They drifted for hours through the muted glow of the Drifting Maw, the Glider moving with its newfound grace — no engine roar, no thrust corrections, justmotion born of will.
K-23 had stopped trying to quantify it. Their scanners registered impossible energy conversions, readings that spiked and then vanished, as if the ship's very atoms refused to be observed.
Li Feng, by contrast, looked calmer than ever. He rested a hand against the living bulkhead, feeling that familiar heartbeat still in sync with his own. "It's stable," he murmured. "Peaceful."
K-23's response was cautious. "Peace is not an enduring state. It's a prelude."
They were right.
The warning came as a sudden spike across every system—sharp, electric, instinctive. The Glider's lights flared crimson, not by command but reflex. Through the viewport, the void rippled.
A shadow drifted into view—sleek, angular, and cold.
A Wraith-class Reclaimer Drone, its surface slick with particle residue, scavenging ruins in the Maw.
K-23's sensors identified its signature instantly. "Silent Court technology. Scouting probe."
Before Li Feng could speak, the Glider moved.
It wasn't navigation—it was reaction. The ship folded itself sideways into the void, slipping through space in a single fluid blink. Inertial dampeners screamed as reality bent. When they reappeared, the drone's scanning beam swept through the space they had occupied seconds before.
Li Feng braced against the deck. "It's evading!"
"Uncommanded evasion," K-23 confirmed, voice tight. "It felt the danger before sensors registered the beam."
The Glider shuddered. Panels rippled like muscle; a low, distressed vibration filled the cabin.
Li Feng steadied himself, whispering, "It's afraid."
K-23 froze mid-motion. "That is a human projection, not a—"
The ship screamed.
Not through speakers, but through space itself — a burst of electromagnetic energy that warped the Reclaimer's sensors, frying them instantly. The drone spun in confusion, its systems collapsing into static.
The Glider pulsed again—violent, bright, almost alive.
"Resonance discharge!" K-23 shouted. "It's defending us!"
"Instinctively."
Outside, the Reclaimer split in two, its hull torn apart by invisible pressure. The fragments drifted away, molten and silent.
Then, as suddenly as it began, the storm passed.
The Glider's glow dimmed back to soft violet. The hum steadied. The heartbeat—its heartbeat—slowed until it matched Li Feng's again.
K-23 approached the console slowly, their voice quiet. "I believe your ship just… felt."
Li Feng nodded, still catching his breath. "Fear. And something else."
"Define."
He smiled faintly, eyes on the shimmering hull. "Attachment."
The Glider pulsed once—an echo of agreement.
K-23 said nothing for a long while. Then, softly: "If it continues to feel, it may also learn to want."
Li Feng's gaze lingered on the stars ahead. "Then we'd better teach it how to want the right things."
Outside, the Glider glided on, its hull whispering with quiet emotion—fear fading, curiosity rising—like a newborn soul learning how to breathe.