Chapter Text
Her fingers were still pressing upwards on the edges of her mouth as the TARD-E robot left, satisfied with its security check. It was only when a passing student glanced weirdly in her direction that she removed her hands, realizing her ‘smile’ had gone on too long.
Emotions were far too complicated. Even after hours upon hours of repetition and study back at ‘home,’ none of it compared to the nuance of the real thing. As Denia gazed around, walking into Startorch grounds proper, the sheer magnitude of it all was nearly overwhelming.
But the void was infinite, and thus could not be overwhelmed, so Denia told herself she felt nothing.
There was a trio of students sprinting past, one slack-jawed, panting as he ran, the others laughing amongst themselves. A motorbike revved and sped past, a hoot of joy accompanying it. Far to the left, a student dressed in a Synchronist uniform was vomiting into the bushes, while the professor next to her shook her head, grimacing. A cluster of students and faculty milled around the Resonance beacon near the academy’s entrance, applauding at, seemingly, a dancing Exoswarm.
Denia took it all in, her head on a swivel. There was so much her instructional programs hadn’t covered. Clapping could only go on so long, and you had to end around the same time as everyone else, although Denia couldn’t figure out why the exact length of time was so inconsistent. Grimacing was something like the scrunching of the face, done so when you felt disgusted, although “disgust” seemed to be an individual opinion…most of the time. Crying made zero sense—it was done in both feelings of sadness and happiness. Who decided that? And for whatever reason, there were hundreds of different kinds of smiles. Patient ones, affectionate ones, ones that showed your teeth, ones that didn’t, ones that were more on the edge of being angry than happy, and ones that were about to burst into laughter.
Perfecting the near infinite possibilities of human emotion was a near-impossible task, but her creation had been a near-impossible task. And she didn’t really have a choice; if she didn’t want to be discarded, she’d have to obey the Grand Architect’s orders and blend into the school. So, with a blankness on her face as she went to her first class, Denia set off to learn.
Denia learned well, although the professors may have thought otherwise. So what if she spent her time snoozing in class? At least she was there. Thank goodness attendance counted for points. Besides, sleeping felt so good. She had little time for sleeping at ‘home;’ all her waking hours were spent staring at instructional programs, or studying, or getting injected with suspicious drugs, or (worst of all) regulating her frequencies in the void pod. So really, she couldn’t be blamed for taking the opportunity to shut her eyes in the peaceful Academy grounds.
She read up on Voidmatter. She read up on the Exoswarm. She read up on Void Storms, on the Exostrider, on the history of Lahai-Roi. She poked her head into every possible club that Startorch had to offer: Photography. Combat. Exoswarm Fan Club. Arcade Competitions. Man vs. Exoswarm: Dancing Edition. Clubs that named the faux-constellations in Lahai-Roi’s sky. Clubs that argued over the best Fleet Snowfluff song (Denia preferred Paper Plane). Clubs that attempted to merge the cafeteria’s awful food into something vaguely edible.
After a year, she’d gained a reputation: The blasé, lazy student who was always disappearing and reappearing at will, who somehow was involved in both everything and nothing, and got high marks despite sleeping in every lecture.
And honestly? Denia…didn’t care. Her routine, her carefully crafted personalities for everyone, it felt…dull. Boring. Just another performance, another mask to wear, another doll in her wardrobe. As Lahai-Roi’s sky changed, and she entered her second year, she didn’t expect it to be any different.
Until Denia met her.
She was sleeping away the afternoon in the Spacetrek Archive, or trying to, because the worried, louder-than-necessary mumblings of someone nearby kept bringing her out of respite. Denia cracked an eye open with a frown.
It was a young Royan girl. That was easy enough to deduce, with her tattoos and her clothing. Her ginger hair was plaited carefully into twin braids, although the color was too bright for Denia’s tired eyes. A freshman, based on her nervous energy and unfamiliarity with the space. She was rambling to I.R.I.S., who was trying her best to calm her down to actually get a query out of her. Denia slid off the couch with an irritated sigh and padded over.
Nervous students were a type she was very familiar with. As was she familiar with the demeanor necessary for them. She plastered on a smile, placed her hands behind her back, and softened her voice.
“Hello,” Denia greeted. “Do you need—”
The girl startled, turning towards her with wide eyes. Denia was briefly distracted. The color of her eyes shifted in the light; were they green? Blue? A combination? Denia was reminded of the gleam off an Exoswarm’s body when the Reactor Drive’s light hit it just right.
“Oh, are you an upperclassman? Can you help me?” The girl asked, her eyes briefly straying to read Denia’s student ID badge. Her voice contained a Royan accent; it tickled Denia’s ears. “I was supposed to meet with a...Professor Mornye? But I accidentally went to the dorms, and then I got lost in the cafeteria, and then I strode into an Exostrider Synchronist simulation area by accident—”
“Stop,” Denia interrupted. The girl audibly snapped her mouth shut. “I.R.I.S., can you pull up Professor Moryne’s current location?”
“Certainly.” I.R.I.S. sat against her digital window as her eyes flashed, the request processing. “Professor Mornye’s last recorded location is classroom 2-B on the upper floors. According to her schedule, she has a meeting with a prospective research assistant, Sigrika, at 14:30.”
“Sigrika, I assume?” asked Denia with a raised brow.
