Chapter 17: Irreparable damage
The dawn did not arrive as a promise, but as a minimal concession. The sky over Tau Ceti IV barely lightened, just enough to distinguish outlines, to confirm that the gray was still there and had no intention of moving for anyone. Light filtered through the low clouds and fractured against the crystals of the valley, returning muted glints, without real shine, like tired reflections.
Constantina had been awake since before. Not because she had slept little, but because the body no longer knew how to rest without permission. She sat up slowly, feeling the stiffness in her back, the old pull in her left knee. She adjusted her armor, checked the tracker. Less than a day. If there were no detours. If the valley did not decide to claim something more.
“Up,” she said, without raising her voice.
The squad responded with practiced mechanics. Chuet was the first to stand, eyes still swollen but alert. Yolanda was already checking fastenings. Hishio dismantled the watch without a word. Garran muttered something under his breath as he strapped on his gear.
Div Kut took a little longer. He sat up, looked around as if the world had not quite settled into place yet, and only then reached for his rifle. He held it a second longer than necessary, checking its weight, as if he needed to confirm it was still real.
“Morning,” he murmured.
“Not yet,” Garran replied. “Walk a bit and we’ll see.”
They broke camp quickly. The fire was already a dark stain on the crystalline gravel. Chuet kicked the remains to scatter them. Not for neatness, but out of habit. Behind them, the Blue Stars moved with less method, more noise. Short laughs, metallic knocks, a burst of laughter Constantina did not need to identify to know who it came from.
Cruger was nowhere in sight. Volosko was. Impeccable even at that hour, as if the night had failed to touch him.
They resumed the march.
The terrain grew more treacherous with every kilometer. The crystal needles no longer appeared in isolation, but in twisted clusters that forced constant detours. The ground vibrated beneath their boots with a low, persistent hum that crept into the bones. Constantina set the pace with precision, adjusting the rhythm whenever someone lagged even a centimeter too far behind.
Diemano walked at her right. As always. Neither a step ahead nor behind. The silence between them was not empty. It was familiar space.
“Diemano,” she said suddenly. “Have you ever thought about telling it?”
He did not stop. He did not need to ask what she meant.
“No,” he replied. “Never.”
They walked a few more meters. The wind dragged mineral dust that clung to their boots.
“Not even if they asked you,” Constantina continued. “Not as an order. As… context.”
Diemano exhaled slowly.
“People can forgive many things,” he said. “That someone is a criminal. A killer. Even Balmorean.” A brief pause. “But no one truly accepts that someone was born under the Neo Xylpharian Empire.”
Constantina glanced at him.
“Do you think that defines you?”
“No,” he said. “But it defines how they’ll look at me. I’d rather be judged for what I do now. Where I shoot. How I hold the line. Not for a place I didn’t choose.”
She nodded slightly.
“I wasn’t going to ask you to,” she said. “I just wanted to know if you were carrying it alone.”
“I’m used to it,” Diemano replied. “There are silences that weigh less when they aren’t shared.”
The first screech was not loud. It was low, vibrating, as if it came from inside the crystal. Chuet felt it before he fully heard it. A subtle change in the air, a different vibration beneath his right boot.
He raised his hand.
Constantina raised her fist almost at the same time.
The group stopped with controlled clumsiness. The last boots settled on unstable plates, weight redistributing in silence. The valley’s hum had changed. It had not vanished. It had become irregular, like a чужa breath.
Then something moved.
From an elevation on the left, a dark silhouette emerged. Tall. Too upright to be quadrupedal. The Sharyida rose fully, its tail striking the ground with a dry crack that made the crystal vibrate. Its eyes, small and sunken, swept over the group slowly, almost appraising.
A second screech answered from farther back.
And another, from the right.
“Pack,” Garran murmured. “They’re surrounding us.”
They did not charge.
They advanced.
The Sharyidas did not run. They walked with unbearable calm, closing distances, pushing the group toward a natural corridor between tall plates. The ground narrowed. The crystal returned distorted echoes.
“Not back,” Constantina ordered. “They’ll box us in there.”
The first shot came from the Blue Stars. The impact hit a Sharyida’s chest. The creature staggered back a step, hissed, and kept advancing. The second shot dropped it, but the body fell heavily, vibrating the ground like a signal.
That was enough.
The screech turned into a chorus.
