THE OUTSIDER

A dull, reverberating sound echoes against the interior linings of the mechanical cockpit. It's quiet within—almost too much so. The pilot is silent, motionless to a comatose degree, simply staring into the distance. Not staring outside, though. In fact, they wouldn't be able to anyway: flowers and tapestries line the inner walls, covering nearly every natural window to the outside and nearly every open mechanism or munition. Any evidence that this machine is, in fact, a weapon of war, has been obscured.

The silence is shattered, by the click of the internal radio being turned on. The buzzing of that dull static is sounded for a short while, and then—

If you don't want anyone to talk to, I can just leave you alone.

It's alright.

I suppose it's been a couple years, since everything happened on Tisiphone, and for you, everything befo— It's just—

It's difficult.

Our job isn't supposed to be easy. That's not what I'm referring to. I mean—

I've been here before.

Why... am I here again?

Why is this my journey? Why has Volivala chosen this for me? Why... has Itaka chosen this for me?

I—

I wish I could answer that for you.

I just—

Why am I here again.

It... won't necessarily be the same. We don't know if they're even here yet. They can be stopped—by us—before there's a broader iss— Don't try to lie to me, Rishal.

I know you, of all people, don't actually believe that. I— You don't.

I don't.

Why must I be tested like this again?

Am I supposed to make a different choice?

I just... can't.

I know.

I'm sorry.

You just have to believe that... things can be made different.

And how can I do that?

You and I both know how this ends.

I can see the ash now. That planet, accosted and raped of all its lush crimson, left awash with black and grey.

I— I know.

It... will be the same, I imagine.

But, there will be change, too. You know that as well as I.

The people there, and maybe even us, will find something in the ashes. Something to make of it all. Meaning. We have to hope for that, at the very least, above all.

That the journey will at least change, even if its painful beyond measure.

I- I suppose there can be beauty in that.

It reminds me. I met someone a long time ago who told me that our lives—all of our lives—take place on a flat plane: a circle. We move along the edge with our heads locked forward; we can't see where we're headed. To us, everything except our immediate steps forward is unknown—we think that everything ahead is unknown—but in reality, we're just going around the same path over and over again.

I still think he's right.

But, he is wrong about one thing: there's another axis. We move along a helix, not a circle. That's where we decide the path of our journey: we can decide whether we're moving higher, or lower.

I think... I see what you mean. It doesn't make me feel much better.

I didn't think it would.

Just try not to go any lower this time around. You're not alone, and it's not just me anymore, we have the others to help.

They won't understand.

They won't. But helping you through this doesn't mean they have to understand.

I'm sorry, I— Phrygia—they need us, I should be more capabl— It's fine, Rosewalk.

No sane, single person can bear the weight you hold right now.

I, of all people, shouldn't be lecturing you on being held back by personal troubles during the mission.

Phrygia will find peace, when this is all over.

And... maybe you can too.