The shuttle's cabin was pitch black, and Athena rested peacefully, exhausted from her exertions. Only a few red and orange indicators glowed faintly behind the metal shade that blocked out any windshield light. A chime echoed through the shuttle as the shades lifted, revealing a soft light that lit up Athena's pale skin.
She looked out the windshield to see her reflection in the emptiness of space, and felt a loneliness like she had never felt before.
Growing up, she didn't have a normal childhood like other kids. Her father was overprotective, actually overprotective was an understatement. She was raised in a state of preservation, where every possible contingency was neutralized, guarded against danger, isolated from reality itself.
While most kids learned to scrape their knees, chase sunlight, and laugh without fear, Athena spent her childhood inside the towering walls of her father's residential fortress—an estate so vast it felt like a world of its own, and yet so controlled it often felt smaller than a cage.
For whatever reason, she was kept a secret from the world. No one outside the fortress even knew the king had a daughter. Only the household staff were aware of her existence. This caused her to have no friends her age, something she longed for more than anything.
Day after day, she found herself at the same window, hands pressed to the cold glass as she watched the city below. She lost count of how many afternoons slipped by like this—children racing through the streets, laughing, chasing one another without a care.
"Look at her, Father," Athena said one afternoon, tugging gently on his sleeve as a girl her age darted across the courtyard below. "She looks like a friendly girl. I think we could be really good friends."
Her father followed her gaze, a faint sadness flickering in his eyes before he forced a smile. "I'm sure you would, sweetheart."
"Can I play with her… please?" Her voice trembled with hope.
"I'm sorry, Athena. We're not allowed to mingle with the people. How about we go for a ride instead?"
Her only glimpses of life beyond the fortress came from these brief outings—short rides in an escape pod with limo-tinted windows. They always traveled in a cluster of identical pods, moving through the streets like a miniature parade. The citizens had grown used to it, assuming it was yet another display of the king's wealth and power. They never imagined a lonely girl was hidden behind the dark glass, quietly wishing she could join the children she watched from afar.
And sooner or later, wishing was no longer enough.
Athena couldn't have been older than six the first time she tried to sneak beyond the castle gates.
She remembered waking before dawn, the sky still bruised in shades of violet. The guards usually changed shifts at that hour—she'd memorized their routines, the quiet clinks of armor, the soft murmurs of tired voices. Her father didn't know she watched them. He didn't know she spent nights lying awake, staring at the balcony doors and imagining the world beyond the mist-covered mountains.
That morning, tiny and barefoot, she crept through the corridor, her little nightgown brushing the cold stone. Her heart pounded with the thrill of rebellion. All she wanted was to see the sun rise from outside the walls—just once, without a guard at her elbow.
She reached the side gate, hands trembling as she stretched to unhook the latch.
She barely heard the footsteps before a large hand clamped around her wrist.
King Raphael stood over her—hair unkempt, face pale, eyes wild with a terror she didn't understand. It wasn't anger that froze her. It was the sheer panic in his expression, the way he pulled her to his chest as if she'd almost slipped into an abyss.
"Athena," he whispered, voice cracked, "never—never go beyond these walls without me."
She didn't answer. She was too shocked.
Then Raphael sank to one knee, cupped her face, and said a sentence that confused her for years:
"You don't know what hunts you."
She didn't know what that meant. But his face was filled with sorrow. It was the look of knowing that one day, she would have her chance.
After that day, the guards doubled. The gates were sealed with a spell she couldn't break. And her father started checking on her in the middle of the night, as if making sure she hadn't disappeared.
Years passed under those watchful eyes, the fortress tightening around her like a storybook tower. She had always dreamed of freedom, imagining open skies and boundless horizons, never realizing how heavy true freedom could feel once she finally touched it.
Now she was free, but freedom, she realized, did not feel the way she once imagined.
Out here in the vast silence of space, running from gods-knows-what, she felt the weight of it pressing down on her. She was alone—so achingly, terrifyingly alone—on a journey she didn't understand, with no map, no destination, and no one to tell her where to go or how to survive. Freedom had always been her dream, but she had never imagined it would begin like this: drifting into the unknown with nothing but her own trembling hope to guide her.
But something didn't make sense. Her father knew something she didn't. He kept her hidden for all her life. He knew they were coming for her. He knew this was going to happen.
"I need to get in contact with him. He's been hiding something from me, and I need to know."
"Good morning," the shuttle's computer chimed in a calm voice. "This is your 20-hour alarm. Preparing descent to Planet Arcane."