Page 15 of Stars in Nova

The space was vast but bare, the walls were subdued gray, and the furniture was minimal and functional. It appeared less like a home and more like a holding cell where he existed rather than lived.

Mirage crossed the threshold, her gaze sweeping over the spartan décor. ‘Good grief, Kisan. Did someone forget to install the personality module here? It’s screaming for a plant or a rug.’

He ignored her, heading to a sleek bar in the room’s corner. ‘What’s your poison?’ he rasped, pouring himself a generous glass of whiskey.

The AI perched on the edge of his couch, her luminous form settling as though she were flesh and blood. ‘Oh, I’ll just puff on my cheroot and watch you intoxicate yourself.’

Kisan glanced at her but lifted a lighter from the drinks cabinet and snapped it open.

With a tiny burst of kinetic power, he flung its flame toward the thin synth cigar she had extracted from the folds of her holo gown.

She leaned into it with exaggerated elegance.

‘Sante.’

The Rider strode to the only armchair in the expansive room and settled into it, eyes on the horizon and the twin rings hovering over the rock.

Mirage dragged a high stool next to him and perched.

He drank, and she smoked in silence for a few moments, the pair lost in their thoughts.

‘Fascinating.’

Kisan turned at Mirage’s whisper to find her gaze on the single object hanging on the living space wall: a mask.

It was stunning yet unnerving, a dark marvel crafted from black spinel. Its surface glinted with traces of embedded gems that caught the light and threw it back in fractal bursts. The design was intricate, its faceted structure almost alive with implied motion, though it now hung silent and still.

‘Ah, the infamous false face of Ankis,’ Mirage said, her tone taking on a softer edge.

The Guardian nodded, his aqua eyes fixed on the object. ‘It’s a relic of all I wish I hadn’t been. A reminder of everything I try not to be now.’

Mirage rose, approaching the mask as if drawn by its dark aura. ‘Tell me again, how did you create it?’

Kisan exhaled, his voice heavy with memory. ‘Years ago, when lost in the badlands, I came across pirates who’d devised a crude version of it to disguise themselves in raids. I procured one and tinkered with it until I fashioned a concept of what I wanted it to do for me. I traveled to Galicia and commissioned a more sophisticated version from Master Sayeret of House SYRT. I paid with jewels—black jade, opals, Tansinian onyx, and even an ancient, rare onyx pearl. The spinel was chosen for its properties. When the mask vibrated, it wasn’t just for show. It tapped into my existing kinetic metanoid undulations, enhancing my bio-telekinesis. It could change my face and distort my voice. It made me unrecognizable, unstoppable.’

‘Terrifying,’ the AI added, her tone hushed.

He nodded. ‘It gave me power. Anonymity. I used it to lead armies, to destroy my enemies without anyone knowing who I was, and used its kinetic energy to control weaponry and eviscerate whoever dared cross me. However, it came at a cost. Every jewel and each feature of that mask was paid for in blood. Zane ended it. His psi powers froze the oscillations at a molecular level, suppressing the camouflage and silencing me.’

Mirage turned, her expression thoughtful. ‘Now, here it hangs. Quiet, yet rather foreboding.’

‘A reminder,’ Kisan said, his voice rough. ‘Of the man, I never want to be again. Shall we go outside? Enough dwelling on myfokkin’ twisted past.’

They moved to the patio and stood beneath the shaded roof, which blocked most of the heat from the domed sky of Eden II. The twin suns’ radiance refracted into a softened glow.

The city stretched before him, its neon veins pulsing in the distance.

The Rider swirled the whiskey in his glass, his mind heavy with churning thoughts.

Mirage joined him, leaning against the terrace railing, her holo silhouette seeming almost human in the dim gloaming. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘you’re more than the mask.’

‘Am I?’ he asked, his voice a deep burr. ‘Every time I look at it, I see the faces of those I hurt. People like the Falasians today.’

‘You’re trying,’ Mirage said, her tone gentle. ‘That matters.’

Kisan shook his head. ‘Striving doesn’t erase the past. It doesn’t bring back the dead. It doesn’t undo the pain I caused.’

‘Nada,’ Mirage agreed, ‘but it shapes the future. You’re not the man you were. You don’t have to carry their forgiveness to uncover redemption. Absolution is rare. Atonement is earned.’

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