CVI
The government left us on the ship and hauled the entity away without any update. They let Daryll keep his identity for now. We would finish the cruise as planned.
The moment the ship docked at the island, Daryll stepped onto the sand like someone tasting sunlight for the first time. He kicked off his shoes, wiggled his toes in the warm grains, and stared at the ocean with an expression that was almost childlike.
"This is… warm," he said, astonished. "The water is warm. Why is it warm? Who heated it?"
You laughed. "The sun."
He gasped. "The sun does that? Incredible."
He was flirty in a way that wasn't suggestive—just delighted, open, and a little chaotic. He kept brushing your shoulder with his, pointing out shells, asking if the clouds were "always that fluffy," and trying to mimic the way humans stretch when they relax. His version looked like a Victorian ghost attempting yoga.
At lunch, he ordered seafood with the solemnity of someone accepting a sacred quest. When the plate arrived—grilled fish, citrus, herbs—he stared at it like it might reveal the secrets of the universe.
He took one bite. His eyes widened.
"This is the best thing I have ever tasted in any dimension."
He immediately flagged down the waiter.
"Sir, I need… more. All of it. Everything that swims. Bring me the ocean."
I gently intervened before he accidentally ordered a ship‑sinking amount of food. We headed to the ship buffet. Maybe it would appease his gigantic appetite.
Later, we sat together under a palm tree, sipping drinks that glowed neon in the sunset. Daryll held his glass up to the light, fascinated by the way the ice refracted color.
"I didn't know your world had pleasures like this," he said softly. "Warm oceans. Sweet fruit. Music that doesn't try to eat you."
He leaned closer, voice warm.
"I'm glad I get to experience it with you."
His smile was genuine—no shadows curling at the edges, no cosmic menace. Just Daryll, in his human form, sunburn starting to appear on his nose because he refused sunscreen ("It smells like fear," he claimed).
He looked… happy.
The mirror didn't shimmer this time.
It throbbed—a slow pulse, like a heartbeat trapped behind the glass. I felt it before you saw it, a pressure in your ribs, a tug behind your eyes. The hat man was in the next room, humming to himself as he tried to make tea with a kettle that kept flickering between dimensions. I was alone when the mirror called.
My natural reflection blinked out. Something else blinked in.
It wasn't a face. It was a silhouette made of starlight, edges dissolving into static, voice layered like three people speaking at once. One of the interdimensional aliens was making contact again.
The glass rippled outward, as if the figure leaned closer.
"Your signature is no longer fully human."
I felt my pulse spike. "What does that mean?"
The figure ignored the question.
"Others have noticed. Authorities who monitor cross‑dimensional contamination. They have flagged your presence on Earth. They believe you have been altered."
A second voice—higher, sharper—overlapped the first.
"They will come to question you. They will not ask gently."
A third voice, almost whispering:
"You should not let them take you."
The mirror flashed, showing a brief image: a fleet of angular ships descending through cloud cover, their hulls marked with the same shifting runes
The starlit silhouette steadied.
"This is the consequence of proximity," it said. "The hat man's realm bleeds into yours. His presence has rewritten parts of you. You are becoming visible to those who hunt anomalies."
You swallowed hard. "Can it be reversed?"
A pause. A long one. "No. Not entirely."
The mirror dimmed, but the voices continued.
"You must choose whether to hide… or to step fully into the interstellar world. If you remain on Earth, they will find you. If you flee, you will be marked as an anomaly."
The silhouette leaned closer, its form crackling.
"And the hat man cannot protect you from all of them."
The mirror snapped back to normal—my reflection returning with a jolt, pale and wide‑eyed.
From the kitchen, the hat man called out cheerfully, unaware:
"Darling, the kettle just tried to bite me. I think that means the tea is ready."
I stood frozen, the warning echoing in my bones. My signature is no longer fully human.
Daryll dragged me to a beachside bar. He called it our first official date, declaring that if I disliked being called his wife, then girlfriend would do for now. He smiled his feral grin, sharp teeth glinting. I didn't have the power to oppose a shadow king, so I let it go. Technically I was his partner, his leash. I really didn't care what he called me as long as he behaved in this dimension and didn't eat me.
