A fine drizzle veiled the Edley Mining Field, cloaking the scarred landscape in a gray-blue haze that clung to the skin like a whispered warning. The air was heavy, laced with the acrid tang of chemical residue, and the distant groan of rusted machinery echoed through the desolate expanse. Ya Ning tugged his cap lower, shielding his eyes from the mist as he glanced at Bai Sha. "Should we split up and search?"
Each of them carried cutting-edge signal detectors, their sleek devices humming softly, primed to catch even the faintest trace of advanced tech. But Bai Sha's gaze swept the field, her mind turning over a deeper suspicion. "If this craft came from the Lone Light… it's likely equipped with specialized cloaking tech." She paused, her voice low. "This place is abandoned now, but when Teacher Holman found me, there were scavengers crawling around. So many people passed through, yet only Holman stumbled across me. That's no coincidence."
Emperor Cecil's words echoed in her mind: the Sea Kind could manipulate minds, their consciousness-filtering technology a subtle art. Perhaps only those with exceptional psychic strength could approach the craft. To truly interact with it, something more might be required—a key beyond mere technology.
They began with a methodical, carpet-style search, fanning out across the northwest quadrant. The detectors whirred, their screens glowing faintly, but the results were as expected: nothing. No energy signatures, no anomalous alloys, only the detritus of a forgotten era. Digging up the entire field was an option—advanced cloaking could be breached with brute force—but time was against them, and such a spectacle would draw unwanted eyes. The summit's delicate balance hung by a thread; they couldn't risk alerting the Federation or the Nexus.
Regrouping under a skeletal crane, its corroded frame looming like a sentinel, Bai Sha fell into thought. After a moment, she summoned her psychic familiar. Little White Chirp materialized, its round, plump form wobbling as if roused from a deep slumber. It flapped sluggishly, then collapsed onto Bai Sha's shoulder, nestling against her with a contented sigh.
"Lazy thing," Bai Sha said, poking its head gently. "You're a sparrow now, so the chubbiness is cute enough. But if you're this fat when you shift to xuanbird form, you'll be the laughingstock of the psychic realm."
Little White Chirp's black eyes widened, and it chirped indignantly, its tiny beak quivering.
"Get up and fly," Bai Sha said, brushing it off her shoulder with a soft flick. "Scout the area for anything unusual. Consider it exercise."
No sensor rivaled the instincts of a psychic familiar, woven from the raw essence of mental energy. Little White Chirp, fully awake now, shook itself and took flight, spiraling upward into the drizzle. After a brief circle, it darted toward a distant point, its trajectory unwavering.
Bai Sha's pulse quickened. "Follow it!" she called, breaking into a run. Ya Ning and Jingyi fell in behind, their boots crunching against the gravel-strewn ground.
Abruptly, the air shimmered, and Little White Chirp's form twisted, as if swallowed by an invisible curtain. It passed through a translucent barrier and vanished. Bai Sha skidded to a halt, her psychic senses straining. She called to her familiar, but no response came, only a faint hum in her mind, like a distant heartbeat.
"I'm going in," she said, turning to Jingyi and Ya Ning. "Stay here and cover me."
Jingyi's brow furrowed. "Sha, if that's Sea Kind tech, it could be rigged. You sure?"
"I'm half Sea Kind," Bai Sha said, her voice steady. "It shouldn't attack me. If it does, I'll handle it."
Ya Ning gripped his Glimmergold dagger, his eyes scanning the mist. "We'll give you ten minutes. No signal, we're coming in."
Bai Sha nodded, then stepped forward. The barrier enveloped her, a cool, tingling sensation washing over her skin, like plunging through a cascade of liquid starlight. It was oddly pleasant, a gentle prickle that faded as quickly as it came. She blinked, and the world shifted.
Before her stood a compact spacecraft, its form both alien and familiar. It echoed the sleek vessels she'd glimpsed in fragmented Lone Light memories, yet it was distinct—a whimsical design shaped like a boat, its hull painted a vibrant sky blue. Twin thrusters at its rear were comically round, adorned with a decorative red suitcase, as if the craft were poised for a galactic picnic rather than an interstellar voyage. The suitcase was pure ornament, a playful nod to human traditions of travel, like a picnic basket on a countryside jaunt.
