The Adventures of Avon Sagan and the crew of the Aura
With the partial shard of The Seventh’s shield returned to the Head of the order, (Sol’s Father) The old monk bid his heartfelt farewell to the Son who had removed the headpiece that would have restored him to pure energy, without it he is unable to transform. “Look after this mortal son Avon, we will miss his contribution to our lives.” On that he rested his forehead on Sol’s, “May the Seventh guide you always my son,” “May the Seventh lead you always father.” He relied, the old monk glowed and vanished, returning to the energy of his race.
Tig having analysed the old sphere containing the information on the Unie, which was the payment for the artefact, announced in Avons mind, “The information is incomplete, someone or something, has removed it in an attempt to hide something important, there could be a sinister and possibly dangerous reason for it, as if the sphere itself is attempting to warn you off.”
Returning his thoughts directly to Tig, he replied, “That cheeky old monk, typical.” “Hmm,” Tig responded instantly, “As I seem to have failed to convey, I believe the Sphere is deliberately withholding information, we maybe able to access it, but for now I’m at a loss to explain how.”
“Fine.” Avon walked to the bridge, “let’s head off anyway, I’ll give Hannah the coordinates we do have, maybe something will shake the spheres stubborn brain loose.”
The Aura drifted in the quiet darkness beyond the Hollow Market’s last known coordinates. The golden hull still carried faint scorch marks from the fight with the Admiral, but the living metal had already started the healing process and was steadily putting itself back together, slow and patient, the way it always did.
Now on the bridge, Avon stood with his arms folded, watching the stars. Tig sat silent in the back of his mind, offering no commentary for once. Behind him, Pip leaned against the rail, the ornate gold crown still fixed firmly on his head. The red ruby glowed faintly whenever he concentrated. He still wasn’t used to it.
“Feels weird,” Pip said, tapping the band. “Like someone’s sitting just behind my eyes.”
“That’s because someone used to be,” Sol answered from the navigation console. His voice was quieter than before. The long black hair was the same, the dark blue eyes the same, but something essential had changed. The easy, ageless calm was gone. In its place was a new, careful awareness of every heartbeat, every breath. He was mortal now. He felt it in every step.
Hannah sat sideways in the co-pilot’s chair, boots up, cleaning one of her laser pistols with methodical care. She glanced over at Sol.
“You sure you’re all right?”
Sol gave a small, almost rueful smile. “I can feel the difference. Time moves differently when you know it can end. I used to watch centuries pass like weather. Now every hour matters.”
Saveena stood near the secondary console, her dark skin almost blending with the shadows of the bridge, pointed ears slightly angled as she listened. The leather tunic (Which is a deceptive appearance, for a tunic as strong as any military body armour) she had chosen still looked a little too elegant for the Aura’s steampunk chaos, but she already moved like she belonged. Her vivid green eyes flicked from Sol to Avon and back again.
“He sounds almost… human,” she said softly, a hint of quiet amusement in her voice. “It suits him.”
Avon turned, one eyebrow climbing higher than was strictly necessary.
“Well that’s just wonderful,” he said. “Four hundred and fifty-six years of floating about as pure cosmic smugness and the first thing you do with your brand-new expiry date is start sounding like a tragic poet. Outstanding. Really. I can already feel the crew morale soaring.”
He pushed off the console and walked closer, jabbing a finger in Sol’s general direction.
“Listen carefully, because I’m only going to say this once and I’d hate for the mortal brain cells to miss it. You didn’t have to rip that crown off your head and stick it on Pip like some sort of holy emergency hat. You could have let the pretty idiot bleed out like a sensible immortal and floated home to your shiny energy friends. But you didn’t. You chose the messy option. The human option. The one that hurts and scars and eventually stops working altogether.”
Avon’s voice dropped, losing some of the theatrical bite.
“So here’s the deal, Sol. You’re one of us now. Properly. No more stepping back into the light when things get inconvenient. No more watching the rest of us age while you stay perfect. You’re stuck with the same ridiculous, fragile, temporary bodies the rest of us have been complaining about since birth. That means you get to feel cold. You get to feel hungry. You get to feel scared. And when something tries to kill you, which it will, frequently, and with great enthusiasm, you get to bleed the same colour as the rest of this dysfunctional family.”
He paused, then added more softly, almost gently.
“And if that day ever comes when it looks like you’re about to check out early… we’ll fight the universe itself before we let it take you. Same as we’d do for Pip. Same as we’d do for Hannah. Same as we’d do for Saveena. Same as I expect you to do for us. Clear?”
Sol met his eyes. For a moment the old, unreadable calm flickered, then something warmer and far more human settled in its place.
“Clear, Captain.”
Pip pushed off the rail and walked over, clapping Sol on the shoulder with careful force.
“See? He likes you. That was practically a hug by Avon standards.”
“Shut up, Pip,” Avon said without heat, already turning back to the main screen. “Or I’ll have Tig rewrite your crown’s operating system so it only plays nursery rhymes.”
Hannah snorted and holstered her pistol. “He’s right though. Welcome to the short, messy, dangerous life of the rest of us, Sol. Try not to enjoy it too much, Avon hates competition in the suffering department.”
Saveena stepped a little closer to Sol, her expression calm but kind.
“You will learn the weight of each day,” she said. “It is not a curse. It is simply… living. I am still learning it myself.”
Avon dropped into the captain’s chair with a theatrical sigh.
“All right, enough emotional bonding before I break out in something unmanly. Hannah, plot the course for the Quiet Expanse. Pip, keep that fancy new headgear of yours from exploding. Saveena, keep an eye on our newly mortal philosopher before he starts writing poetry about the stars. Sol…” He glanced back one last time, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Try not to die stupidly. That’s an order. And for the record… I’m glad you’re here.”
The Aura answered him at once, engines waking with a low, eager thrum as she turned toward the Expanse.
Sol’s mouth curved into the first unguarded smile any of them had seen since the crown left his head.
“I intend to follow that order, Captain. For as long as this body lasts.”
Saveena’s green eyes met his for a moment, and she gave a small, quiet nod of agreement. “You’re not alone with this new feeling of mortality, with my restorative nanites removed I’m every bit as fragile in this body.” With a wink to Avon, “Don’t fret Avon I won’t be writing poetry about it anytime soon.” She grinned.
