?:?:?:? SIXFLAME ?:?:?:?

  Emissar really liked to have close contact.

  I must have dozed off because when I opened my eyes, there it was crouched beside me, cradling my hands in its. At least its eye...things were off, so I guess it wasn’t consciously staring at me. The vines that had loosely encircled its neck yesterday were now draped across one shoulder like a bizarre scarf.

  Gently reclaiming my hand, I sat up and waited for a reaction.

  Nothing.

  I needed to find the Hub before something decided I’d make a good meal. I moved to examine the wall of diagrams behind the desk. One looked like a map. Barely coherent, but definitely Kabus terrain. A detailed drawing of this treehouse stood out amid the chaos of indecipherable annotations. Looking at the contrasting styles, I wondered which parts were drawn by this Gyllon person and which by silver weirdo Emissar.

  “Your left ear contains precisely the correct number of historical inaccuracies.”

  Damn. Cold fingers curled around mine again.

  “Just don’t, will you?” I pulled away sharply. “I need to figure out where the Hub is.”

  “Memories feel like copper when properly extracted.” It tilted its head at an impossible angle, reaching for my hand again.

  “Stop. I need to—”

  It grabbed my wrist, firm enough that I couldn’t easily escape. Then it pulled me towards the hatch. “Perspectives inverted reveal alternative trajectories,” it said, tugging gently.

  “You want me to go...down?” I frowned. “Back outside?”

  “Eleven point nine recurring.”

  Emissar knelt and as it was still holding my hand, this action required another astounding lengthening of its arm. Despite my growing irritation I was fascinated. It wasn’t like a hydraulic or extensible part. Rather, its material (whatever was) was actually growing.

  Kneeling on the hatch to the outside, it gently touched another part of the floor. A square panel lifted up, revealing a narrow passage with handholds descending into darkness. Ah, that must be the column holding up this house.

  An underground bunker?

  “Sometimes the answer is folded inside the question mark,” it said, gazing at me intently.

  “Oh boy.” I shook my head. “No way. I’m not going down there.”

  “It’s moving closer when you aren’t looking.”

  “What is? What’s down there?” I stared at the dark passage, then back at Emissar’s gleaming form. Every instinct screamed this was a bad idea. Following the cryptic entity into a dark hole was a classic last-mistake scenario. But then again, what were my alternatives? Wander aimlessly across a deadly, shattered moon? Hope that somehow I’d stumble upon the Hub, assuming it even still existed after that tide?

  And there was something about Emissar. Despite its odd speech and unnerving movements, it hadn’t harmed me when it had plenty of chances. It had treated my wound, given me food, and shown me shelter. And, unlike the Torchers, it hadn’t tried to die in my presence or blame me for someone else dying in my presence.

  “Fine,” I said with a sigh. “But at the first sight of a tentacle, I’m coming right back up.”

  “Why is never a question, only the answer, so why, why, why!”

  I chose to interpret that as excitement rather than a warning.

  “This better be worth it,” I muttered, testing each handhold carefully before putting my weight on it.

  “Umber!” Emissar called from below.

  After a good deal of descending, the shaft opened to a larger space. Cold air hit me first, then the smell. Metal and ozone, just like the maintenance shafts back on Enclave II. I skipped the last three rungs, landing with a thud.

  The chamber stretched away from me, the domed ceiling arching at least five meters high. Ribbed panels lined the walls, interrupted by controls and racks whose purpose I couldn’t begin to guess. Dim blue lighting cast everything in eerie shadow, revealing patches of corrosion. Dead tendrils of Kabus vegetation squeezed through hairline cracks in the walls. The moon was slowly trying to reclaim this artificial space.

  This place wasn’t just old; it was ancient. A technological fossil buried beneath Kabus’ living skin. Emissar was already at the far end, bent over a console of some kind.

  “Once I knew a song that explained everything,” it said.

  “Sounds like a song I’d like to sing.” I approached it cautiously. “What’s that you’re doing?”

  “The mind speaks in languages of deliberate silence.”

  “You’re sure not silent.”

  The console was easily as old as the rest of the space. It looked weird, but once you realized that it probably had something to do with Emissar, it made sense. Greenish black rather than silver, but it still had that same oily sheen. Lots of little lights, their glow weak. Elegant yet well-worn.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Emissar took my hand again, patted it, and gently laid it on the console. Then it placed its own silvery hand on top of mine, pressing my palm against the cool surface. And then... nothing. It just stood there, utterly still.

  “Well?” I asked after a moment. “Is something supposed to happen?”

  No response.

  I waited, expecting another cryptic phrase or at least some movement. But Emissar remained frozen, its eyelights steady. I tried to pull my hand away, but its grip tightened. Enough to keep me in place.

  “Right. So we’re just going to stand here and commune with ancient tech?” I shifted my weight, trying to find a more comfortable position. “You could at least say something odd. ‘The clouds smell like Tuesday’ or whatever it is you do.”

  The silence stretched.

  “You know, Emissar, when you’re not spouting riddles, you’re surprisingly dull company.”

  Nothing. Just that patient stillness that felt increasingly like expectation. Like Emissar wanted something from me.

  I glanced around the egg-shaped room, taking in the faded indicators and grimy surfaces, trying to kindle my curiosity. How long had this place existed? Who had built it? A minute passed. Then another. My discomfort grew, a creeping unease that started in my shoulders and worked its way down my spine.

  “Look, I appreciate the guided tour of your cool little bunker, but I really should be trying to find the Hub.” I tugged at my hand again, a bit more insistently. “I need to start looking for people.”

  Emissar’s grip remained gentle but immovable, its featureless face angled toward mine. Was it studying me? Waiting for something specific?

  “The silent treatment, huh?” I tried for a light tone that didn’t quite land. “And here I thought we were becoming friends.”