The cockpit's hatch yawned open, angled upward. Little White Chirp perched on its edge, its gaze fixed on her, serene and expectant.
Bai Sha hesitated, then climbed inside. The cockpit was cramped, clearly designed for a child. At her current size, she maneuvered awkwardly, settling into the pilot's seat with difficulty. The walls bore signs of hasty modification—severed conduits, dried fluid stains, and a life-support system cobbled together with crude precision. An oxygen exchanger bore a jagged crack, evidence of a system too fragile for the journey it had endured.
Her fingers brushed the crack, and her elbow grazed the wall. The console flared to life, a blue orb materializing in the air. Three curved holo-screens snapped open around it, their glow casting sharp shadows. Bai Sha froze, then relaxed as she recognized the script—Sea Kind, but legible to her.
The screens displayed the craft's status: hull damaged, energy reserves near depletion, sustaining only minimal dormancy. A red alert flashed: Life Support Failure. Repair Urgently or Evacuate. Bai Sha tested the controls, her movements cautious. Unfamiliar with the interface, she avoided risky inputs, focusing on the flight log.
The craft had been set to life-monitoring mode, then switched to autopilot. Its original destination lay within the Empire's borders, but damage and energy loss forced a detour, culminating in a crash landing on Lanslow. The system's intelligence was remarkable—it had chosen a populated planet over drifting in the void, ensuring Bai Sha's survival.
Further logs detailed the aftermath: days on Lanslow, oxygen dwindling, yellow warnings escalating to red. The system had ejected its occupant—Bai Sha—when life support failed. Yet the craft's cloaking field should have kept her within its radius, invisible to passersby.
Curious, Bai Sha tinkered with the controls, stumbling upon surveillance footage. The craft's cameras activated only when lifeforms approached. She watched a younger version of herself, unconscious, lying five steps from the craft. Scavengers and vagrants shuffled past, oblivious, their minds clouded by the Sea Kind's consciousness filter.
Then Holman appeared, his worn clothes neater than the others'. Edley, post-abandonment, had become a dumping ground, its pits a treasure trove for scavengers. Most sought scrap or stray ore, but Holman's ambitions were grander—rare components, high-value salvage. He visited twice, leaving empty-handed the first time, returning with a haul of eclectic parts the second. On that visit, he crossed the cloaking field, yet saw nothing of Bai Sha.
Bai Sha frowned. How had she survived?
The footage shifted. A ripple of light bloomed beside her unconscious form. A tiny white bird—Little White Chirp—tumbled out, seizing her collar in its beak. With improbable strength, it dragged her, inch by inch, beyond the cloaking field. The effort took minutes, the bird's wings trembling until, exhausted, it collapsed on her chest, dissolving into motes of light.
Bai Sha stared at her familiar, now perched in the cockpit. "You saved me," she said softly.
Little White Chirp tilted its head, its expression blank, as if the memory were lost to it.
Bai Sha smiled, shaking her head. Back then, her familiar's consciousness was nascent, its actions driven by instinct. If she died, it would cease to exist. Survival was their shared imperative.
"Let's go," she said, easing out of the seat. Ya Ning and Jingyi were waiting, and prolonged silence would spur them to act. The craft was too large to move whole, but she could dismantle it, transporting key components to Youdu Star for reassembly. Worst case, she'd extract the mainboard and study its structure later.
As she climbed out, her foot slipped, her head grazing the hatch's frame. The blue orb pulsed, and a warm, masculine voice filled the cockpit: "Watch your head. Stay safe."
Bai Sha froze. That voice—Bai Yi, the Lone Light's enigmatic figure. She tested it, brushing the frame again.
"Watch your head. Stay safe."
"Watch your head. Stay safe."
"Watch your head, stay— Are you doing this on purpose? Good kids don't tease the system."
Bai Sha stifled a laugh, startled by the shift. She experimented, tapping panels and tugging levers like a mischievous child. The voice responded, patient but firm, warning her against mishandling controls. The final unlocked line was: "Keep messing around, and when your mother revokes your flight license, don't expect me to plead your case."