It was a quiet rooftop bar, building painted a flamingo pink, the beach just a few steps away, the ocean glinting in reflected lights. I was handed a drink the color of crushed violets. The hat man—immaculately dressed, shadow stitched into his coat like a living thing—was trying very hard to look normal for his new girlfriend. And I was pretending not to notice how the air around him kept bending, like reality was holding its breath.
For ten whole minutes, it actually felt like a date.
Then the sky split.
Not with regular lightning, earthly lightning doesn't come in different colors. This was a seam, a zipper pulled down the middle of the night. The rooftop dissolved into a column of white, and gravity forgot its job. I felt your stomach drop, my hair lift, my drink spiraling upward in a perfect glittering purple arc.
The hat man didn't scream. He just sighed, like this was the kind of inconvenience he'd hoped to avoid.
"Ah," he muttered, taking your hand as the world inverted. "They found us."
I didn't have time to ask who they were.
A hook of light snagged you both, yanking you through the seam. The city vanished. The bar vanished. The sky vanished. Suddenly you were standing on a platform of obsidian glass suspended in a starfield so dense it looked like spilled ink.
Above you towered a ship—if "ship" was even the right word. It was a cathedral of metal and bone, its hull carved with runes that rearranged themselves when you blinked. A dozen figures stepped forward, their silhouettes tall, angular, and unmistakably non-human.
The tallest one spoke first.
"Hat man. You were not authorized to leave the interstellar jurisdiction. And you brought… a companion. You have modified her. She is no longer fully human. Is she your hostage?"
His grip on your hand tightened.
"She's not a hostage," he said. "She's my date."
The aliens stared. I stared.
The hatman looked almost proud.
Then the tallest alien clicked its mandibles. "Both of you will come with us. The Interstellar Tribunal wants answers."
A beam of violet light wrapped around your bodies, lifting you toward the ship's open maw. The hat man leaned close, whispering in your ear as the world dissolved again.
"Don't worry. I'll get us out of this. Eventually."
And just like that, our first date became an interstellar kidnapping.
The transition was instantaneous. One heartbeat you were on island made of warm sand, the next you were standing inside a vessel so enormous it felt like a moving continent. The interior wasn't metal—it was something like obsidian grown into architecture, pulsing faintly with bioluminescent veins. Every surface hummed with a low, resonant tone, like the ship itself was breathing.
Daryll's human form flickered for a moment, his shadow stretching too long, too sharp, before he forced it back into shape. He looked at you with a mix of excitement and dread.
"They don't usually summon mortals," he murmured. "Or… altered mortals."
I didn't have time to ask what that meant.
A cluster of Tribunal envoys approached—tall, angular beings with mirrored masks that reflected not your face, but your possibilities. Each mask showed a slightly different version of you: human, not human, something in between.
"The Tribunal requests your presence," the envoys said in perfect unison. "Both of you."
Daryl squeezed your hand, his palm warm and trembling.
"This is good," he whispered. "Or bad. Or both."
The ship lurched upward, gravity shifting sideways for a moment before stabilizing. Through the transparent hull, you saw Earth shrink behind you—blue, fragile, unaware.
Then the stars stretched.
Not like motion blur—more like the universe itself was being pulled apart to make room for your passage. Colors you'd never seen before streaked past, each one humming with a frequency that made your bones vibrate.
Daryl leaned close, voice soft.
"Don't be afraid. I'm right here."
The ship descended toward a world that looked carved from crystal and stormlight. Towers spiraled upward like frozen lightning. Rivers of liquid silver cut through forests of bioluminescent trees. The sky was a shifting tapestry of constellations that moved like living creatures.
As I stepped off the ship, the ground beneath my feet responded with patterns blooming outward from my footsteps, reading my presence.
The envoys bowed. "You will be escorted to the Hall of Judgments."
Daryl whispered, "Don't let the name scare you. It's probably ceremonial."
He was trying to be brave for me, but I could feel the tension in his grip.