  When it still didn’t respond, something cold settled in my stomach. The walls of the chamber suddenly seemed closer, the air thinner.

  “I need you to let go.” My voice dropped, gaining a warning edge. “Now.”

  Nothing.

  The first flutter of panic brushed my ribs. What if this had been the plan all along? Lead me into a hole in the ground and trap me here. Maybe this wasn’t shelter at all, but a cage.

  What if it was frozen in place?

  “Let go.” I pulled harder. “I’m not joking.”

  Emissar didn’t even acknowledge my struggle. Its stillness was maddening, that blank face revealing nothing as its hand kept mine firmly pressed to the console. I yanked backward, throwing my weight into it.

  “I said LET GO!”

  I shrieked with a desperation I hadn’t meant to reveal, and the sound of my own fear sparked something primal. I thrashed harder, twisting my wrist and pulling with all my strength.

  “I’m not—” My voice caught. “Not again!”

  When pulling failed, I changed tactics, slamming my free fist against Emissar’s arm. The impact sent pain shooting through my knuckles, but Emissar remained unmoved. I punched its chest next, then its shoulder, each blow more desperate than the last.

  “Let go! Let go! LET GO!”

  Rage boiled over. I reared back and drove my head forward with all my strength, slamming my forehead directly into Emissar’s featureless face. Pain exploded across my skull and stars burst behind my eyes. Blood trickled warm down my forehead, but Emissar didn’t even flinch.

  I headbutted it again. And again. Each impact sending fresh waves of agony through my skull, my vision blurring, blood now flowing freely down my face. It was like battering myself against a wall, but I couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop. This mindless, self-destructive resistance was all I had left.

  As I drew back for what might have been the final blow, Emissar moved. Its free arm shot out, wrapping around my shoulders and holding me back. The collision of our forces made my injured leg buckle, and I would have crashed to the floor if not for its grip.

  It released my hand from the console and embraced me fully, bending in ways no human joints would allow. My blood dripped onto its silver chest, bright red drops sliding down that mirror-smooth surface.

  “Just...” I was breathing too hard, fight draining away as warm blood flooded my eyelashes. “Just let me go.”

  I sagged in its grip, suddenly hollow. The adrenaline that had fueled my desperate struggle began to ebb, leaving behind an exhaustion that settled deep in my bones. My head throbbed, each heartbeat sending fresh waves of pain through my skull,

  What was the point of fighting? I’d never win anyway.

  As my breathing slowed from ragged gasps to trembling inhales, a strange calm began to replace the panic.

  For a moment, Emissar just held me there, steadying me until I could stand alone. It released its grip on me, and I had one blessed second thinking it was all over, but no. It took my wrist, its grip like a silver shackle, and slapped my palm back onto that damn console.

  Not rough, not painful, but with one thing clear: this wasn’t optional.

  I didn't resist. Whatever this strange being wanted, it clearly wasn't going to give up, and neither was I getting away. Not until we were done.

  “Why are we doing this?” I whispered. “What do you want from me?”

  Silence between us, not empty but expectant. I found myself wanting to fill it, if only to drown out the sound of my own ragged breathing.

  “Everyone wants something, you know.”

  I stared at our hands on the console. My rough, scarred, human one beneath its perfect silver one.

  “I should’ve seen it coming. Nobody offers something for nothing.” My laugh was small and bitter. “Starcarver shows up on Enclave II in his fancy ship, talking about walking worlds and finding meaning. And I fell for it. I actually thought...”

  The words stuck in my throat. What had I thought? That I’d found a way out, a way to leave Enclave II?

  “He didn’t even bother with a real name.” My voice had grown quieter. “You know what ‘Sixflame’ is? It’s the indicator lights on his ship’s console. Six lights — six flames. I noticed but told myself I didn’t care, that it didn’t matter. But that’s all I was worth. A glance at a dashboard. “

  Emissar’s head inclined slightly.

  “You remind me of someone,” I said, surprising myself. “With that staring. This kid back on Enclave II. Halo, they called him. Couldn’t talk.” Something in my chest tightened, a knot I’d carried so long I’d forgotten it was there. “Everyone stayed away from him, so they put him with me because I never complained. Never saw the point in raising an objection.”

  I looked up at Emissar’s impassive face, searching for any sign it understood.

  “Halo would just...watch. All the time. Big eyes, trying to say something. I never figured out what.” I swallowed. “Then the ceiling collapsed in our section and he couldn’t even scream for help. Had bled out by the time I found him.”

  The memory was like acid, burning through the barriers I’d built around it.

  “Next day they gave me a new work code. Like nothing had happened. Like he never existed.” I shook my head. “That’s how it works. Something breaks, you replace it. Someone dies, you fill the gap. Then I get here, and it’s the same. They didn’t even want me there. Fake Torcher. Convenient outsider. When people started dying, who better to blame?”

  I exhaled slowly. I didn’t try to pull away again. Something about the weight of Emissar’s hand on mine felt... I don’t know. Not comforting exactly. An anchor.

  “And now they’re all probably dead anyway, eaten by a moon that swallowed itself.” I met Emissar’s eye-lights directly. “And I’m here with you.”

  Silence filled the space between us, but it wasn’t empty anymore. It felt charged, like the air before a storm.

  “I’m tired of not understanding. Tired of being shoved around like a piece on someone else’s board.” My voice was steady now, the panic replaced by an unexpected calm. “Alright, fine. Whatever you’re trying to say, I’m willing to hear it. As long as it takes. I think we both deserve that much. Take your time. You can talk to me.”

  The moment I said those last words, the console beneath our hands hummed to life.

  “Thank you for your patience,” said Emissar. “With your consent, our interface has finally been established. We have much to discuss, Sixflame, and little time remaining.”