2291.08.31 EVT
Shane Lawrence scowled at the oven timer’s slow countdown to zero, fingernails digging into the edge of the worn countertop as he forced himself to remain upright. Sitting was perhaps the wiser option, given the extent of his unhealed wounds from his confrontation with the Sparnelli Admiral Kydell nearly two weeks ago, but he’d built his career on never admitting defeat and he had no intention of changing that now.
Or admitting he was slipping back into bad habits.
He could already hear the lecture from Feels about how he’d never heal on his own if he didn’t allow himself to rest, soon followed by an offer of their magic to speed up the process. But the psychomorphic mage was back with the fleet, healing the minds of those crewing his accidentally adopted armada exactly as he’d ordered.
It was the only way Shane knew to keep Feels safe from his own possessive tendencies. Especially after he’d murdered them and imprisoned their soul in his mother’s locket for two years. They’d asked for their freedom, and he’d finally granted it.
He wouldn’t allow himself to hurt them again.
He already missed them. They’d been a constant presence, all that time. An angry presence, certainly, but he’d never faulted them for that. He’d barely had time to process their unexpected forgiveness before setting forth to battle against an entire combined Sparnell Confederation armada at the stubborn insistence of his adopted son, Jake, nearly dying at the hands of a magically-manipulated ally in the process. And here he was now, forcefully wrenched from his quiet life as a school janitor and thrust into the role of planetary hero.
Hero.
An undeserved epitaph. Despite Feels’ insistence to the contrary, saving one planet meant little when measured against those he’d destroyed. One kind deed – performed at the insistence of his twelve-year-old son, no less! – did little to wash the decades of blood from his hands. He’d have to–
The timer interrupted his spiraling thoughts.
Releasing the counter, Shane attempted to reach for the oven door, biting down on the cry threatening to escape his lips at the bolt of agony racing down his side and squeezing at his chest from the movement. He forced his breath to steady and leaned into his Necromancy instead, jumping the breakfast casserole through the Afterlife and onto the counter before him.
The smell of leftover meats and vegetables filled the room. A reminder of happier days helping his mother in the kitchen of their humble farmstead, before the Space Defense Legion had come for his childhood and set him on the path of vengeful destruction.
Jake had saved him from that path. A Legion child, pleading for the life of his dying mother, his eyes already hinting at the growing sparks of the same hatred fueling Shane’s rage. Only this time, that rage was directed at Shane, for perpetuating the same war crimes that had launched the necromancer’s own military career. An echo of Shane’s pain at the loss of his own parents, and the unquenchable thirst for vengeance that had followed.
He’d told himself he’d been fighting for justice.
Jake had proved him wrong.
Shaking the memory from his thoughts, Shane turned his attention instead to preparing his son’s favorite fruit juice, to accompany his meal.
The past was the past. All he could control was what he did next, and whether or not he slid back into his old, dangerous patterns.
With a twist of the mortal plane, several fresh fruits appeared beside the juicer. A newer addition to the kitchen, the shiny device appeared out of place next to the other worn appliances and scuffed cabinets, but Shane had resolved to provide Jake with the comforts of his own childhood to the best of his abilities, and the juicer helped. Especially in his present state.
With a sigh, Shane reached through the Afterlife for a knife and then he went to work, gritting his teeth against the pain.
Showing weakness had been fatal in the Sparnell Confederation. He’d left that life behind when he’d deserted the Sparnell Armed Forces, instead taking responsibility for Jake’s upbringing, with the blessings and insistence of his mother. But that was before his former fleet had attempted to conquer his new planet. Before they’d joined him in exile, surrendering to his leadership.
No. If he wanted to keep their respect, he couldn’t afford to show weakness.
He had to keep their respect. He had nothing else to offer them.
“Breakfast!” he called, jumping Jake’s juice and helping of casserole to the shabby kitchen table before beginning the laborious effort of filling his own plate.
Jeb Kane shuffled into the kitchen first, barefoot, tugging distractedly on his short, brown hair as he sniffed the air appreciatively. “We’re going to gain weight, staying with you. Would’ve protested less about Raz and I taking your spare room if I’d known you could cook like this.” He snorted. “Not that we’ve anywhere else to stay. Intact housing’s at a premium these days.”
Jeb had been Jake’s bookish biology teacher, before the Sparnelli assault had flattened both the school and the apartment he’d shared with his sister. He’d proven his talent in Nature Magic during the boarding assault on Kydell’s flagship, despite the frequent reminders he was a pacifist now.
Shane grunted, his attention still focused on his knife. “You could use it.”
“The place to stay? Or the belly fat?” Jeb laughed, before frowning and reaching for the blade. “Let me get that. You shouldn’t be doing all this, you’re still hurt.”
