The medical bay of the Dreadnought Thalassa hummed with the soft pulse of the regeneration tanks. Blue light filtered through the crystalline walls, casting gentle shadows across the gleaming white floor. The air smelled of antiseptic and something older—something like the ocean after a storm, clean and waiting.
Vesta Lavana sat on a stool beside one of the medical beds, her rainbow hair falling in tangled waves across her shoulders. Her violet eyes were fixed on the notebook in her lap, her pencil scratching across the page. Mikasi rested against the bed frame, the living guitar's wooden grain rippling softly, the coyote's face in the wood watching the room with quiet amusement.
Ember lay in the bed, her neon-pink hair spread across the pillow in gravity-defying space buns, streaked with soot that no one had bothered to wash out. Her mismatched eyes—one icy blue, one gold—were closed. Mr. Cinders, the charred plush rabbit, rested on her chest. An IV dripped fluid into her arm.
Vesta chewed on the end of her pencil.
"So then the crowd started singing along, right?" She tapped the pencil against her notebook. "Like, everyone. Fishermen. Merchants. That grumpy old guy who runs the bait shop. All of them. And the coyotes—Mikasi made these dancing coyotes out of light, and they were, like, everywhere. Floating through the crowd. Kids trying to catch them. It was..." She searched for the word. "Magic. It was magic, Ember."
Ember did not respond.
Vesta nodded anyway. "Yeah, I know. You should have been there."
She went back to writing. The pencil scratched. A few chords from Mikasi hummed through the room—soft, searching, trying to find a melody that wasn't quite there.
"I wonder if they'll want me to play at this Event we're going to," Vesta said after a moment. "Like, a concert at a Celestial Dragon party? That would be huge. Imagine it! Me, on a stage, in front of all those rich people. They'd probably throw money at me. Or fruit. Do Celestial Dragons throw fruit? I feel like they'd throw fruit."
She tapped her pencil again.
"Maybe not fruit. Fruit is messy. They'd throw... I don't know. Jewels? That seems wasteful. But they're Celestial Dragons. Wasteful is their whole thing, right? Ember, you're not answering."
A pause.
"Right. You're unconscious. That's fair."
She went back to writing.
The clamor reached her before the people did.
Shouting. Footsteps. Something metallic clattering against the wall. Vesta's head snapped up, her pencil freezing mid-stroke. Mikasi's strings hummed a warning note.
The door to the medical bay burst open.
Sanza Kaplan Figarland stumbled through first, his red hair even messier than usual, his shirt hanging off one shoulder. A thin cut ran across his forearm, bleeding through the torn sleeve. His small face was set in a scowl.
"Vile woman," he muttered. "That was my flank."
Bō-Zak Kaminosukei followed close behind, his tattered awayo shawl slipping off his shoulder, his hand pressed against a gash on his bicep. Blood seeped between his fingers, but his gold-flecked eyes were more amused than pained. His pipe was missing—probably dropped somewhere in the hallway.
"In my defense," Bō-Zak said, "the blade moved on its own. I was aiming for the practice dummy."
Jannali Bandler pushed past them both, her afro bouncing, her golden hoop earrings swinging. Her headscarf was still in place, but there was a tear in her off-the-shoulder crop top.
"Bloody hell, mate," she snapped, spinning around to face Kaburo Gusaki. "Your cursed sword started it!"
Kaburo Gusaki stepped through the doorway with his usual economy of motion—silent, contained, his scarred face unreadable. Kalamaru hung at his hip, the obsidian sheath gleaming. His dark hair was loose from its ponytail, falling across his face.
"My blade did not start anything." His voice was dry, calm, devoid of emotion. "Your spear-wyrm bit it first."
"It did not!"
"Gosan's teeth marks are still in the scabbard."
"That's—that's character! He was expressing himself!"
"He was trying to eat Kalamaru."
"He was tasting it. There's a difference."
Sanza pointed at his bleeding arm. "I do not care who started it! I demand medical attention! Immediately!"
Bō-Zak sighed and patted the medical bed. "Sit down, tiny tyrant. You're making the room spin."
"I am not tiny."
Dr. Octavious materialized in the center of the room.
His portly octopus form shimmered into existence, light particles cascading along his six flexible tentacles. His small round spectacles flickered with data streams. His voice—quaky, glitchy, perpetually surprised—filled the medical bay.
"Ah! Customers! Dr. Octavious is, hmm, pleased to receive visitors, though he notes that the, ah, method of arrival could have been less... traumatic to the ship's corridor walls."
His tentacles zipped into motion, wrapping around instruments, pulling bandages from drawers, preparing sutures. One tentacle tipped with a scalpel. Another with a syringe. A third with a diagnostic scanner that beeped cheerfully.
"Multiple lacerations! A, hmm, moderate puncture wound! And one case of, ah, bruised ego!" Dr. Octavious's eyes—large, expressive, swirling with data—fixed on Sanza. "The ego will heal on its own. The arm requires stitches."
Sanza's eyes went wide. "Stitches?!"
"Unless you prefer, hmm, cauterization? Dr. Octavious can provide either. He is, ah, versatile."
