Page 16 of Stars in Nova

He turned to her, his viridescent eyes glowing in the shadows. ‘Do you think I’ll ever encounter it?’

Mirage regarded him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. ‘I think a pardon isn’t something you find. It’s something you live. Every day, in each choice. And Kisan, you’ve already begun.’

Her words settled over him like a balm, dulling some of his ache.

She gave him a sly smile and stepped back toward the door. ‘Now, get some sleep. Even brooding antiheroes need their rest.’

After Mirage left, the Rider stood in his bedroom, the drone of Eden II’s nightlife filtering through the open windows.

He gazed at the mask one last time before heading to bed, wondering how long he’d be beholden to it.

With a suck of his teeth, he shrugged off his clothes, tossed them over a chair, and sank onto the edge of his divan.

The silence was oppressive.

He leaned forward, his head in his hands, the day’s events replaying in relentless detail. The Falasians’ accusation, thechaos in the street, and the fleeting moment of wonder at CyVoda all churned together, leaving him raw and unsettled.

He glanced at the mirror across the room. His reflection stared back, the lines of weariness etched into his face.

He felt older than he appeared.

Beneath his controlled exterior lay a core of passion.

He experienced emotion on a deep level, although he seldom allowed those feelings to surface.

When he committed, he did so with his entire heart, with an intensity that bordered on possessive. This extended not just to the few he cared about but also to his ideals and goals.

He guarded his inner world with fierce devotion, convinced that if someone touched the burning depths of his pain and desire, they would either flee or use it against him.

Love, he thought, was a luxury for him, meant for others.

Those without his history. Souls who didn’t carry the scars of their sins. The idea of it was both absurd and achingly painful.

He stared at the ceiling, his mind churning.

The image of Samira lingered in his thoughts, her silver and gold eyes like twin suns, impossible to ignore.

He closed his own, willing slumber to take him, though he knew it would be a long time coming.

Sleep came fitfully, bringing dreams of water, light, and faces he couldn’t escape.

Ripples in the Water

Kisan turned a corner, easing away from the streets that lined the gleaming grandeur of the Old Town.

His patrol route took him to the patchwork shanties of the Pikani settlements.

Here, the domed light burned harsher, bouncing off rusted synthboards and makeshift tin roofs.

Thousands of Pikas lived crammed together in the sprawling slums, their lives a world apart from the towering temples that loomed nearby.

Men swung past on skimmers and on foot, ferrying building materials, barter goods, or weary from long days working the docks.

Women trudged past him, carrying water, goods, produce, and even children, their faces lined with weariness.

He sensed all eyes on him - narrowed, suspicious, charged with wariness.

Fokk, he didn’t blame them.

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