My first impression was that the ship was enormous.
Not enormous as in something large. Enormous as in something that shouldn't fit in the space it occupied — as though someone had taken a city, folded the corners, and stuffed it inside a metal hull that cut through the vacuum without caring about the physics of containing so much together. The elevator Helena and I took had nearly twenty floors — twenty floors inside a ship, each one with, probably, its own corridors and its own function, each function with its own people coming and going like cells inside an organism that never slept.
The corridors were wide. Wide enough for five people to walk side by side without touching, with high ceilings and lighting embedded in the walls that gave the dark metal a cold bluish luminosity — the kind of light that doesn't tire the eyes but doesn't warm anything either. And in every corridor, at every corner, in every elevator, people. Dozens. Hundreds. Passing us, observing us, whispering among themselves with the discretion of those who think a whisper is invisible.
What I quickly noticed was that we weren't surrounded only by Unicorns.
Beyond the dark violet uniform I already knew — the family's that had taken us in — I saw others. A deep red, which I recognized immediately: the same ones who trained at the back of the arena that day, separated from the others, silent, with the intensity of those who don't belong in that place but refuse to ask permission to be there. Bloodline. The name brought back the sound of rattling and teeth, and the face of a sister who had threatened me in a life that seemed to belong to another person.
Then there was the yellow. A clean uniform, cut with the precision of someone who spends money on appearance, with the symbol of a lion embroidered on the chest — not printed, embroidered, with threads that shone when the light hit at the right angle. And finally, a blue — more discreet than the others, almost sober, with the symbol of a wolf on the back.
I didn't know any of those uniforms, but Helena, who walked at my side like an improvised tour guide, explained before I needed to ask.
"Some families showed up to help the Unicorns," Helena said while waving to a woman in a violet uniform who passed by us. My sister already seemed at home. "From what they told me, the main reason was what happened on our planet. Apparently, the Unicorns' performance lit something in the other families."
Honestly, I believed the performance should have frightened more than inspired — noble families seeing another family survive a direct clash with Infernals could react with admiration, but also with calculation. For me, the fact that they were there wasn't enough as proof of kindness. There should be some kind of agreement happening behind the scenes — alliances that people like me would never know about, negotiations where the price wasn't money but influence, territory, position.
My theory was that each family would gain something from that partnership. The question was what — and when the bill would arrive.
✦ ✦ ✦
"The mess hall is at the next door on the left."
After a few minutes of walking, my body already felt considerably better. The healing magic had been essential for that — but there was something more. Something related to the treatment they gave me while I was out, or the food, or some technology I didn't know. When I woke, my bones were already knitted, and bones don't knit in two days. Not naturally. Something had happened while I slept, and I still didn't know what.
In any case, when we reached the mess hall door, I understood why the corridor had double-height ceilings in that stretch.
The door went all the way to the ceiling.
Enormous. As wide as it was tall, made of the same dark metal as the rest of the ship but with fittings that glowed with a golden light at the edges — as though that particular door deserved a decoration the others didn't have. When Helena approached, it opened to the sides with a sound that was more sigh than mechanism.
And what I saw inside stopped me in my tracks.
A three-story hall.
The ceiling — if that could even be called a ceiling — rose until it disappeared into an artificial skylight that simulated an open sky. The central space was dominated by tables arranged with no apparent pattern — some long, for groups; others small, for two; some occupied by people eating in silence; others surrounded by voices and laughter and the sound of cutlery against plates that I hadn't heard in long enough to have forgotten it existed. The upper floors opened into mezzanines that circled the entire hall, each with its own tables and its own people, and from the highest floor you could see the entire ground level like looking at an organized anthill.
But what truly shocked me was the food.
The sides — both left and right — were covered. Every centimeter of wall converted into shelves, counters, and warmers displaying every kind of food and drink I had ever seen in my life. And many I had never seen. Meats I didn't recognize hanging from golden hooks. Fruits of colors that didn't exist on my planet. Breads that exhaled an aroma that struck me in the middle of the chest before reaching my nose. Drinks in glass pitchers that changed color as light passed through them.
It was more food than all of Colony 22 would see in a decade.
