The Kaleid One: Private office
The hum of the Kaleid One filled the private office, low and steady, a sound that seemed to crawl into the bones. It was the kind of vibration that made silence heavier instead of lighter. The ship had always carried that voice in its hull, but here, within the closed walls of the Councillor's chamber, it pressed like a hand against the chest.
Councillor Yvith stood motionless at the far side of the room. Light from the wall panels caught the edge of her feathers, dull gleam rising and fading with each controlled breath. She said nothing at first. She only watched the girl before her—small, dust-marked, holding herself as though one wrong word might split the air apart.
Niri's scarf clung to her neck, frayed from ruin smoke. Her boots were tracked with ash, her knuckles stiff, her posture wound tight with a tension she couldn't disguise. She didn't try to. She couldn't.
Yvith's gaze was sharp enough to slice through pretense. She let the silence stretch until the ship's hum carved itself between them. Then, at last, her voice came—low, calm, edged with command.
"Niri… what was that ship?"
The words landed with weight, not accusation but certainty. Her feathers shifted, settling low along her spine. Her pupils contracted into narrow points.
"I suspect it ties to you—your origin. Did it respond because of you? Did you influence it? Or can you control it?"
Niri's throat tightened. Her mouth felt dry, her tongue pressed hard against her teeth before the words broke free.
"Yes." Her voice was quiet but firm. Her pulse quickened as she pushed herself to continue. "It is my origin. Human-made. A Sentinel-class battleship. They don't travel alone—usually they move in groups, with escorts." She swallowed, her tone dropping lower. "But no… I can't control it. I can't influence its decisions."
For a heartbeat, nothing moved in the chamber. Then the faint rustle of Yvith's feathers broke the stillness, a sound like steel brushing stone. Her eyes never blinked, only narrowed further, holding Niri in place.
"Then tell me—" Yvith's voice pressed harder, restraint taut as wire, "—do we consider it a hostile contact? It attacked the Grounx fleet. A fleet of the Council."
The question pressed heat into Niri's chest. She forced herself not to look away.
"That ship wasn't built for war," she said, each word scraped raw from her throat. "It was built to end wars. If it chooses to be your enemy…" Her voice faltered for a breath, but she finished it sharp and unyielding. "…good luck with that, Councillor."
The silence that followed thickened, heavier than before. The Kaleid One's hum seemed louder, pressing at her ribs.
Yvith leaned forward, feathers bristling slightly. "Then why strike at our fleet without provocation?"
"I don't know," Niri admitted. Her hands pressed against her knees, fingers digging into fabric. "They fire only on what they judge a threat."
"Then why," Yvith pressed, "would they see us as a threat?"
Niri's mouth went dry. She couldn't answer. Her jaw locked, her breath shallow.
Yvith's stare hardened. "Do you know how many of these exist?"
Niri's head shook once, sharp. Her reply came clipped, defensive. "I don't know."
"Did it respond directly to you?"
Niri inhaled slowly, forcing herself to meet her gaze.
"Yes. They felt my presence."
The admission dragged a twitch through Yvith's feathers, pressing them flat. Her voice dropped, steel wrapped in calm.
"How many know your true origin—aside from Professor Lu'Ka and Mr. Root?"
Niri hesitated, exhaled through her nose, then answered reluctantly.
"Qiri, Ronan, Thall, Horn… and Professor Rhiv."
Yvith's eyes narrowed. The chamber felt smaller, the air drawn taut.
"Then you'll tell me everything," she said, her voice like a blade sliding free. "From the beginning. Every detail. Do not attempt to hide anything, Niri. My people are gifted at seeing what others conceal. To lie, you need experience—and you do not have it. I am four hundred and forty cycles old. Now speak, before my patience runs out."
The words hit Niri like stone. Her pulse hammered so hard she thought it might break her ribs. But she knew there was no choice.
Piece by piece, she spoke.
Her arrival. The confusion of her beginning. The shards of memory that cut like broken glass. The ruins. The battleship. Each word felt like surrender, but she pressed on. Fear laced every syllable, anger burning beneath it. She hated telling it. Hated giving it away. But Yvith's gaze never moved, and silence was worse than confession.
Yvith listened without blinking. Her feathers bristled faintly at intervals, her face carved out of restraint. At last, she cut in, sharp.
"So you know what mission the human general referred to?"
Niri's chest clenched. "No. It's classified."