"I prefer NOTHING! I prefer to be whole and unscarred!"
"Then hold still."
Vesta watched the chaos unfold, her notebook forgotten in her lap. Her rainbow hair shifted colors—pink with confusion, then blue with concern, then a flash of orange as she finally found her voice.
"Hey, guys," she said. "What..."
She stood up. Her eyes fixed on the blood.
"That looks really bad."
"It is not bad," Kaburo said flatly. "It is superficial."
"Says the man who isn't bleeding," Jannali shot back.
"My blood would not improve the situation."
Jannali cursed. "The new guy can't keep his weapon under control."
Kaburo's jaw tightened. "It was your weapon that—"
"It was not!"
"The wyrm has teeth marks in evidence."
"Gosan was playing!"
"He was trying to maim."
"He has strong feelings! You can't blame him for—"
Bō-Zak helped Sanza onto a medical bed, positioning the boy so Dr. Octavious could reach his arm. The monk's smirk was firmly in place despite the blood trickling down his bicep.
"We had a little training accident," Bō-Zak said, his tone conversational. "Is all. A misunderstanding of, ah, personal space."
"Your personal space tried to occupy the same space as Kalamaru's personal space," Kaburo said.
"My personal space was minding its own business when a three-headed snake decided to—"
"It has three heads. It cannot help but—"
"ENOUGH!"
Dr. Octavious's voice cut through the argument like a scalpel through flesh. His tentacles froze mid-motion. His spectacles flashed.
"Dr. Octavious is, hmm, attempting to suture a wound. The patient is, ah, eight years old. The patient is also, hmm, complaining loudly. The noise is, ah, counterproductive to healing."
Sanza glared at the hologram. "I am not complaining. I am narrating my discomfort."
"That is, hmm, complaining."
"It is commentary."
Dr. Octavious's tentacle moved. The needle pierced Sanza's skin. The boy's face went white.
"Vile—octopus—!"
"Hold still."
Bō-Zak leaned against the bed beside Sanza, his own wound still bleeding. He pulled a flask from his belt—the gourd, full of homemade chicha—and took a long sip.
"Anyone else want a drink?" he asked.
Jannali glared at him. "You're bleeding."
"I'm aware."
"Shouldn't you be getting treatment?"
"The doctor is occupied with the tiny tyrant. I can wait."
Kaburo stood against the wall, his arms crossed, his dark eyes tracking the room. Kalamaru hummed at his hip—a low, resonant sound that made the medical bay's lights flicker.
"Your sword is doing that on purpose," Jannali said.
"My sword does not do anything on purpose. It simply... is."
"That's the same thing."
"It is not."
Ember's eyes opened.
The world came back in fragments—the blue glow of the medical bay, the shouting voices, the smell of antiseptic and blood. Her throat was dry. Her body ached. The IV in her arm pulled at her skin.
She pushed herself up, blinking, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Mr. Cinders slid off her chest and landed on the floor with a soft thump.
"Where..." Her voice came out cracked. She swallowed. Tried again. "Where..."
Vesta's head whipped around.
Her rainbow hair flared bright pink. Her violet eyes went wide. Her voice jumped an excited octave.
"OH! YOU'RE AWAKE!"
Ember winced. "Loud."
"Sorry! Sorry. I'm sorry." Vesta lowered her voice to a stage whisper that was still too loud. "Are you okay? How do you feel? Do you remember what happened? You've been out for, like, a whole day. Maybe two? I lost count. There was a concert. It was amazing. You missed it. But you're awake now, so that's good, right?"
Ember blinked at her.
Vesta kept talking.
"We're going to some Event somewhere. Celestial Dragons. Very fancy. Lots of rich people. I might play a concert there. Imagine it! Me, playing for Celestial Dragons. Do you think they'd like my music? Or would they throw things? Ember, what do you think?"
Ember's mismatched eyes shifted to the chaos across the room. Sanza was yelling at a holographic octopus. Bō-Zak was drinking from a gourd. Jannali and Kaburo were arguing about whose weapon had caused the damage.
"Training accident," Ember said.
"Apparently!" Vesta nodded enthusiastically. "Bō-Zak said so. Something about personal space and three-headed snakes. I didn't really follow it. There was a lot of shouting."
Ember swung her legs over the side of the bed. The IV pulled. She looked down at it, then at Dr. Octavious.
"Can this come out?"
The hologram's head swiveled. His spectacles flashed.
"Dr. Octavious would, hmm, prefer to complete a full diagnostic before—"
"Can it come out?"
A pause.
"...Yes."
"Then take it out."
Dr. Octavious sighed—a staticky, glitchy sound—and his tentacle moved to remove the IV. Ember watched him work, her expression unreadable.
Vesta bounced on her heels.
"This is so exciting! Everyone's awake! Everyone's bleeding! It's like a party!"
"It is not a party," Sanza said from his bed. "It is a medical emergency. There is a difference."
"Is there, though? People are here. People are talking. There's blood. That's basically a party."
Sanza stared at her.
Vesta grinned.
"Welcome back, Ember."
Ember nodded. Her voice was quiet.
"Good to be back."
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