"Honestly, everything I've tried so far has been really delicious." Helena said with the naturalness of someone who had already made friends with the buffet. "But if there's something you should try, it's in the dessert section."
She pointed to a separate section at the back — where various types of cakes, pies, and sweets were crammed into at most four meters of table, as though someone had tried to fit an entire confectionery into a space that didn't fit and had managed through sheer stubbornness. My sister always liked sweets. For me it was more complementary than necessary — but if she said everything was delicious, I could only trust her.
I advanced into the hall.
The noise of plates and glasses clinking ceased.
Not all at once — in waves. Table by table, group by group, the conversations died as heads turned in my direction. The looks came from all sides — curiosity, fear, fascination, suspicion — and the murmurs that tried to be discreet failed miserably.
"Hey… so that's the guy."
"Didn't they say he was three meters tall and also had a horn?"
"He's kind of cute…"
"Hey, you'd better keep your voice down. They say he sends you to the hospital just for not liking your tone of voice."
The voices mixed into a mass of whispers I pretended not to hear but that entered through my ears with the insistence of something that didn't know how to be discreet. Helena grabbed my arm — not from fear, from protection. As though holding her brother's arm were the shield she used against the world since we were children.
"Ignore them. Honestly, most of the people here are like me — curious and ignorant."
Her presence calmed me. It was incredible how, in the middle of a warship heading to a battle against Infernals, my sister's hand on my arm could still make the world seem manageable the same way it did when we were young.
Looking around more calmly, I noticed the mess hall was a microcosm of what was happening in that entire alliance. The tables weren't random — they were territories. The violet uniforms of the Unicorns occupied the center, with the naturalness of those who are at home. The reds of Bloodline stayed in a wing to the left, grouped, with the closed posture of those who eat together but don't socialize. The yellows spread out with more confidence, occupying larger tables, laughing louder, as though money bought not only food but the right to seem comfortable anywhere. And the blues — the wolf ones — stayed at the back. Few. Quiet. Observing more than eating.
Children ran between the tables. Elderly ate in silence. Entire families — not soldiers, families — shared plates and conversations as though this were a Sunday lunch and not the interior of a warship.
"Does this ship have the capacity to rescue this many people?"
The words were directed at my sister, but the one who answered was a deeper voice from behind.
"The Unicorn family has always been very generous, and their matriarch has always had a soft heart for the innocent."
When I turned, the first thing I noticed was the yellow clothing. The lion embroidered on the chest. And then the face.
"Magnus?"
The driver who took me home. The human wardrobe who trembled watching the Vriseus on the screen and who was now there, standing in the mess hall of a warship, wearing the uniform of the family I had finally discovered was the Crivald. The clothes seemed a size too small — tight at the shoulders, stretched at the chest — but he wore them with the comfort of someone who wears it long enough to stop caring about the fit. The honey-colored eyes burned with curiosity and something I could only call respect.
I didn't understand where that respect came from. The little contact we had was a conversation in a car while we watched horrors on a screen.
"Yes, it's me! Have you already chosen what you're going to eat, champ? I must say your fight was incredible!" His smile was genuine — the kind that is born before permission and occupies the entire face.
My face clearly showed an enormous question mark. Helena, at my side, seeing my confusion, simply nudged me and pointed upward.
"I think I haven't told you yet. Take a look up there."
My eyes went to the ceiling of the mess hall — to the artificial skylight that I thought simulated sky. It wasn't only the sky it simulated. There were projections too, at the edges. Various fight scenes alternated, each showing different combats — Unicorns fused with their creatures facing something, soldiers in formation, explosions of energy. But what Helena pointed at was a specific projection, larger than the others, positioned at one of the edges.
A fight I recognized.
My fight.
Viego and me. In the arena. Every blow, every dodge, every punch, every moment captured and reproduced for hundreds of people to eat while watching like an entertainment program.
"They recorded the fight." Helena said with the practicality of someone who had already processed the information and moved on. "Honestly, I think since the secret was revealed to everyone, they simply preferred to show what the family members are like. And now…"She gave a sideways smile. "We're Unicorns."
