden flash.

And from inside the container, something opened its eyes.