Reforging the Blade

[Heuschrecke]

"You have become beautiful, Fafnir..."

Heimirich ran his hand along the wall of the corridor from within the carrier, feeling the ship's warmth pulsing through his fingertips. She had a heartbeat now, much like he did. That was a product of the crew's collective effort over the passing week, their final chorus weaving the bodies of the fallen into her wounds - for that was what they were to her. Damage that left her weaker and less able to sustain battle. Now though, she was healed, complete. Her engine had been rebuilt with an amalgamation of technologies, becoming a design marvel unto itself while the plating that was originally mounted now matched the vessel's reflective nature. Each pace he took, he noted the lack of an echo from his boots, his movements having grown more silent. He didn't know why this was the case, but he welcomed it. The old clang used to occasionally be a distraction when focus was a priority. Now it wouldn't be an issue again.

As he approached the bridge, he paused and wondered about what had transpired before, when he was just a captain of the carrier and under the threat of the boarding. He wondered if he could have saved some of them by surrendering sooner. He dismissed the thought, realising that would have been a mistake. He opened the bridge door, stepping inside. His crew were already awaiting him, stood at their respective terminals. He nodded to each of them in turn, before he sat down.

"Let Us see how She glides through space now."

The carrier shifted to life, the steady pulse of before increasing in tempo to become a harmonious hum of energy and power. No longer was she the slow and power-hungry monster that she was under Weiss' maintenance backlog - She had been reborn and reshaped into something that felt more like an extension of both mind and body. Heimirich felt he was one with her, and that they were far more deeply connected than flesh to plating.

He didn't need to tell anyone what to do or where to go, he simply thought it, and they listened. Omega Fifty-Eight, Kaarst Drydock. No one asked for directions, they simply manned their stations while occasionally providing course alterations, or shield harmonic reinforcements. Power redistributed itself as and when needed, almost like the ship itself had a sixth sense for where power was needed and when.

Each system they passed through provided a welcome change of scenery to the dim black they had spent their time in. The particles that danced around the ship had a vibrancy about them, more prominent than their journey towards his new remote home. He considered the why, but decided it wasn't important to him, preferring to focus on Kaarst. He had a task to do, and he didn't want things getting in the way.

That, however, was easier said than done. Every so often, the echo of a voice he used to know rippled through the bridge, the faint scent of a familiar perfume wafted through the air or the phantom touch of a hand on his shoulder occurred. Heimirich sighed, knowing full well that no matter how much he wanted to turn and see them stood there beside him, or see them at their station, the people he missed were gone. All that remained of them was here, within every groove of their vessel. They were bound to the last place they served in, men and women mixed with metal, integrated as one.

Time soldiered on, and with each distraction he found themselves nearing their destination. The structure loomed through the dark matter, foreboding and unwelcoming to most of the human eyes that bore witness to the horrors that emerged. He wasn't phased by its shadows, knowing that they were expected, that he was expected. He instructed his crew to moor up through thought, growing accustomed to the method of communicating far quicker than he anticipated, before he rose from the seat and strode out to the station.

The form inside his mind gave him direction, sending him past Kate who smiled at his passing, expressing nothing more than a greeting to his presence. She knew also his purpose, and the smile widened. Her silence remained though, choosing not to speak. Two lefts, a right, another left, three rights, left again. Each turn was almost second nature, purpose through guidance driving him deeper into the prison cells of Kaarst. Every footfall here was accompanied by the rattle of the metal grating beneath his pacing, almost like the architects wanted those approaching to be heard. One more turn, a door opening and more paces until the thirteenth cell on the left. Here, he stopped, gazing at the door expectantly.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the key, unlocking the door and opening it outward, the creaking of rusty metal deafening against the murky silence before. He scanned the room in silence, before his eyes fell upon the reason he was here.

Propped up between the wall and the floor, letting out a quiet whimper, was Tessa. Heimirch's sister.