"There were no survivors."
The sentence didn't echo. It didn't need to. It settled inside Areon's ribs like something cold and heavy.
Areon stood just outside the United Worlds hospital entrance, the sunlight bleaching the stone under his feet the same way it had bleached the sky. People moved around him - visitors, staff, delivery AI units - each one continuing their day as if the air hadn't changed shape.
It took everything not to collapse right there. His body wanted the ground. His knees threatened it. He locked them anyway, forced air into his lungs in controlled pulls, like stabilizing a reaction that wanted to run away.
Deputy Marshal Keene's voice remained steady, trained for this. That was the worst part. It meant Keene had done this before. It meant the system expected this outcome as one of its normal branches.
"Areon Vonn," Keene said. "I know this is-"
"I need to understand what happened," Areon cut in. His voice sounded far away, like it belonged to someone else. "Tell me what exactly happened to the dropship?"
A pause - small enough to be polite.
"Tribunal descent missions are restricted," Keene said. "Operational details are redacted. The incident report is not available to family at this stage."
Redacted.
Not dead. Not gone. Redacted. A clean word for a thing that felt like a blade.
Areon stared at the glare on the hospital glass and saw no reflection he recognized. "So I can't even read how he-"
"I can confirm casualty status," Keene said gently, the way one handled sharp instruments. "And I can walk you through next steps."
Of course there were next steps. Systems always had those.
"Personal effects and formal documentation will be processed through the Central Court judiciary liaison desk," Keene continued. "Your father's office is the anchor point. However - today is Sunday. The liaison desk is closed. Earliest intake is tomorrow morning."
A calendar slot arrived on Areon's iris display before his mind caught up.
Central Court - Judiciary Liaison Intake, Monday 09:30 (Genma-986 time).
Keene kept going, because grief didn't pause procedures.
"You will need identification, family registry verification, and bank routing information for benefit transfers. Per Judge Vonn's file, the primary nominee is Jasmine Vonn."
Areon's throat tightened. "You couldn't reach her."
"I was informed she is hospitalized."
"She's in stasis," Areon said, because saying it out loud made it feel slightly less impossible. "Suspended animation. Autoimmune genomic degradation. Dr. Pembert initiated it today to halt the cascade."
There was a fractional shift in Keene's voice - barely there. Human beneath training.
"My condolences," Keene said.
Areon understood what that usually meant out here, on the rim of human civilization. Not sympathy. A boundary. A quiet admission that some things didn't get fixed in time.
Keene continued. "I will route the nominee mapping through special channels. If Jasmine Vonn is unable to sign, succession transfers to you as secondary nominee. You'll need hospital documentation: stasis confirmation signed by the attending physician, and an incapacity certificate."
Areon's personal AI floated the list beside Keene's words, clean and clinical:
1) stasis confirmation (attending signature)
2) incapacity certificate
2) family registry verification
3) bank routing information
4) Central Court intake appointment
Areon responded mechanically. It was the only way he could stay upright.
"Understood."
"There will be a memorial ceremony within seventy-two hours," Keene added. "Judiciary honor protocol. Details pending confirmation with naval honors due to the Lazaros tribunal zone."
"Seventy-two," Areon repeated, because numbers were easier than meaning.
"Your father will be posthumously awarded the Judiciary Meridian Cross," Keene said. "It will be issued to next of kin. It also grants priority status for certain services - transport scheduling, administrative processing."
Discounts. Priority. In exchange for a life.
Areon's fingers curled in empty air. "Right."
Keene hesitated, then asked softly, "Are you alone right now, Areon?"
Areon looked up at the sky. Three moons faint in daylight. Indifferent. Perfect.
"Yes," he said. "I'm alone."
"Stay strong. I'll follow up tomorrow when the liaison desk opens," Keene said. "If you have questions before then, send them in writing. I can only answer what I'm authorized to answer."
Authorized. Another clean word.
The call ended.
Areon stood there a beat longer than necessary, as if his ears still expected sound to return. Then he turned and went back inside the hospital.
The Special Department swallowed him again: antiseptic and warm polymer, sound dampening that made the world feel padded, softened. As if panic could be made less real by rounding corners.
He moved with one purpose now, the only one his body could hold.
His mother's chamber.
The stasis coffin lay where it had been, clear composite and soft internal lighting, the green indicator steady - stable, calm, indifferent.
Areon approached until his breath faintly fogged the surface.
"Mom," he whispered.
His throat tightened, and for a second he couldn't get the next words past the knot.
"We lost Dad," he managed. "He's... he's not there anymore."
The silence that followed was not empty. It was heavy. A silence that weighed what you said and gave nothing back.
"I don't know what to do anymore," Areon said, voice cracking on do.
Tears started to slip down his face. Not dramatic. Not loud. Uncontrollable in the most humiliating way - his body leaking what his mind couldn't carry.
Both parents in a single day.
One taken by a rare disease and sealed into stasis.
One taken by fire and gravity and whatever happened on approach to Lazaros.
He pressed his forehead lightly to the composite and let his shoulders tremble once, twice, then forced himself still. His jaw locked so hard it ached.
From beyond the corridor's glass partition, Dr. Pembert took a brief look - quick, controlled, unreadable. A man checking something off without needing to write it down. He gave the smallest shake of his head and walked away without saying a word.
Areon wiped his face with the heel of his hand until his skin stung. He forced air into his lungs until the ringing in his ears dulled.
