Morning sunlight spilled warmly across the polished surface of a dining room table, catching motes of dust drifting lazily in the air. The gentle hum of a news broadcast murmured softly from a glowing wall-panel, its bright logo shifting slowly across the screen.
At the table sat a small girl, feet dangling carelessly above the floor, her attention absorbed by a bowl of brightly colored cereal. She stirred her spoon through the sugary shapes, humming softly beneath her breath, blissfully unaware of the solemn tone emanating from the news anchor:
"…Casualties have continued to rise sharply in recent weeks as UNSC forces struggle to regain control over contested resource sectors on Acer. Military analysts warn that without intervention…"
Across from the child, a young man sat rigidly, his posture tense beneath the crisp, dark lines of a UNSC uniform. His gaze was locked on the broadcast, brows knitted deeply in concern, his jaw tight with something heavier, an unspoken dread.
The little girl, meanwhile, thought happily about being home from school, a rare treat she didn't fully understand. Adults talked often these days, whispered hurriedly about war and resources and a planet named Acer, but those concepts felt distant, hazy, and unimportant to her young mind. She took another cheerful bite of cereal, oblivious to the weight of the words swirling around her.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway, firm and steady. A tall man entered the room, his presence commanding yet gentle. His hair was lightly touched by silver, eyes sharp with intelligence and tempered kindness.
"Shane," the man spoke softly but firmly, glancing briefly toward the screen before placing a reassuring hand on the little girl's head. "Turn the fear-mongering off."
The girl giggled quietly as he ruffled her hair, his voice warm and affectionate. "Good morning, my little wolf."
Shane finally tore his gaze away from the news, frustration flickering across his features. "It's not fear-mongering. People deserve to know what's going on. We can't ignore this forever."
The father's expression darkened just slightly, voice still calm but edged with quiet insistence. "It's bad enough you've decided to enlist. I don't need your sister hearing all this."
Shane shook his head, a faint bitterness creeping into his tone. "It's going to affect her sooner or later, Dad. It's going to affect all of us."
Without another word, the father pressed a key on a nearby datapad. The broadcast flickered off, the sudden silence heavy and thick in the air.
The girl stared into her cereal bowl, spoon forgotten mid-stir. The cheerful shapes in her milk slowly lost their vibrant hues, colors bleeding away until the milk itself seemed dark, strange, unsettling. She frowned softly, a quiet unease whispering at the edges of her thoughts, something shifting, changing, just beyond her grasp.
Her father and Shane continued to argue softly, their words fading into distant murmurs she no longer registered. The shapes in the bowl swirled, twisted, formed patterns she couldn't quite understand.
Things were going to change.
The sunlight softened, blurred, colors and shapes melting slowly away into a heavy, shadowy darkness. Voices echoed distantly, the last words she heard growing faint and distorted
"Good morning, my little wolf…"
Then silence swallowed everything whole.
Castin woke abruptly, gasping into the cramped silence of the crew quarters, heart pounding violently against his ribs. His eyes snapped open, staring blindly upward into the low metal ceiling, a cold sheen of sweat prickling along his skin.
For a long, tense moment, he remained motionless, haunted by the strange clarity of the dream, the feeling of deep familiarity clinging stubbornly to its edges.
Slowly, reality asserted itself once more, the quiet rumble of the boat's engine beneath him, the rhythmic breathing of the others asleep around him: Rivits, Matias, Lorne, Vance, Garret, Kiernan all accounted for except Jennifer, whose absence struck him with sudden, sharp clarity.
Castin swallowed tightly, breathing out a slow, shaky exhale. The girl, the family, "Shane", the name lingered in his mind like a ghost he could not quite banish, as if the dream itself had somehow found him rather than the other way around.
Castin lay quietly in his bunk for several long moments, the dream still lingering like a stubborn haze behind his eyes. He didn't recognize the faces from the dream directly, but something tugged insistently at the back of his memory. The uniform. The young man, Shane, he'd been wearing standard UNSC attire. That alone placed the timeline, roughly, about ten years ago.
Acer. Castin let the name settle bitterly in his thoughts. The war on that distant planet had consumed countless lives, soldiers, colonists, innocents, all reduced to numbers scrolling silently across broadcast screens. Castin shook his head, exhaling a tired sigh.
"All that fighting," he murmured quietly into the dark, "all those deaths, over a big ball of dirt."
He rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear the last stubborn remnants of sleep, when suddenly the gentle rumble of the engine caught his attention. If the motor was still going, that meant the boat hadn't dropped anchor yet, someone must still be steering this pile of trash.
The vessel groaned abruptly beneath him, a low metallic creak that seemed almost offended by his thoughts.
