The great hall of the Obsidian Fang sprawled around them, a jagged nest forged of steel and neon—warped counters stretched along one wall, dented and scarred, their surfaces aglow with faint, ancient etchings. Neon tubes stuttered overhead, bathing the space in a pink-green haze, while a jury-rigged still murmured in the corner, dripping amber ale into mismatched mugs. Patched leather couches clustered around a central fireplace—its neon flames flickered violet, green, red, a restless dance that pulled at the edges of perception. The air thrummed with the ship’s deep pulse, a living rhythm laced with the clank of metal and the hiss of unseen machinery.

  Nyx leaned against the counter, her black leather gleaming, neon-violet lines pulsing steady across her skin. Purple hair cascaded over one shoulder, glowing faintly as she gripped a mug of Torvox’s ale, its bitter tang sharp against her tongue. Her thoughts churned—those shadows, slipping through the depths, and that growl, low and alive, rattling the steel. For three months, while Torvox lay in hypersleep, she had roamed the Fang’s labyrinth—boots silent on shifting floors, chasing glimpses through crystalline corridors and coded chambers. Now, with him awake, she had unleashed it all, her words sharp and swift, and the conversation pressed on. “Rooms that twist. Texts older than the stars. Shadows moving where they shouldn’t—and something growling down there, Torvox. It’s alive.” Her violet lines pulsed quicker as she spoke.

  Torvox slouched on a couch, his broad frame sinking into the cushions, rune-etched axe propped beside him, its red code pulsing slow in time with the neon flames. His tech armor creaked, patched circuits glowing faintly at the seams, a mug steaming in his hand as foam flecked his tangled beard. He had roused hours ago, groggy from hypersleep, and now fixed her with obsidian eyes glinting sharp beneath heavy brows. “Ye’ve been pokin’ ‘round this beast while I was out, eh?” he growled, his voice rough with ale and centuries. “Shadows and growls—ye’re stirrin’ somethin’. What’s this ‘alive’ ye’re on about?”

  Nyx’s gaze cut to him, sharp and static. “A chamber, deep down—conduits glowing red. Shadows flickered ahead, leading me in, and then it growled—low, like it’s waking up. It’s not just tech, Torvox. It’s… something else.” Her voice hummed low, edged with a restless hunger. Those shadows—always just out of reach, she thought, fingers tightening on the mug.

  A blur streaked across the great hall—Quin, a foot-high whirlwind of wiry limbs and boosters, rocketing from his cluttered nook off the side. His mottled gray-green skin shimmered with bio-circuitry, amber eyes whirring as he landed on the counter, claws clutching a fresh mug for Torvox. “Dangerous—dangerous!” he chirped, words tumbling fast and high. “Told her—told her don’t go, don’t poke, but she never listens—never!” He thrust the mug at Torvox, boosters flaring blue, then zipped back to a holographic sphere hovering near his nook—a swirling vortex of green equations, spinning wild as his claws danced through it, tweaking algorithms mid-air.

  Torvox caught the mug with a grunt, smirking. “Aye, Sparks, she’s a stubborn one. Let her finish.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, mug steaming between his hands. “Go on, lass. Shadows leadin’ ye to a growl—what’d ye see down there?”

  Nyx paused, her cool mask slipping as the memory clawed at her. Red light pulsing, shadows stretching—too big, too real—and that sound, shaking the walls. “Not much—just glimpses. Shadows moving fast, like they’re alive too. The growl came after, from deeper in. It’s big, Torvox—whatever’s down there, it’s big.” Her eyes locked on his, violet glow flaring. You’ve felt this ship shift too, haven’t you? Tell me.

  His face darkened, a shadow crossing those obsidian eyes. He set the mug down on the couch arm with a heavy clank, fingers curling tight. “There’s dark secrets in this ship, lass,” he rumbled, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. “Secrets best left buried. Ye’d do well to mind that—some things ain’t meant to be chased.” His stare bore into her, heavy with warning, yet steady, a wall of weathered resolve.

  Nyx’s jaw clenched, defiance sparking in her chest. Buried doesn’t mean gone, she thought, lines pulsing faster. She set her mug down and nodded once, sharp and curt, letting it drop—but her mind refused to still. Growling. Watching. What are you?

  Around them, the great hall buzzed with motion—robots, sleek and strange, flowed like the ship’s own lifeblood. Beetle-like bots, their black shells etched with golden circuits, skittered across the floor, legs clicking as they fused with control panels, vanishing into the tech like merging cells. Spherical drones hovered, eyeless, tendrils of light trailing as they traced the walls, diagnostics humming soft. A taller one—skeletal, claw-tipped—lumbered past, hauling a slab of steel to Quin’s nook, where a fabricator whirred faintly. The ship birthed them, Nyx knew—somewhere in its depths, a forge kept them evolving, repairing, thriving. They moved with purpose, drawn to her as she watched, their circuits flaring when her neon lines pulsed.

  Quin zipped back, landing beside Torvox on the couch, boosters dimming as he clutched a glowing shard of tech—a toy he’d been tinkering with. “Warm—warm here!” he chirped, eyes darting to Nyx. “Better—better with you two, yes? Loud, alive—good!” His shy smile flickered, cables pulsing as he settled in, content to stay close, claws twitching over the shard.

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  “Aye, it’s a spot worth sittin’ in,” Torvox said, pouring more ale from a jug, the still dripping fresh brew. “Fire’s good, company’s better. Keeps the dark at bay.” He slid a mug to Quin, who chirped glee and sipped, then offered one to Nyx.

