(blaze's pov)
The Void never really slept.
Even when the light faded and the stars glitched into static, there was always movement — faint tremors in the air, whispers of old data looping through broken space. You learn to live with it, the same way you learn to live with the ghosts that come with silence.
I was used to both.
The house creaked softly in the night wind. A good sign — it meant the Void storms hadn't shifted again. SK was upstairs, probably rechecking the weapons crate for the third time. Ryze was on the far side, pretending to sleep.
I could tell she wasn't. Her breathing always gave her away — steady, but too controlled.
She'd been different lately.
At first, I thought it was fatigue. The Void drains people, even the strong ones. But this wasn't exhaustion. It was quieter, heavier — like something had set her off balance. Whenever I tried to ask, she brushed it off. "Just tired," she'd say.
And maybe that was true.
But my gut told me otherwise.
Earlier that day, when SK and I were out in CyberGale, I'd caught myself thinking about her — about Ryze, I mean. Wondering if she was okay alone. She'd never admit it, but the silence ate at her. She was born for battlefields, not empty rooms.
SK, though — she thrived in order. Calm, efficient, focused. Everything had structure with her. Even her footsteps fell in perfect rhythm.
It made sense, I guess. She was a soldier of the Empire.
Old habits die hard.
When we came back, I saw the way Ryze looked at us. Not angry exactly — just… distant. Like she was watching something she didn't know how to name. I tried to lighten the mood, cracked a joke, tossed her a part for her comms. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.
Now, sitting here sharpening my blade under the dull blue light, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was shifting between the three of us — slow, invisible, but real.
The sword's edge glowed faintly as I tested it against a strip of cloth. Still sharp. Still balanced. I set it aside and leaned back, eyes tracing the faint light patterns crawling across the ceiling.
Skyrealm tech — beautiful, even in decay. The old circuits pulsed like veins, faint reminders of a world long gone. Sometimes, I wondered if I missed it. The clean air, the steady rhythm of command, the unity under the banners of the Empire.
But then I'd remember what came after.
The Great War. The Collapse. The silence that followed.
And I'd tell myself, No — that world's gone.
Still, when SK called me "sir," something deep inside me stirred. Not pride. Not nostalgia. Something stranger — a tug, faint but familiar.
As if the past wasn't as dead as I liked to believe.
I stood and moved to the window. The Void stretched endlessly before me — scattered fragments of broken worlds flickering like dying stars. In the distance, lightning rippled silently across the horizon, revealing outlines of floating debris and towers split in half.
I heard footsteps behind me — quiet, deliberate.
"Can't sleep either?" I asked without turning.
"No, sir."
SK's voice, steady as ever.
"Drop the 'sir,' SK. You're off duty."
"I can't, sir."
I could hear the faint smile in her tone. "Old habit."
I sighed, shaking my head. "You Empire types are impossible."
"Order keeps us alive." She paused beside me, looking out the same window. "You should know that better than anyone."
She wasn't wrong. I had commanded once — not a guild, not a squad, but something larger. A unit. The 53rd.
Or so the fragments in my head told me.
Sometimes I still saw them in my dreams — faces without names, marching under a flag I couldn't bear to remember.
"CyberGale's a mess," SK said after a moment. "It's strange, sir. Some of the constructs there… they still respond to Empire codes."
I glanced at her. "Empire codes?"
She nodded. "Obsolete, but functional. It means something — or someone — is still maintaining the signal."
That got my attention. "A base?"
"Could be. Or an archive. If the Empire was using CyberGale as a data relay before it collapsed, we might find records of the old wars. Maybe even—"
She stopped herself, lips tightening.
"Even what?" I asked.
She hesitated. "Even your records, sir."
The silence stretched. I looked back at the storm outside. "That part of me's gone, SK. Let it stay that way."
"Yes, sir."
She said it softly this time — not command, not duty. Almost… regret.
Later, after she went back upstairs, I sat down again. The blade gleamed faintly in the low light. I could hear Ryze moving somewhere across the house — light steps, trying not to be heard. She was always careful when she was upset, as if silence could hide her emotions.
I let her be. Some things need space to breathe.
Still, I couldn't ignore the tension building between them. It wasn't just rivalry. It was history — Empire and Resistance. Two worlds that were never meant to coexist, somehow forced to share the same fragile ground.
And I was the thread between them.
Whether I wanted to be or not.
When I finally went to check the perimeter, I saw Ryze by the broken comms table — her head down, silver hair catching the flickering light. The faint hum of static filled the room. She didn't look up when I entered.
"You're still at it?" I asked.
"Yeah," she said, voice flat. "Just trying to get something working."
"You've been at that all night."
"So?"
I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "So you should rest."
She gave a short laugh — not amused. "Didn't think you'd notice."
"I notice everything," I said softly.
That got her to look up. Her eyes met mine — tired, guarded, but burning with something deeper. I wasn't sure what. Anger, maybe. Or fear.
"You don't have to compete, you know," I said finally.
Her brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"
"Whatever it is between you and SK… don't let it eat you."
She turned away sharply. "You don't get it."
"Then explain it."
"I can't."
The silence hung heavy again — not awkward, just… raw. Like two frequencies trying to sync but always missing by a fraction.
"Alright," I said finally. "You don't have to."
I turned to leave, but before I reached the door, she spoke — barely a whisper.
"She's taking you away."
I froze, hand hovering over the doorframe.
"What?"
Her voice cracked just slightly. "SK. The way she talks to you, the way you listen to her. It's like… like she's pulling you back to something I can't reach."
I looked back at her — the way her shoulders shook faintly, the way her eyes darted to the floor. She wasn't angry. She was scared.
For a moment, I didn't know what to say.
So I did the only thing I could — I smiled.
"Ryze," I said gently, "I'm not going anywhere."
She looked up at me, uncertain. "Promise?"
I gave a small laugh, the kind I used when words felt too heavy. "You really think I'd leave two troublemakers alone in the Void? Not a chance."
That earned the faintest smile — fragile, but real.
When I stepped outside a while later, the air felt colder. The storm clouds had drawn closer, carrying faint traces of static energy. I stared into the horizon and let out a slow breath.
Something in the Void was shifting — and not just between them.
For the first time in a long while, I felt the faint hum of something I'd thought long gone — the pull of command, the whisper of battle.
Old instincts resurfacing like ghosts under the surface.
I adjusted the strap on my sword and glanced back at the house.
Ryze was watching me through the window — her eyes soft, uncertain.
Upstairs, SK's shadow moved past the light.
Two soldiers from opposite sides of a dead war.
And me — the ghost caught between them.
I chuckled quietly. "What could possibly go wrong?"
The wind answered with a low, static sigh.