Chapter 247 - Rescued at last

The silver hulls of the Farian fleet shimmered in the void, growing steadily larger against the stars. Cold, quiet space was interrupted by their slow and solemn approach—massive, sleek cruisers with wings like blades, moving with grace belying their size. They cast long shadows over the scattered emergency vessels drifting in a slow scatter, like petals strewn over a black sea.Dican stood by the emergency pod’s viewport, eyes fixed on the approaching fleet. His hand, clenched hard against the frame, trembled slightly. Relief came not as joy but as a crushing wave of exhaustion. They had made it. They were no longer alone in this cold silence.

Then his gaze dropped.

Bian lay unmoving on the floor of the cramped vessel, curled in a loose fetal position like a broken doll. His left arm was gone, wrapped in tightly wound bandages soaked through at the edges, and his intact right arm had slid off his torso, lifeless and limp. His face was too pale, lips colorless, and even his long lashes—always so expressive when he blinked in disdain or surprise—lay still, caked with salt from dried tears and plasma dust.

Dican knelt wordlessly, gathered him gently in his arms. The weight was negligible, far too light. He adjusted the sling holding his remaining arm and brushed aside the strands of damp hair stuck to his temple. His own throat tightened.

"Bian..." he whispered, burying his face into the crook of the other’s neck.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to lash out at the fleet, at the Graylings, at the universe that had put Bian—his Bian—in this condition. But there was no time. Duty anchored him. He forced his eyes shut for a beat, then opened them and tapped the emergency comm panel beside the viewport.

"This is Fleet Commander Dican," he said, voice hoarse but steady.

There was a brief pause, a faint click, then a clear voice crackled through the pod’s speaker, sharp and respectful:

"Fleet acknowledges. Your Highness, we are moving in now to retrieve all escape vessels. Tractor locks will engage in one minute. Please ensure all passengers are secured."

"Understood."

Dican looked down at Bian again. "Hold on. We’ll be back in medbay soon. Just stay with me a little longer." He gently pulled himself into the seat and positioned Bian on his lap, strapping them both in with practiced hands. One belt looped around his waist, the other secured Bian close to his chest. He adjusted the straps so that Bian wouldn’t jolt during the docking pull.

A soft shuffling sound caught his attention. Across the small compartment, the human child, Quangya, was clinging to the pant leg of the elderly man—his grandfather—his large dark eyes wide and uncertain. He’d stopped crying hours ago, though his face still bore the dried tracks of tears.

"Strap him in," Dican called across. "There. Just pull the straps through the loops and click them into place."

The old man nodded and crouched stiffly, guiding the boy into the narrow seat beside him. "Here now," he muttered softly to the child, "we’re safe. Just hold still, little one." His hands, though calloused with age, moved with care. He clicked the restraints into place and ran a weathered palm through Quangya’s curls, brushing them back from the boy’s forehead.

Once done, the old man turned his gaze toward Dican, eyes shadowed and tired but piercing with quiet concern. He looked at the figure curled in Dican’s lap—at Bian.

"Can you not heal his arm?" he asked, voice low, a grandfather’s worry carrying the weight of lived hardship. "With your technology... I heard Farian are an advance civilization,"

Dican’s jaw clenched.

He couldn’t lie.

He shook his head once.

The old man looked down, eyes closing with a silent breath. "I see."

Nothing else was said. The pod vibrated lightly as the tractor beams locked on. In the distance, the hull of the lead Farian cruiser opened like the petals of a blooming steel flower, extending docking arms toward the drifting survivors. Their pod moved a bit, slowly but firmly shifted as the pod was drawn into safety.

The pull started as a gentle tug, barely noticeable except for the faint shift in gravity. The emergency pod vibrated with soft pulses, gliding silently through the void as though being guided by invisible hands. But then, halfway through the docking procedure, the motion became more intense. The pod jolted slightly, then trembled—a deep, unsettling rumble that made every bolt and seam creak under pressure.

Quangya let out a tiny squeak and pressed himself against the old man’s side, his little hands clutching the folds of his grandfather’s clothes. His eyes darted wildly, mouth pressed in a thin line, trying not to cry again.

"It’s okay, child. It’s okay..." the old man murmured, pulling him close and shielding his face with a hand. His voice, though calm, betrayed a flicker of uncertainty. The tremors were not violent, but they were unnatural—like something massive shifting its weight around them.

He leaned forward, trying to peer through the small viewport on the pod’s side. And then he saw it.