Yvith's feathers drew tight along her shoulders. "And afterward? They withdrew—concealed themselves again? Returned to dormancy?"
"Yes."
Yvith leaned forward, her tone low and commanding. "Then show me your orbs. Now."
Niri froze. For a heartbeat, refusal rose like a wall. Fear twisted her stomach, pulled her throat shut. But there was no refusing—not here, not under Yvith's eyes.
Her fingers trembled as she unclipped her gravity belt. She lifted it into her palm.
The orb stirred immediately, its surface alive—smooth, deep blue, pulsing faintly like breath. Its size shifted, swelling and shrinking as though it had lungs of its own.
Niri's voice came soft, almost unwilling. "It responds to me. Not always. Only sometimes."
Yvith's pupils shrank, her feathers tight down her spine. She didn't move closer, but her gaze locked to the orb, unwavering.
The chamber fell into silence. Only the ship's pulse remained, joined by the faint, unnatural glow bleeding from the sphere in Niri's hand.
For a long moment, Yvith said nothing. Her frame was coiled, feathers stiff.
Then she moved, slow, deliberate, lifting her arm to tap at the pad on her wrist. A faint blue shimmer spread across her feathers. Her voice was steady when she spoke.
"Guards. Custody."
The doors hissed open. Two Grounx guards stepped in, armored and silent. Their visors caught the light, blank and unyielding.
"She will not receive visitors. She will be under full surveillance," Yvith ordered.
Her gaze slid back to Niri, holding her like a blade pressed to skin. "When we arrive, you will receive a tracker beacon. It will be placed at your ankle. You will not remove it."
Niri's stomach lurched. Fear coiled sharp in her gut. She couldn't hold back the words.
"Why?" Her voice cracked, raw with panic. "Why will you do this?"
Yvith's stare never wavered. Her tone stayed cold.
"I will decide whether you are a threat or not. Your presence alone is enough to fracture the balance of power."
The orb pulsed faintly in Niri's grip. She clutched it to her chest, as if its glow could shield her. But the silence that followed told her the truth—shield or not, her fate was no longer hers.
Her voice broke again, desperate. "I told you everything. Every word you asked for. Even about the General. There's nothing else to give."
Her breath caught, and the words that followed slipped raw, almost pleading under the weight pressing down on her.
"Don't cage me.".
Her hands shook. The orb bled light across her scarf. She glanced toward the guards, desperate.
Yvith raised a hand. The feathers along her shoulders settled slowly. Her voice came quieter, but firm.
"Niri. Stop."
The single word froze the air.
Yvith stepped closer, her eyes narrowing—not in anger, but in gravity. "You think I don't see your fear? You think I don't understand what it means to be caught between forces larger than yourself?" Her feathers shifted once, then flattened. Her tone softened, still edged with discipline, but carrying weight beneath it. "Listen to me. This is not only about you. It is about both of us."
Niri swallowed, her throat tight.
"Protocols exist for a reason," Yvith continued. "If I ignore them, if I grant you freedom outside their reach, suspicion falls on me as much as on you. And then we will both find ourselves cornered—by the Council, by generals, by enemies waiting to strike. Do you understand? I am not your enemy here. But if I fail to act as they expect, I will become one. And they will drag you down with me."
Niri's grip trembled. Her eyes burned, frustration breaking through. "So… what then? I'm just a prisoner?"
"You are under surveillance," Yvith corrected, her gaze steady. "That is what they will see. Nothing more. But yes—you will be watched. Tracked. Because if you are not, both of us will pay consequences far greater than this chamber."
Niri's chest rose and fell fast. "You don't trust me."
"I do," Yvith said at once, low and unwavering. "If I didn't, you would already be gone. Erased before you ever set foot on this ship. But trust does not silence the Council. Protocol does."
Her feathers lowered slightly. Her next words came in a whisper meant only for Niri.
"Trust me."
Yvith finally raised her wrist-pad, signaling the guards. But when she spoke, her tone carried steadiness, not coldness.
"She is to be escorted to quarters. Full surveillance. No visitors. She is under my direct
Supervision until further notice."
The guards moved, slower this time, their posture tempered by her command.
Yvith's gaze returned to Niri, softer now but no less commanding. "Walk with them, Niri If you fight this, you will lose far more than freedom."
The orb pulsed once more against her chest. Niri closed her fingers around it and gave the smallest nod.