The Sharyidas accelerated at once.
“Contact!” someone shouted, too late.
One charged straight toward the center. Yolanda fired and missed by centimeters, the projectile shattering crystal behind it. The creature kept coming, jaws open, the deep hiss cutting through the air. Chuet rolled aside, felt the tail brush past inches from his head, fired point blank. The shot entered beneath the jaw. The Sharyida collapsed on top of him and he had to shove the dead weight away with both hands to free himself.
“Cover!” Constantina ordered. “Short dispersion!”
The group broke into fragments. Formation was gone. Only momentary positions among the crystal.
Div Kut was firing.
He did not shout. He did not ask for confirmation. Each shot found neck, skull base, joints. One Sharyida fell less than a meter from him. Another appeared from a blind angle, and Diemano dropped it from the side before it could turn its head.
A Blue Star was rammed and thrown against a tall plate. The crystal shattered with a sharp crack. The man screamed once before collapsing crookedly, unmoving.
“Right flank!” Garran called. “Two!”
Constantina slid behind a low formation. She waited. Time stretched into an unnatural fraction. When the scaled head appeared, she fired twice in quick succession. The Sharyida dropped to its knees, struck the ground with both hands, and collapsed, tail twitching for a few seconds longer.
Another leapt from above. Volosko rolled on reflex, the impact passing over him and tearing away part of the crystal where he had been a second earlier. He fired from the ground. Missed. Crawled back as the creature pivoted with speed unfitting its size.
Div Kut fired again. Clean hit. Immediate drop.
“He knows how to shoot,” Volosko murmured, eyes still fixed ahead.
The fight turned dirty.
A Sharyida reached Garran. Its claw grazed his shoulder, tearing material from the armor. Garran screamed, not in pain but rage, and plunged his knife into the soft side beneath the scales. The creature thrashed, flung him to the ground. Chuet finished it from behind.
The air was thick with mineral dust and the smell of heavy blood. The valley’s hum mixed with gunfire, hissing creatures, breathing too fast.
A Sharyida appeared behind the Blue Stars’ group. Cruger was no longer where he had been.
“Hand!” Hishio shouted. “Behind!”
Constantina turned in time to see Div Kut fire twice in a row. The creature fell, blocking the path. The boy did not move. Did not celebrate. He simply reloaded.
The final screech was different. Shorter. Like a withdrawal.
The remaining Sharyidas retreated, dragging bodies, disappearing between plates with the same coordination they had arrived with.
Silence returned all at once.
A heavy, buzzing silence.
“Count,” Constantina ordered, her voice steady despite the racing pulse.
Chuet.
Diemano.
Yolanda.
Hishio.
Garran.
She waited.
“Div,” she called.
Nothing.
She turned toward the Blue Stars’ flank.
“Cruger.”
The wind blew through the crystal.
Volosko appeared at her side, uniform stained, breathing forcibly controlled.
“They’re gone,” he said. “Cruger. And the kid.”
Constantina felt the void open where the march had been.
The silence after the fight brought no relief. It brought urgency.
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She turned once, twice, searching angles, gaps, any trace that wasn’t just broken crystal and dead bodies. The tracker still marked the route, indifferent to absence.
“Div!” she called again, louder.
Nothing.
The void began to close like a hand around her chest. Not fear yet. Accelerated calculation. Minutes. Seconds. Too many open variables.
“Volosko,” she said, turning to him. “I need you to help me find him. Now.”
Heriak Volosko did not argue. He nodded once, already giving brief hand signals to his people. Two Blue Stars spread left, two toward the corridor where the Sharyidas had withdrawn. Constantina did the same with Chuet and Hishio.
“Five minutes,” she ordered. “No more. If he’s injured, every second counts.”
They advanced among the crystal plates with weapons raised, eyes straining to distinguish shapes that were not reflections. The valley’s hum seemed to intensify, or maybe it was just blood pounding in the temples.
Nothing.
No traces.
No blood.
No misplaced casings.
“Hand…” Chuet began.
He did not finish.
Cruger appeared walking from the right.
He was not running. Not hurrying. He came alone, rifle slung over one shoulder, whistling something barely audible. There was a dark stain on his armor, old, dry. Nothing urgent.
Constantina saw him and something inside her snapped loose.
She did not think. Did not measure distance. She shouted and lunged in the same motion.
