I headed to the living room, crossing the hallway still wrapped in the warm silence of the morning. My brother was already waiting for me at the breakfast table.
He looked like he had just finished cooking: he was still wearing his apron. I hadn't even reached the dining room when the smell of food invaded my senses without asking permission.
Fruit.
Several ripe fruits.
Freshly baked bread.
The aroma was so thick I could almost chew it.
Nairo gestured for me to sit down, and I obeyed without thinking. I picked a random fruit: an apple. I took a slow bite.
It was juicy.
The sweetness exploded on my tongue, and the juice dripped down my fingers. The aroma rose to my nose at the very instant the dry crunch of the skin broke under my teeth. For a second, the world narrowed down to that sound and that simple, almost forgotten sensation.
Then I sat down at the table.
I didn't know what to choose first: the warm bread or the fruits that seemed to silently beg me to devour them.
Before I could decide, my brother intervened.
—You have to drink your glass of milk, little brother —he said with a smile that wasn't entirely a smile.
—Come on, drink it.
There was no room for argument.
I picked up the glass container and poured the milk into another glass, also glass. The white liquid fell with a hypnotic slowness, as if time were stretching inside the vessel. For an instant, it seemed like an infinite fall frozen in the air.
I took a sip.
The cold traveled down my throat and settled in my chest, clearing my head completely.
During breakfast, we talked about a bit of everything: the new mission, the team I'd be traveling with, the Council's absurd reports, and rumors not worth believing.
—You're nervous —Nairo said suddenly.
—About what? —I replied, taking a sip of juice without looking at him.
—Not about the mission… —he paused briefly—. It's because you're going to be in a group.
I was silent for a second.
—Well… yeah. A little.
Nairo smiled, this time genuinely.
—You'll get used to it. You can't go alone forever, even if you want to.
I didn't reply.
Not because I had nothing to say, but because I wasn't sure I believed him.
—Good luck on your next mission —he added, raising his glass.
—Thanks, brother —I answered quietly.
Before we knew it, breakfast was over.
I was ready to leave. I was standing on the terrace, the wind of Helion hitting my face, when I heard my brother's voice behind me.
—Hey!
I turned my head.
Nairo raised his fist with his thumb up and gave me a smile that needed no words.
I nodded silently.
---
Dorian Astra's Exploration Attire
Dorian didn't wear ordinary clothes. His gear was a fusion of Helion aesthetics and the Council's tactical functionality. Four layers defined his presence:
1. Flight Trench Coat – "Wings of Darkness"
A long, onyx-black piece made of smart nanofibers. When he walked, the fabric swayed with a metallic, almost unnatural weight, yet fluid. It never stained, resisted atmospheric friction, and helped stabilize his body during free falls. The high collar protected him from the wind of hostile worlds, like silent armor.
2. Compression Suit – "Absolute Night"
Beneath the trench coat, he wore a matte-black set, tight to his body like a second skin. The fabric regulated his temperature and absorbed muscle fatigue during prolonged combat. The harnesses on his thighs weren't decorative: they served as anchor points for weapons, supplies, and emergency devices.
3. Impulse Boots – "Cyan-V"
White, reinforced, with cyan energy lines running along the edges. Gravitational plates emerged from the heels, humming softly, ready to activate. They allowed him to make impossible leaps, land silently, or adhere to surfaces in zero gravity.
4. The Lineage Sigil
A dark silver chain with a stylized three-ray sun. It was the only non-technological element. A silent reminder that, before being a Council explorer, he had just been a boy living on Helion.
Biological Traits
Hair:
Deep black, with orange highlights that gleamed when light hit them directly, like embers hidden among the strands. The genetic seal of his resistance to stellar heat.
Eyes:
Green, the shade of pure emerald. Too bright to be normal. Eyes created to process information at speeds a common human mind couldn't endure.
---
Dorian stopped on the terrace.
His trench coat rippled against Helion's wind like the wing of a ship at rest. Beneath the light of the three suns, his black hair revealed orange flashes that betrayed his lineage, while the impulse boots hummed with an electric cyan tone, ready for the leap.
He didn't look like an explorer leaving home.
He looked like a precision weapon still sheathed.
Then, the light suddenly dimmed.
A shadow covered the terrace.
He looked up.
The Council's ship descended onto the platform.
…
—What the hell…?