Castin snorted softly, patting the bulkhead beside him in mild apology. "Sorry," he whispered wryly, "I meant work of art."
Pushing himself up with a grunt, Castin navigated carefully around the others sleeping soundly, Matias sprawled out with surprising carelessness, Kiernan murmuring something unintelligible in his sleep. He quietly made his way to the narrow passage, stepping gingerly up the short staircase leading topside.
As he emerged onto the deck, the soft, flickering glow of the barge's running lights cast gentle reflections upon the dark, oily surface of the canal. Glimmers of soft gold and blue danced slowly across the grimy tunnel walls, lending a surreal, almost tranquil beauty to the otherwise dreary passageway.
For a moment, Castin simply stood and watched, letting the subtle motion of the lights wash over him, easing away some of the tension that had been coiled in his chest. Then, suddenly, the boat lurched slightly beneath his feet, jarring him from his peaceful trance. He steadied himself against the railing, huffing softly.
Curiosity getting the better of him, he walked toward the helm. A faint glow spilled from the cracks around the door, confirming his suspicion, someone was definitely awake and piloting the vessel.
He knocked gently before pushing open the creaking metal door. Inside, Jennifer glanced back from the captain's chair, eyebrows raised slightly in surprise.
"Couldn't sleep, huh?" she asked knowingly, offering a gentle smile before turning back to the controls. "Yeah, ol' boat has that effect on people."
Castin hesitated in the doorway. "Mind if I join you? As long as I'm not bothering you."
Jennifer gestured casually to the co-pilot's chair. "Not at all, please. Misery loves company, and steering this rust-bucket at night can get a little dull."
He stepped inside, pulling the door closed behind him and took the offered seat, settling in carefully. His eyes roamed briefly over the confusing patchwork of gauges, switches, and wires before him.
Jennifer chuckled softly, catching his look. "Don't worry, it's easier than it looks," she reassured him, gently nudging a throttle lever. "Rivets may have pieced this thing together from a dozen ships, but the controls are pretty intuitive, especially since we're just sailing straight shots down these tunnels."
She paused, adjusting the wheel slightly as the barge rounded a gentle curve in the canal. "Basically, just keep the nose pointed forward and try not to hit the walls. And even that part is optional."
Castin smirked faintly. "Sounds foolproof enough."
Jennifer's eyes sparkled with amusement in the dim light of the instrument panel. "Well, Rivets likes to say this boat's seen worse than anything we could do to her. And after sailing on her a while, I'm inclined to agree."
Castin leaned back, allowing himself a moment to relax. Silence settled comfortably between them, broken only by the quiet hum of the engines and the gentle sloshing of the water against the hull. Finally, he turned to Jennifer, a faint flush rising to his cheeks.
"Hey," he started quietly, voice low and cautious, "I uh… I'm sorry about earlier. About how I acted yesterday, down below with Matias."
Jennifer glanced over, mild surprise softening quickly into understanding. Castin continued before he lost his nerve, the words tumbling out faster now.
"You don't owe me companionship or anything, just because we're both human. That was unfair of me, and I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that."
Jennifer's expression warmed into an easy, forgiving smile. "Hey, it's no problem. Honestly. Don't even mention it."
She shrugged gently, her eyes fixed back on the canal, but her voice remained soft, sincere. "We're all a bit tense out here. It happens."
The helm settled back into silence, though Castin's mind continued to churn. He stared out the window at the darkened horizon, just beyond the soft glow of the barge's lights, where shadows stretched and bent along the walls of the canal. Thoughts twisted in his chest, words rising to his tongue and retreating again in waves, each time leaving a bitter taste of embarrassment behind.
He was about to let it go entirely, when suddenly, before he could catch it, it slipped out.
"I had a really weird dream tonight," he blurted, almost startling himself with the abruptness of his own voice.
Jennifer's eyebrows shot up, visibly startled as she turned slightly to look at him. Recovering quickly, her lips curved in amusement.
"Yeah?" she replied lightly, relaxing back into her seat. "What's a weird dream to you? You dream your teeth fell out or something?"
Castin chuckled softly, relieved at her casual tone. "No, not quite as uncomfortable as that. But maybe just as surreal…"
He hesitated for a heartbeat, then pressed on, recounting the dream as vividly as he could remember. "I was sitting at a breakfast table, and there was a news broadcast in the background about Acer, you know, that war they're still fighting over that damned planet."
Jennifer nodded in agreement, keeping her eyes focused in front of her. "Yeah of course, I don't talk about it much. As you said, not a lot of us down here."
"Well I think I was supposed to be a kid, because it didn't really mean much to me in the dream. But there was someone else there, a young man, maybe around twenty, wearing a UNSC uniform. Guess his name was Shane. At least, that's what the older man called him when he came into the room."