“WHERE IS DIV KUT?”
The shout ricocheted off the crystal, harsh, disproportionate. Constantina slammed her forearm into him, pinning him against a low plate. The impact sounded hollow. Cruger did not resist. He merely raised an eyebrow, more surprised by the tone than the gesture.
Volosko stepped forward, then stopped. He knew intervening then would make it worse.
Cruger raised his hands slowly, with a calm that was almost insulting.
“Easy, Hand,” he said. “The kid’s alive.”
“WHERE?” she repeated, her arm trembling.
Cruger tilted his head, as if recalling something trivial.
“Last I saw him, he was behind that small plain,” he said, nodding his chin. “About a hundred feet. More or less.”
Constantina did not wait. She released Cruger and ran.
The terrain opened just beyond the plates, forming a shallow depression, almost a plain. The crystal there was lower, more worn. They arrived in seconds that felt eternal.
Div Kut was there.
Kneeling.
Like someone who had run out of places to put his body.
Knees together, arms wrapped around them with almost painful pressure. The rifle rested to one side, twisted, out of reach, as if it no longer belonged to him. His head was lowered, but not asleep. His eyes were open, fixed on a point that was not on the ground, nor the valley, nor anything visible.
Constantina stopped two steps away.
She did not say his name immediately.
Years ago, she had learned that certain things could not be interrupted abruptly.
“Div,” she said at last, slowly. “It’s me.”
He blinked. It took time. As if the gesture had to travel from very far away.
“It’s over,” she added. “It ended.”
Div shook his head. A minimal movement, almost childish.
“No,” he murmured. “It didn’t.”
The voice was not trembling. It was low. Dull. As if speaking were a concession.
Constantina crouched in front of him, keeping distance. She did not touch him.
“Are you hurt?”
Div hesitated. Looked down at his own hands, as if only then recognizing them.
“No,” he said. “Not here.”
He fell silent.
The wind crossed the plain, dragging fine dust between the crystal plates. Behind them, Volosko and the others stayed back, pretending to check perimeters that no longer mattered.
“Div,” Constantina tried again. “What happened?”
He swallowed. Brought a hand to his neck and left it there, without squeezing, without rubbing. Just resting. As if he needed to confirm something.
“I was counting,” he said. “Everything’s fine when I count.”
He nodded to himself.
“The bullets. The rhythm. The noise. It all lines up.”
A longer pause.
“And then…” he began.
He did not continue.
His fingers tightened slightly around his legs. His body drew in a fraction, a gesture unrelated to cold.
“Then he came close,” Div said at last.
Constantina did not ask who.
She didn’t need to.
“He spoke to me,” Div continued, without looking at her. “Didn’t shout. Didn’t say anything strange. He was… normal.”
The word sat wrong in the sentence. Normal as something that should not have been there.
“I didn’t know what to do,” he added. “I couldn’t keep counting, there was… no one to shoot.”
He pressed a hand to his temple, as if trying to push the thought out.
“I couldn’t move.”
Silence settled between them again. Thicker this time.
Constantina took one deep breath.
“Div,” she said firmly. “Listen to me. You did nothing wrong.”
He lifted his head slightly. Did not meet her eyes.
“I should’ve kept shooting. He…”
“No,” she replied, without raising her voice. “You should have been safe.”
Div frowned, confused, as if the idea fit nowhere familiar.
“He walked back,” he added, almost a whisper. “Like nothing.”
Constantina closed her eyes for one second.
Only one.
When she opened them, her expression had changed. Not soft. Not furious yet. Something in between, more dangerous.
“Look at me,” she asked.
Div obeyed.
“You’re not going to be alone,” she said. “Not now. Not here. Not with anyone you don’t want.”
He nodded slightly. He didn’t fully understand, but he accepted the tone. That was enough for now.
Constantina stood and turned toward the group.
Cruger was farther back, talking to no one, leaning against a plate, relaxed. Too relaxed.
Their gazes crossed.
Cruger smiled, brief, almost polite.
Constantina did not return the gesture. Her jaw was tight, immovable.
She crouched again beside Div and placed an open hand on the ground, firm, visible.
“We’re going back with the others,” she said. “Slowly. I’ll be here.”
Div did not respond, but loosened his grip a little.
The valley continued to vibrate, indifferent.
