Three hours passed.
The sedatives began to recede like a tide withdrawing from shore. First came sensation—a faint tingling in his fingertips. Then weight. Then gravity. His limbs no longer felt like distant objects but like parts of him again, though heavy, slow, unfamiliar.
Youri's eyes opened.
No hesitation.
No grief.
Just awareness.
The padded walls remained unchanged. The observation window had darkened again, opaque. He did not attempt to sit up immediately. He tested his fingers instead. They obeyed. He flexed them once, slowly, watching the tendons shift beneath skin that had healed too perfectly.
He sat up.
No rush.
No tremor.
His feet touched the floor.
Cold.
Solid.
Real.
The door to the room slid open with a muted hiss.
Two security officers entered first, armored, disciplined, weapons lowered but ready. The doctor followed. Halvek stepped in last.
Youri stood without being told.
Halvek observed him carefully. "Motor control restored."
"Yes, sir," Youri replied.
His voice was steady.
Flat.
The doctor exchanged a quick glance with Halvek. "How do you feel?" he asked.
"Operational," Youri answered.
The doctor blinked once. "Emotionally."
Youri considered the word for half a second. "Irrelevant."
Silence lingered.
Halvek stepped forward slightly. "Do you remember the events of the mission?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you experience distress recalling them?"
"No, sir."
The doctor's brow tightened. "You understand that Volar was—"
"Yes," Youri interrupted evenly. "The objective was achieved."
No tremor in his voice.
No flicker in his eyes.
The doctor studied him longer now, searching for cracks. "And your outburst earlier?"
Youri looked directly at him. "A malfunction."
Halvek's expression did not change, but there was something faint behind his eyes—interest.
"And is that malfunction resolved?" Halvek asked.
"Yes, sir."
Halvek circled him once, slow and deliberate, like assessing a new weapon. "You stated nothing when sedated. No pleas. No anger. No requests."
Youri remained still.
"Do you have any now?" Halvek asked.
A long pause.
"No, sir."
The room felt smaller somehow.
The doctor stepped closer, scanning a handheld device across Youri's body. "Vitals stable. Neural readings normalized. Cortisol levels… minimal."
"Minimal?" Halvek echoed.
"Lower than baseline human response," the doctor admitted quietly.
Halvek stopped in front of Youri. "You understand that you are now the only active pilot capable of synchronizing at ninety percent with Altopereh."
"Yes, sir."
"You understand that the Empire will require further deployments."
"Yes, sir."
"And you understand that there will be casualties."
"Yes, sir."
"Civilian casualties."
"Yes, sir."
The doctor swallowed.
Youri's eyes did not waver.
Halvek nodded once. "Good."
He turned toward the exit. "Escort D7 to debriefing."
The corridors outside felt narrower than before.
Crew members who passed them avoided eye contact. Word had spread. They knew what had happened to Volar. They knew who had pulled the trigger. Even if they did not know his face before, they did now.
Youri walked through them like a ghost.
No reaction.
No awareness of their judgment.
Inside his mind, far below the surface of his controlled expression, water shifted.
The abyss.
He was standing there again—deep beneath the surface where light barely reached. Altopereh circled him slowly, its massive wings moving through dark currents.
"You have returned," the Vanisher's voice resonated.
Youri did not turn.
"Yes."
"You have discarded what made you weak."
"Yes."
Altopereh's presence pressed closer, curious. "Your grief no longer stains the water."
"It was unnecessary."
A low sound rippled through the abyss—almost amusement. "You adapt quickly."
"I am designed to."
Silence lingered between them.
"Do you regret?" Altopereh asked.
"No."
It was not a lie.
Regret required attachment.
Attachment required something he had severed.
Altopereh drifted around him once more. "Then you are closer to me than before."
Youri said nothing.
The debriefing chamber was sterile and circular. A holographic projection of Volar's former coordinates hovered at its center. Empty space now occupied that location. No debris field. No residual planetary fragments. Antimatter had left nothing behind.
Halvek stood before the projection. "Rebel forces neutralized. Planetary resistance eliminated. Strategic threat removed."
He turned to Youri. "Report."
"Initial contact with Volar orbiton fleet at outer defense perimeter. Plasma rounds deployed. Eighty-seven percent hostile fleet eradicated within first engagement window. Remaining vessels neutralized via missile spread. Planetary shields collapsed at 63% antimatter charge. Full discharge executed at 100%. No interference. No system malfunction."
"Collateral anomalies?" Halvek asked.
"None detected."
"Personal instability?"
"Resolved."
Halvek studied him.
"Flow State induction will not be required for your next deployment," Halvek said after a moment.
The doctor stiffened slightly. "Sir, that may be premature—"
"He does not require it," Halvek interrupted calmly.
Youri did not react.
Flow State had once been a chemical cage.
Now it was unnecessary.
He was already empty.
Halvek stepped closer. "The Empire values results, D7. And you deliver them."
"Yes, sir."
"There is a new rebel concentration forming along the Karthos Belt. Intelligence suggests fortified orbital platforms. Heavily armed."
"Understood."
"You will deploy within forty-eight hours."
"Yes, sir."
The meeting concluded without ceremony.
Later, alone in a transit corridor, Youri paused before a viewport.
Stars drifted silently beyond reinforced glass. Infinite. Cold.
He looked at his reflection.
There were faint remnants of bruising along his jaw where he had struck himself. They were already fading.
His body healed.
His mind had sealed.
He tried to remember the warmth of sunlight on skin.
Nothing came.
He tried to recall laughter around a long wooden table.
Silence.
He tried to picture Volar before destruction.
Only coordinates remained.
A junior officer passed by and hesitated for half a second before continuing. Fear radiated from him like heat.
Youri did not notice.
Or perhaps he did—and categorized it as irrelevant.
Forty-eight hours later, he would enter Altopereh again.
There would be no trembling hand.
No cracking breath.
No last memory of fields or laughter.
Only systems checks.
Weapon calibration.
Target locks.
And when the time came—
He would pull the trigger.
Not as Youri Kronos.
But as D7.
Pilot of Altopereh.
A weapon refined not by engineering alone—
But by the deliberate execution of everything human within him.