Jennifer listened quietly, eyes flicking between Castin and the waterway ahead. "And this Shane guy, did you know him?"
Castin shook his head slowly. "No, not at all. I've never seen him before. It was weird, like I was watching someone else's memory play out."
Jennifer's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "And the older man? You recognized him at all?"
"Not really," Castin admitted. "But then, when he came into the room, he patted me… or whoever I was supposed to be, on the head and said, 'Good morning, my little wolf.' It felt… important. Like that phrase meant something."
Jennifer went abruptly still, her shoulders visibly tightening as her grip on the controls stiffened. The boat hummed on steadily, but the air in the helm suddenly felt heavier, thicker.
For a moment, neither spoke.
When Jennifer finally broke the silence, her voice had cooled noticeably, tinged with something unreadable. "Maybe you should try and get some sleep, Castin."
Castin glanced over at her, startled by the abrupt shift in her demeanor. He opened his mouth, prepared to question it, but stopped short at the firm, distant look etched into Jennifer's face.
"Yeah," he replied softly, a little uneasy now. "Maybe you're right."
He stood slowly, the air still heavy between them. With a quiet nod, he stepped out of the helm, shutting the door gently behind him and leaving Jennifer alone at the controls, her knuckles pale around the wheel as she stared silently ahead into the dark.
As Castin closed the door he could swear he could hear Jennifer's light sobs coming from behind the door and couldn't help but think he somehow owed her another apology, for what, he wasn't certain this time.
The boat rumbled on as he raised a hand to knock again but stopped short. Whatever he'd done wrong, if it even was him, maybe it should wait.
As the door clicked shut behind Castin, Jennifer's carefully maintained mask began to fracture. She let out a sharp breath, the wheel feeling suddenly cold beneath her fingers. Her chest tightened, squeezing her heart as though trying to wring memories from it.
Shane.
The name echoed in her mind, faint yet insistent. Hearing it spoken aloud had felt like a hand breaking the surface of calm water, dredging up something buried deep beneath.
She could see him now, a faint silhouette in her memory, a uniformed figure, smiling softly, a quiet strength she'd always admired. Yet she couldn't quite hold onto the details of his face, couldn't recall the color of his eyes clearly. She felt a sharp pang at that realization, a mix of longing and frustration.
"Why can't I remember you?" she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the gentle hum of the barge.
Her grip tightened involuntarily, knuckles turning pale as she stared blankly into the reflective glass of the helm's window. The gentle ripples outside seemed distant, surreal.
Then her thoughts shifted, unbidden, to the other figure from Castin's dream or rather her life, the older man. Her father. His voice echoed clearly now, strong and gentle, full of love, so different from the cold, distant specter she'd constructed in her mind over the years.
"Good morning, my little wolf."
Naomi's breath hitched at the memory of those words, feeling them settle deep in her chest like stones sinking through dark water. She hadn't recalled such warmth from Nikodemus before. The image she had built of him was of someone calculating, ruthless, indifferent, someone who had burdened her with this terrible power and left her to navigate its horrors alone.
Yet here was this memory, this feeling, of tenderness and genuine affection. It tore at her insides, a slow, torturous pulling apart of everything she believed to be true.
"How could you?" she murmured bitterly, voice breaking as tears threatened the corners of her eyes. "How could you have loved me like that and then left me to this… curse? Alone?"
The anger flared inside her, hot and fierce, and for a moment, Jennifer's face flickered, distorted. Naomi's real visage broke through, scarred and vulnerable in the soft glow of the instrument panel. She gasped softly at the sensation, clutching at the controls as she willed her power back under control, smoothing the illusion back into place with trembling effort.
She leaned forward slightly, breathing deeply, desperately trying to bury Naomi back behind Jennifer's easygoing smile. Her pulse pounded in her ears, a rhythm of panic and confusion intertwined.
Slowly, deliberately, Naomi steadied her breathing, closed her eyes, and forced the turmoil back down into the depths of her mind. When she opened them again, Jennifer's reflection stared calmly back at her, composed and sure.
Her grip on the wheel relaxed. She straightened her shoulders, rolling her neck slightly as if shedding an unwanted weight. The memories receded, still present but manageable, pushed aside for now.
"Rivets would be so proud of how you're behaving tonight, old girl," she said aloud, voice slipping naturally into Jennifer's friendly drawl, her gaze softening fondly as she patted the console lightly. "No leaks or anything."
Outside, the gentle reflections of light danced quietly on the water, peaceful and unchanged, hiding the storm that had just passed through the helm, unseen and unheard by anyone but her.
And beneath the calm surface, Naomi still lingered, watching, waiting, and wondering who she really was.