But something had broken in a way that could not be quickly fixed.
And Constantina Dull knew it.
She had failed.
The pit had no hours.
It had cycles.
The light dimmed, rose again filtered through irregular walls, and in that sway bodies learned to count time without numbers. Nolan estimated that a full day had passed since Thelonopios had pulled him away from the exact place where the collapse had fallen. Maybe more. Maybe less. His body knew before his head. Hunger had become constant. Fatigue no longer varied.
Karr sat beside him, legs stretched out, back against damp stone. His hands were covered in old cuts, new scars layered like badly closed chapters.
“Every hour he talks more to himself,” Karr said, not lowering his voice. “He’s not murmuring anymore. He argues.”
Nolan followed his gaze.
Harlan was a few meters away, hunched, head tilted, speaking to someone who wasn’t there. His lips moved with uneven intensity, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, as if answering rhythms the others couldn’t hear. From time to time he shook his head sharply, rejecting an idea.
“He’s not sleeping,” Karr added. “When he goes still it’s worse. He just stares… behind you.”
Nolan clenched his jaw.
“He’s not crazy,” he said. “He’s… broken. It’s happening to all of us.”
Karr glanced at him.
“Not like this.”
A thick silence settled between them. The pit’s low hum persisted, mixed with чужa breathing and the occasional scrape of a guard at the crater’s edge.
“He looks at you strange,” Karr continued. “Since yesterday. Like you’re someone else.”
Nolan didn’t answer right away.
He had seen Thelonopios near Harlan more times than he liked. Always calm. Always with that neutral posture, as if the pit didn’t fully belong to him. There was something in his presence that unsettled the air.
“That worries me,” Nolan said at last. “He shouldn’t be talking to anyone.”
“The quiet one?” Karr asked. “That guy doesn’t talk. He watches.”
Nolan stood slowly.
“I’m going to check on him.”
Harlan didn’t react when Nolan approached. He kept staring over his left shoulder, brow furrowed, lips tight.
“Harlan,” Nolan said. “It’s me.”
The boy brought both hands to his face and pressed hard, as if trying to push something inward. Fingers dug into his cheeks, marking skin.
“Shut up,” he murmured. “Not now.”
“What’s wrong?” Nolan insisted, lowering his voice. “You look bad.”
Harlan dropped his hands abruptly. His eyes were too wide, bright, tracking too many things at once.
“I know what you want to do,” he said.
Nolan felt a dull blow in his chest.
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Harlan replied. “They all tell me.”
Nolan instinctively looked around.
“Who’s they?”
Harlan laughed, short, humorless.
“Don’t treat me like I’m crazy, Nolan. I’m not an idiot. I know when someone wants to hurt me.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Nolan said. “Never.”
Harlan shook his head fast, desperate.
“That’s what you say. But you’re not the one who decides. You never are.”
Harlan’s breathing quickened. He clawed at his neck nonstop, as if something were tightening from inside.
“Stop,” Nolan said. “You’re mixing things up. No one is telling you anything. There’s no one else here.”
Harlan stared at him.
“That’s what they want you to believe.”
Nolan stepped back. Not out of fear. Out of instinct. An invisible line had been crossed.
“I’m going to leave you for a bit,” he said. “Rest.”
Harlan didn’t answer. He turned his head again, attentive to the empty space behind Nolan.
Anger rose like bile.
Nolan walked straight toward Thelonopios.
“Stop talking to him,” he said bluntly. “Now. Your little game ends.”
Thelonopios looked at him for the first time in a long while. Calm eyes. Too calm.
“Game?” he repeated, amused. “I don’t play games.”
“You’re breaking him,” Nolan said. “If you don’t stop, I swear I’ll kill you.”
Thelonopios laughed softly, genuinely.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Someone will do it for you.”
Before Nolan could respond, a harsh voice came down from the crater’s edge.
“Tribute for Bagdur!”
A guard pointed with his spear.
At Thelonopios.
The man stood without resistance. He brushed dust from his knees carefully, as if relocating within a common room.
“Don’t go,” Nolan said quickly. “They’ll kill you.”
Thelonopios smiled.
“I know.”
He started climbing.
Nolan turned, searching for Harlan.
The boy was looking at him.
Eyes wide open.
Backing away.
As far as he could.
As if Nolan were suddenly the threat.