I understood. Since the secret of fusion had been exposed — because of me, in the middle of that arena — the best the Unicorns could do was transform the exposure into propaganda. Show the power openly. Use strength as a recruitment tool. Attract allies not through fear, but through admiration.
It was intelligent.
I looked at Magnus again.
"So the Crivald decided to join the Unicorns' fight?"
Magnus opened his mouth to answer — and another person appeared beside him before the first syllable came out. The presence was so precise and so punctual that I knew, before seeing the face, it was someone accustomed to controlling the moment at which they appeared.
Cris Crivald.
The same man who received me at the Pod when I returned from the Oasis. The same one who placed his hand on my shoulder and thanked me for protecting Eris. The same one who let slip about "families without scruples" and retreated the instant he noticed. Now he wore the Crivald yellow with the impeccable posture of someone who carries responsibility in place of rank — every crease in place, every button aligned, every thread of the lion on his chest shining as though he polished it every morning.
"Hello, Lord Leonidas. Forgive our interruption." The voice was the same as always — soft, measured, with every word trimmed at the edges to fit exactly the space he decided to occupy. "We won't disturb your meal." His eyes descended upon Magnus with the weight of an order that didn't need words.
Magnus lowered his head. The joy that was on his face seconds ago disappeared like a light going out, replaced by the sad obedience of someone who received a silent scolding in front of someone they shouldn't have. Even with me trying to say something — open my mouth, intercede, say I wasn't being bothered — Cris simply gave no space. He turned, left with the same precision with which he had arrived, and Magnus followed two steps behind like a shadow.
"It's a pleasure to be able to fight at your side." Cris said over his shoulder, without turning, like someone tossing a courtesy behind them while walking. "I hope to be useful. Have an excellent lunch."
And he disappeared among the uniforms as though he had never been there.
Helena, at my side, waited exactly two seconds before speaking.
"Hey, do you know that hottie? Is he seeing anyone?"
"Cool it and let's eat. I'm starving."
✦ ✦ ✦
While I attacked a plate of rare steak that finally lived up to what my body demanded, Helena told me what she knew about the other families.
Honestly, she didn't know much more than I did. The yellows were the Crivald — Eris's family, the family that paid me to protect someone who in the end had her life ended by the Purge. Seeing them there, wearing the golden lion, fighting alongside the Unicorns, gave me a knot in my stomach the steak couldn't solve.
The reds were Bloodline. And I knew that family well — since it was from them that I obtained the ring that allowed me to survive the first months of the Oasis. The connection was old and complicated: Jasmine Bloodline, transformed into a wendigo and killed. Her sister, who threatened me before I even entered the portal. Fortunately, nowhere in the mess hall could I see that sister's face — but that didn't mean she wasn't somewhere on that ship, knowing exactly who I was.
Neither of the two families surprised me, however. Despite not historically getting along well with the Unicorns, both the Crivald and Bloodline had influence on planets close to the Infernals' line of action. Being there wasn't just solidarity — it was survival. Before being benevolent allies, they were protecting what belonged to them in that quadrant. Self-interest dressed as courage.
But there was a family that didn't fit that logic.
There was a family that, according to Helena, had no influence on any planet in that region — and in truth, came from the extreme opposite of where the chaos had settled. That was strange. None of their territories were threatened. There was no clear strategic interest, much less a visible reason to be on a warship heading to the front line against Infernals.
And even so, they had sent people.
The blues. The wolf ones.
"Their name…?" I asked, the fork stopped halfway to my mouth.
Helena placed her hand on her face while looking upward, trying to fish the name from somewhere in her memory. The eyes squeezed. The mouth moved without sound. Something seemed to clear.
"Wolf. The Wolf family."
The fork didn't reach my mouth.
The hand stopped. The name stopped. The entire mess hall seemed to stop — though I knew it was only my perception, only the world inside my head reorganizing around two syllables I didn't expect to hear.
Wolf.
I knew that name.
Knew it because I had met a person who carried it. Knew it because that name was sewn into a memory I kept in a place too deep to visit often — the kind of memory you lock away and throw the key not because you want to forget, but because remembering costs a price you aren't willing to pay every day.
How could I forget?
I myself was the one responsible for her death.