“I’ve got it,” Shane snarled fiercely, eyes narrowing as Jeb took a step backward.
“No. I’ve got it.”
The knife pulled itself from Shane’s hand, completing its work with one smooth stroke before settling itself on the table.
Scowl drawing deeper, Shane turned to the doorway. “Razick…”
Razick Kane shook her head wearily, the unruly red curls cascading down her back bouncing at the movement. She offered a faint smile that didn’t quite meet the dulled green of her eyes, and even the mass of freckles across her pale skin seemed to shout her exhaustion. “Lawrence. Stop. Please.”
When he’d first met her, Razick had been a mostly quiet school lab technician, her free time spent experimenting with ways to replicate the Sparnell Armed Forces’ protective uniform fabrics. He’d witnessed her talent as a highly-trained Sparnelli battle mage that same day, after she’d fallen prey to Kydell’s Psychomorphation and turned those skills against him.
“I said I didn’t need help.”
“But you know I need to give it anyway.” She glanced away, and Shane watched her pull her shoulders back before meeting his eyes again. “I did this to you. Least I can do is help you get better. Especially when you won’t wear that powered body brace Jake and I made for you.”
He should have been wearing it. Somehow, though, that felt like admitting defeat. Succumbing to his wounds.
Admitting he needed help healing after all.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he told her, not for the first time.
Razick kept her silence, the weary slump of her shoulders signaling her unwillingness to engage in their usual argument over who should shoulder most of the blame. Instead she used her telekinesis to tug out his chair and drop his overfull plate onto the tabletop where he usually sat. “Eat.”
Shane’s attempt to stare her down failed miserably as Jake chose that moment to stumble into the room. His hair was disheveled, as if he’d just climbed from bed, while his clothes bore the usual wrinkles of having been slept in. Again.
Jake slid into his seat with a quick glance at Shane, before silently lifting his fork to poke at his meal. He’d been silent and sullen since the Battle for Baden, and his own role in Shattering the soul of Kydell’s personal TAG when Shane had been too weak to help.
It had been a feat worthy enough to earn Jake the respect of the rest of the fleet. TAGs served as the SAF’s shock troopers, a living necromancer controlling a tactical assault group filled with the souls of dead mages, phasing behind enemy lines to cause as much damage as possible before dying, only to resurrect themselves to fight another day.
Kydell’s TAG had been a Selkirk, trained by her Family since birth for the role. Shattering her had been the only way to prevent her eventual return, and Jake had risen to the challenge to save them all. The boy had been avoiding him most days since then, and while Shane had tried to give him the space he needed to work through his experiences on the Inevitable, his intuition said Jake now needed him to push the issue into a conversation.
But first, breakfast. They’d all be calmer on a full stomach.
“Eat, Raz.” Shane motioned to the empty chair across from him, gratefully noting Jeb already happily digging into his own portion despite the tension in the room. “Arguing about who shoulders the bigger blame never gets us anywhere anyway.”
When they’d first met, he’d been wallowing in it himself. Still should be, by all rights, but Feels’ role in the battle had required them to strip his guilt, to use as a weapon against the fleet, and to protect him from Kydell’s manipulation.
They’d replaced it with resolve instead. He’d no choice now but to undo what he could of his past transgressions. His own emotions would allow nothing less.
And part of that meant helping Razick heal.
She set her chin as if to argue, then sighed, nodding. With a wave of her hand, her own plate floated gently to the seat across from him, and she joined it. “You’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. I’ve more experience with guilt than you.” His smirk faded. “Certainly have more to be guilty about. Many would say you’d be doing the universe a favor, killing me.”
“Lawrence,” Jeb warned, his fork frozen in midair.
Shane raised an eyebrow at the biologist. “I know who I was. I know what I did. You don’t.”
“You don’t know what I did, either,” Razick said quietly, staring at her meal. “I still see their faces. The nightmares…”
“Me, too.” He caught her eyes as she looked up in surprise, and smiled sadly. Many regrets haunted his dreams. Faces, some nights. Other nights, entire planets.
“Does it ever get better?”
Jake’s voice was small, a shadow of his usual self. Shane opened his mouth to answer, closing again as he realized the question wasn’t directed at him, but rather Razick.
“I… don’t know,” she admitted, shaking her head at Jake before returning her attention to Shane. “Does it?”
“I’ll let you know when I find out,” he promised, but the words felt hollow.
The preteen looked away, brown hair shifting to cover his face as he began to slide from his seat at the table, but Shane grabbed his wrist. Time for that conversation he’d been putting off.
He kept his voice as soft as his grip was firm. “What’s wrong, Jake? Talk to me.”