The ship—no, the fortress—loomed before them, a floating monolith of steel and precision engineering. It wasn’t a vessel in the traditional sense; it was a vertical spire in space, easily mistaken for a miniature city suspended in darkness. Towering decks stacked like layers of sediment, gleaming silver plating lined with uninterrupted rows of windows and running lights. Antennas and docking ports jutted out like enormous petals, flickering with scanning beams. Every few floors, massive armaments sat dormant, like folded claws.

Old Lin drew in a sharp breath. He’d never seen anything like it. The Farian fleet he’d imagined was sleek and advanced—but this? This was beyond anything human civilization could dream of. This was another world.

The pod’s direction shifted downward now, angling slowly toward a massive hatchway nestled within one of the mid-level docking arms. As they drew near, a seamless rectangular door unlatched and hissed open, revealing a hollow chamber bathed in a sterile blue glow. Robotic clamps guided the pod inside like a mother cradling her child. The hatch sealed itself shut behind them with a thunderous click.

A moment later, there was a loud hiss—like air being violently sucked out of the chamber. The sudden sound made Quangya jump again, clinging tighter to his grandfather.

Seeing the boy’s wide-eyed stare, Dican spoke from across the cabin, his voice quiet and level.

"They’re adjusting the air pressure. Matching it with the ship’s internal oxygen levels so we can disembark safely."

Old Lin nodded slowly, eyes still on the sealed hatch. "Ah... I see."

He looked down and patted the back of Quangya’s head gently. "See, Quangya? It’s not bad. Just a little noise. Nothing to be scared of." He managed a faint smile, though his own hands had tightened on the boy’s shoulders.

The cabin lights dimmed briefly, and a mechanical chime rang through the pod. The internal control panel flashed green: Docking Complete. External Exit Accessed.

A thin line appeared in the wall, and then the emergency pod’s side hatch hissed open. Beyond it, a corridor of white and silver stretched forward, sterile and humming faintly with artificial energy. A team of Farian medics stood just beyond the threshold, clad in pale suits that shifted faintly with motion, visors glowing with diagnostic readouts.

Dican loosened the safety belts, his movements swift but gentle. He lifted Bian again into his arms, adjusting the unconscious boy so his head rested against his shoulder.

One of the medics stepped forward, bowing lightly. "Your Highness. The trauma chamber is prepped. We’ll begin regeneration stasis immediately."

"Attempt limb reconstruction, if... if it doesn’t work...." Dican said without looking at them. "Maintain what’s left. Begin stabilization protocol instead. He’s not to be moved into cryo."

"Yes, Commander."

The medics stepped aside, creating a clear path.

Dican paused, turning to the old man and Quangya. "You’ll be taken to the civilian medical bay. You’ll be safe there."

Old Lin gave a grateful nod and took Quangya’s hand. The boy, overwhelmed but still clinging to his grandfather, glanced nervously at Dican’s still form and the boy in his arms.

"Will he... wake up soon?" he asked in a whisper.

Dican didn’t answer at first. He looked down at Bian’s face—still and silent—and then slowly turned his gaze back to the child.

"I hope so," he said.

Then he stepped out into the corridor, the medics trailing behind him.

Quangya held tightly onto Old Lin’s hand as they stepped out of the emergency pod. The floor beneath their feet was unnaturally smooth, slightly warm, and the air carried a scent he couldn’t place—something metallic, clean, and unfamiliar. The walls of the corridor glowed with pulsing strips of light, and the entire place felt alive, like the ship itself breathed through its infrastructure.

A tall Farian escort led them forward, not speaking but moving with fluid, assured steps. He wore a silver uniform with no insignia, only a luminous emblem on the collar that pulsed like a heartbeat. Behind them, the hatch hissed closed, sealing the pod away as if it had never existed.

As they walked, the corridor curved gently upward. To their left, the wall was made entirely of reinforced transparent alloy—an enormous observation panel stretching from floor to ceiling. Quangya’s eyes widened.

Beyond the glass, space unfolded in a stunning panorama. The deep black void was dotted with cold, indifferent stars, but it was the spectacle of the fleet that held their attention. Dozens of emergency pods were drifting in slowly from all directions. Each was encased in a beam of blue light, being pulled smoothly into docking bays embedded all along the colossal ship’s spine. Some pods disappeared into high-altitude hatches far above, while others vanished beneath the lower decks. It was like watching a hive welcome its wayward drones home.

"Look at that..." Old Lin murmured, stopping to stare.

Quangya pressed his face to the glass. "They’re all going in. Like... tiny boats."

Old Lin nodded. "Tiny boats are coming back to their home."