Bai Sha's amusement faded, replaced by a quiet warmth. After further tests, she confirmed only Bai Yi's voice was recorded—no trace of Xipes. Perhaps Xipes's discipline was less verbal, more direct: confiscating licenses or grounding ships.
The voice system hinted at deeper functionality. If she could query it, answers might come easily. "I request return navigation," she said.
Silence hung for a beat. Then: "Insufficient energy. Return protocol inexecutable."
Her breath caught. The craft could return—to the Lone Light or another Sea Kind outpost. With power, it might lead her to her origins.
Dawn broke, and the summit commenced in Lanslow's grand convention hall, its crystal domes gleaming under the planet's twin suns. Bai Sha, as planned, played a minimal role. She delivered a prepared speech—eloquent but brief, extolling peace and cooperation—then retreated to her seat, her expression one of studied neutrality. When pressed to speak, she offered platitudes about "fostering bilateral harmony," her voice soft, her pauses deliberate.
Federation officials and journalists watched her like hawks, eager to pounce on any misstep. But her frail demeanor—pale cheeks, shallow breaths, frequent rests—disarmed them. She was a shadow of the warrior they'd seen, and their scrutiny softened into pity. Some reporters pivoted, their articles laced with subtle barbs: The Empire's Crown Prince, gravely wounded, is a husk of her former self, a half-broken figure clinging to duty.
That night, danger struck. Unidentified assassins—Nexus operatives or Federation rogues—prowled the hotel's perimeter. Royal Guards dispatched most with ruthless efficiency, but two breached the outer defenses, slipping into the corridors. They reached Bai Sha's suite, only to meet Kaixin Greiz, stationed like a sentinel.
The intruders froze, eyes widening at the Greiz heir. "The Greiz clan despises the Ronins," one spat, blood trickling from his lip. "Kill her now, and your family could claim the throne again!"
Kaixin's expression was stone. He didn't answer. His mech, Seven Kills, hummed, its blade aglow with violet light in the dark. He hadn't mastered its secondary weapon, the silver cord, but his knife work was lethal, each strike precise and devastating. The guards in plain sight were decoys; Kaixin was the true protector, a blade in the shadows.
"They say Greiz are as proud as their familiars," the assassin sneered, clutching a wound. "But you're just Bai Sha Ronin's tamed dog—"
Kaixin's blade flashed, silencing him. "Only the living get to judge," he said, his voice flat. "Dead men don't."
Back in the mining field, Bai Sha relayed her findings to Ya Ning and Jingyi, the drizzle now a steady patter. The craft's discovery was a breakthrough, but moving it posed a logistical nightmare. "We'll crate it as diplomatic cargo," she said, her optic already pinging Zhou Ying with instructions. "Mark it as cultural artifacts. The Federation won't dare inspect royal shipments too closely."
Ya Ning wiped rain from his brow. "Risky. If they scan it and detect Sea Kind tech, we're done."
"Then we move fast," Bai Sha said. "Kaixin's team can help. He's got Greiz engineers who can disguise the energy signature."
Jingyi glanced at the craft, its blue hull glistening in the wet. "You saw the Lone Light in its memory. Any clue where it is?"
"Fragments," Bai Sha admitted. "A ship, stars, voices. It's locked to my resonance—I'll need a lab to extract more. But it's proof the Lone Light exists, and this craft was meant to take me somewhere safe."
The drone's hum grew louder, its searchlights cutting through the mist. Ya Ning's optic flashed. "Federation patrols, three minutes out. We need to hide this thing now."
Bai Sha knelt by the craft, her hand on its hull. "Activate cloaking," she whispered, channeling a thread of psychic energy. The craft shimmered, its form fading into the background, the barrier snapping back into place.
"Let's go," she said, leading them into the shadows. The summit awaited, a stage for diplomacy and deception. The craft was secure—for now—but the Nexus's agents were closing in, and the Federation's eyes were sharp. Bai Sha's mind raced, plotting her next move. The Lone Light was no longer a myth, and she'd risk everything to find it.