  She took it, nodding, but her thoughts spiraled. Shadows stretching. Red conduits. That growl—low, alive. She forced herself to stay present—watching Quin tinker, listening to Torvox growl about a raid gone sour centuries back. The robots hummed around her, their golden circuits winking like stars. One—a beetle-bot, its shell scarred with fractal burns—lingered near the counter, tilting its head as her lines flared. They feel me, she thought, a thrill cutting through her focus.

  The talk stretched on, the great hall’s warmth weaving a rare calm. Nyx stayed sharp, trading barbs with Torvox’s dry wit, teasing Quin into chirping laughter. But the shadows gnawed at her—always moving, always there—until her fingers twitched, restless. She leaned forward, and the beetle-bot skittered closer, circuits blazing gold. She extended a hand, her chip flaring, violet light pulsing from her arm, syncing with its rhythm.

  A spark jumped—her neon lines surged, violet deepening to near-black. The bot ignited, golden circuits flaring bright, and let out a high-pitched whine—sharp but soft, like a startled breath. It quivered, shell shaking as if jolted awake, then bolted off, legs weaving a wavy line across the steel floor, vanishing into a panel with a faint clank. Nyx stared after it, pulse racing. It knows something. Felt me. Her thoughts surged—like the shadows, like the growl.

  Torvox watched, mug paused mid-sip, eyes narrowing. “Careful, lass,” he growled, but a smirk tugged his beard. “Ye’re rattlin’ things best left quiet.”

  She smirked back, sharp and static. “Quiet’s not my way,” she said, voice low, but her mind buzzed. The growl lingered in her circuits, a thread she couldn’t snap. Torvox drained his mug, muttering about hypersleep—“Need another stretch o’ peace one o’ these days”—and leaned back, axe glinting beside him. Quin buzzed nearby, chirping about coordinates, but Nyx’s gaze drifted to the neon fire.

  A few weeks passed, and the great hall remained their haven, a neon-lit den where days melded into a haze of ale and talk. Torvox whittled scraps of steel with a blade drawn from his armor, carving rough shapes—ships, axes, echoes of a past he’d outlived—while Quin darted between his holo-sphere and the still, fetching mugs and tweaking gadgets with skittish glee. Nyx remained restless, her neon lines pulsing fitful beneath her leather, shadows and growl gnawing at her thoughts. She kept her musings close, the great hall’s warmth a fragile shield against her urge to move. They slept each night in their quarters—brief respites of natural rest—though hypersleep loomed as a tool to skip the journey’s long stretches.

  Each day, she slipped away—revisiting rooms she’d uncovered while Torvox slept in hypersleep, chambers that pulled her back with their strangeness. First came a narrow hall of black obsidian, its walls etched with jagged glyphs that glowed faint gold when she approached. She had breached it months ago, her chip flaring to pull fractured words from the stone: The Fang bites through shadow… forged in collapse… Now, she traced the carvings with her fingers, violet light pulsing from her arm as the ship hummed in response. There’s more here, she thought, staring at the glyphs, their meaning a splintered tease. The shadows flickered in her memory, the growl a low echo she held tight.

  Then she sought a room she’d been drawn to lately—a vault of crystalline spires, towering like frozen lightning, their facets refracting her violet lines into a kaleidoscope that splashed across the walls. She lingered there, boots silent on the humming floor, running her hands over the crystals’ edges, feeling their faint pulse sync with her own. The air buzzed with a quiet energy, the light bending and shifting as she moved, her reflection splintered in a dozen glowing shards. This place gets me, she thought, leather creaking as she leaned against a spire, its cool surface steadying her restless hum. The growl lingered in her circuits, but here it faded to a whisper, drowned by the crystals’ silent song.

  Back in the great hall, each night drew to a close the same—Nyx and Torvox drinking by the fire, Quin buzzing nearby with his trinkets. The ale flowed freely, mugs clanking as Torvox spun tales of lost battles and shattered stars, his gravelly voice slicing through the neon haze. Nyx matched him, shot for shot, her sharp wit glitching with each round, but her impatience simmered beneath it all. “Ye’re antsy, lass,” Torvox said one night, his beard flecked with foam as he eyed her over his mug. “Ship’s quiet, but ye ain’t.”

  “Too quiet,” she shot back, voice low and static, setting her mug down with a clank. “Those rooms—I’ve seen ‘em, felt ‘em. Can’t sit still forever.” Her lines pulsed fast, violet glow catching the fire’s red shift.

  He grunted, leaning back, axe glinting beside him. “Patience, lass. Galaxy’s been waitin’ centuries—plenty o’ time yet.” His smirk was rough, his eyes steady, seeing only her restlessness.

  Quin chirped from the counter, boosters puffing as he clutched a fresh mug. “Quiet—quiet’s good! Safe, warm—better!” He zipped over, handing it to Torvox, then settled near Nyx, his glassy eyes whirring. “You—you go too much. Stay—stay here!”

  She smirked, sharp and faint, ruffling his cables with a quick flick. “Can’t, Sparks. Too much to see.” But she stayed that night, drinking with Torvox until the fire dimmed, the ale a bitter tether against the hum in her veins. When the flames dwindled to a faint flicker, she rose, leather creaking, and slipped off to her quarters, the growl a faint echo in her circuits as she drifted into sleep.