He flagged the hospitality AI unit and asked what documentation he needed to prove Jasmine was in stasis - something signed under Pembert's authority. The unit listened without expression, then assured him the stasis confirmation and incapacity certificate would be routed to his inbox by EOD.
Then he walked out of the hospital.
Outside, the sun and moons were still in the same positions. He felt he would never forget the way the light sat on the sky before the hospital ever, as if the universe had posed itself perfectly and refused to move.
He glanced at the time display in his iris corner, as if it mattered that the clock was still running.
[3rd October // Sunday // 16:42 // Genma-986 (local time)]
He hailed a pod.
The hover-pod arrived with quiet precision. It rolled through normal traffic first - street-level lanes and pedestrian bridges and delivery drones threading between towers - then climbed beyond the central hub, assigned a flight path, and accelerated into the corridor.
[Route: Central hub -> District 9]
[ETA: 01:03]
[Cruise: 250-300 km/h (dedicated corridor)]
Only him in the pod.
A personal notification blinked in his iris display made by his personal AI.
[Hydration reminder: last intake 07:12]
[Meal reminder: lunch missed]
Areon didn't acknowledge it.
He opened his call list.
Jasmine's family came first, because his father's side had already been erased years ago. Both paternal grandparents were gone. No uncles, no aunts, no cousins who carried that surname forward. His father had been a single pillar - and now it was ash except him.
His first call reached his close maternal aunt.
"Serena Hart," the AI confirmed, voice-line clean.
Serena answered from another planet. Her voice started bright - until she heard his.
"Areon? What's wrong?"
He told her.
The silence on the other end was long enough to bruise.
"Oh," Serena whispered. "Oh, Areon..."
"There's a memorial within seventy-two hours," Areon said, because saying numbers felt safer than saying grief. "Judiciary protocol."
"I'm looking right now," Serena said, and he could hear movement on her side, a sharp breath, fingers on glass. "I'm looking for transport ship tickets."
Another pause. Then her voice shifted, not softer, just edged.
"No," she said, like she couldn't believe the word. "Everything's already filled. Not even premium priority ones. I can't get there in time, Areon. Not in seventy-two."
Areon closed his eyes for a second, because he had already expected it.
"I'll keep trying," Serena added quickly, as if trying could change physics. "If something opens, I'll take it. If it doesn't-" Her voice broke and she swallowed it down. "If it doesn't, I'll be on the line. You hear me? Any hour."
"I hear you," Areon said, and the words came out flat.
He ended the call before the sound in his throat turned into something he couldn't control.
He called his maternal uncle next.
Tobias Hart answered from another world, another space, another life that suddenly felt unreal.
When Areon told him, Tobias didn't speak for a long moment.
"Damn," Tobias said finally, voice rough. Not a curse for effect. A man naming a fact he couldn't carry. "I'm under contract lockdown. Away from home. If I move, they'll flag it, and I'll spend the next month in hearings while you bury your father."
"So you can't-"
"I can't," Tobias said, and the finality in it sounded like shame. "Not in time. I'm sorry." Another beat. "But you won't be alone, Areon. I'll call. I'll stay awake if I have to. And I'll send what I can."
Areon had no good words for that. His mouth couldn't shape gratitude without breaking again. He ended the call before it could become a sob.
Then he called his maternal grandfather.
Professor Alaric Hart.
The connection took longer - distance, routing, security checks crossing systems. When the call finally opened, Alaric's face appeared in crisp holo, older than Areon remembered, eyes still sharp. Not a physicist's eyes. An artist's. The kind that noticed what people tried to hide.
"Areon," Alaric said. "Speak."
Areon forced the line out. "Grandfather... Dad is gone. Tribunal dropship met with an accident during descent. No survivors."
Alaric didn't move for a moment. Then his gaze narrowed with pain that didn't need performance.
"And your mother?" Alaric asked, voice careful.
Areon swallowed. "She's in stasis. Autoimmune genomic degradation. They say it's curable, but the corrective substrate is restricted. Strategic."
Alaric's expression tightened. "Of course it is."
He lifted one hand and made a decision without asking permission. A prompt appeared: adding a participant.
"Grandfather-" Areon started.
"You shouldn't be alone," Alaric said, and his voice turned hard with love. "Not tonight."
Alaric added Jasmine's eldest brother into the call.
Darian Hart joined a second later, face set like a man who ran on duty the way others ran on sleep.
"What happened?" Darian asked.
Areon repeated it. No survivors. Stasis. Restricted cure. Sunday closures. Monday intake.
Darian's jaw tightened. "Memorial?"
"Within seventy-two hours," Areon said. "Details tomorrow."
Alaric exhaled slowly. "I have a conflict," he admitted, and it sounded like swallowing glass. "I may not be able to move in time."
Darian leaned forward. "Then I will. Even if it costs me. Areon shouldn't be alone."
Areon felt something twist in his chest - relief and shame together, because he'd been trying to carry this in silence like that made it cleaner.
Alaric's voice softened. "Boy. You only have to keep moving. Strength comes later."
Areon nodded because words didn't fit.
The call ended, leaving the pod's quiet humming like a lullaby for someone else.
A moment passed where the cabin felt too small for his lungs.
Then a new notification slid into the corner of his vision.
[Incoming: Stasis Confirmation Certificate]
[From: United Worlds Hospital - Special Department]
He opened it without thinking.
Two documents. Clean formatting. Pembert's signature present, crisp and unmistakable.
And underneath the stasis confirmation header, a line of text his eyes snagged on before he could stop it.
Areon quickly forwarded these certificates to Keene.