“Oh no, I’m going to be late!” Sigrika shuffled her feet nervously, staring at the nearby clock that read 14:27. “If I’m late, I won’t get the position, and if I don’t get the position, then I—”
Denia decided to switch tactics, which meant she suddenly couldn’t be bothered to be anybody other than her crafted ‘default’ self. “Will you relax?” She flicked Sigrika gently on the head. Sigrika pouted, pressing her hands to her forehead. “Follow me.”
They exited the archive. Denia strode quickly, navigating the busy walkways towards the elevator and dodging the swarms of students. Sigrika followed anxiously behind her, head on a swivel like she expected a professor to jump out of nowhere to reprimand her.
“Stop worrying,” said Denia without looking behind her. “I can hear your furrowed brow from here.” She slapped the elevator call button.
“But the professor—”
“Professor Mornye is a stern grader,” interjected Denia, “but she’s not an unreasonable person.” The elevator dinged softly as it lowered to their level, and they clambered on. It rose steadily. “Besides,” she scoffed over the hum of the motors, “I doubt she even realizes what time it is. She’s probably working on some project on her laptop and forgot she even has a meeting with you.”
Sigrika pursed her lips. It seemed her face enjoyed wearing a permanent pout. “That’s not exactly a relaxing thought, Senior.”
“I’m barely your upperclassman. And I don’t know what else to tell you.” The elevator doors opened, and Denia started towards the classrooms. As they reached the double doors, Denia rapped on the glass, which provoked no visible reaction from a certain Professor Mornye inside, nose buried in a mountain of papers. “See?” Denia inclined her head. “You’ll be fine.”
The clock inside the classroom flickered to read 14:30. Sigrika deflated, breathing an audible side of relief as she slumped over. “We made it!” She grabbed Denia’s hands, beaming. “I have you to thank, Senior! I appreciate your help; you went out of your way even while exhausted and annoyed.”
Denia stared at her. Was her act slipping? Maybe she’d been spending too much time away from people. Nobody had ever noticed such a thing. “I—”
But the doors whirred open, Sigrika hastening inside. “Oh!” Sigrika skidded to a stop, her twintails flying through the air as she whirled around. “I never got your name!”
“Denia,” Denia answered half-heartedly.
“Nia? Thank you so much for your help, Nia!”
“No, it’s—” Denia tried, but Sigrika was already skipping inside at high speeds.
Denia raised her eyebrows. What a whirlwind of a freshman. Not that it mattered; she’d likely never see her again anyway.
—
Startorch Academy’s dorms were loud and clustered, but Denia nonetheless found herself staring at the building every time she passed by. Though chaotic, it was leagues better than the ‘home’ she had to return to.
She nibbled on a tasteless nutrient block as she took a seat at her desk, flipping open a book on Voidmatter research. The air shifted suddenly, and she tensed.
“Denia~” an unfamiliar voice singsonged. Denia exhaled through her nose and sat up straight, waiting. Her nutrient block was a third of the way gone when a stranger appeared at her side, green eyes innocently bright. “Welcome home.”
Denia swiveled her chair and watched the Grand Architect head towards a bottle of pills resting atop a cabinet. “Who is that?”
The girl—Roya, it seemed—clicked ‘her’ tongue, wagging a finger in disapproval. “You don’t remember me? I’m heartbroken, truly.” ‘She’ snatched the pillbottle and deposited it smoothly atop Denia’s lap. “I’m Nivora, one of your oldest friends.”
Denia eyed the bottle, but dutifully twisted it open and popped a couple pills into her mouth. Her jaw set as she tried not to wince. These painkillers the Architect frequently gave her often felt more like paingivers, but the Architect swore up and down they helped, so what did she know?
‘Nivora’ vanished and reappeared, now holding a manila folder. She flicked it open, the folder still upright, and papers floated their way down to the ground. Only a paperclipped photo remained, a face newly familiar.
“This,” ‘Nivora’ began, tapping Sigrika’s photo, “is Sigrika. A Heliodic Six successor, or candidate, or successor candidate, whatever.” ‘Nivora’ shrugged and threw the manila folder over her shoulder, where it slapped against a wall. “The Roya have too many titles. It’s confusing. Anyway, I want us to keep an eye on her.”
“Us?” Denia repeated.
“Yes, us. Do try to pay attention, Denia.” ‘Nivora’ leaned forwards and swatted Denia’s ear. “You’re a semi-successful experiment, but don’t get a big head. I can just as easily dispose of you.”
“I—”
“Don’t interrupt,” ‘Nivora’ demanded, stomping away. “Listen. You’ve created an acceptable enough presence at the academy, but I fear you’re wasting our time just running through the motions. At least be useful. Do I need to spell it out for you?” ‘She’ flapped a hand dismissively. “Become her friend. Find her likes and dislikes, indulge her boring whims, whatever the Roya do. Talk to machines, or something. Pray to the Exostrider, I don’t know. Gain her trust. The important thing is we have a connection to her, and we can exploit it when the time is right. I’ll be right alongside you. It’s easy for Roya to befriend other Roya, so it’s your job to pick up the slack, with you being…whatever.”
Denia resisted the urge to retort that it would be difficult to befriend a Roya if you were so incorrect about their culture. Instead, she nodded, face blank.
“Good. Excellent!” ‘Nivora’ clapped twice. “Hm.” ‘She’ tilted her head, and the hairs on Denia’s neck stood on end. Her nutrient block began to crumble under her grip. The near-invisible crimson gleam in ‘Nivora’s’ eyes glittered under the overhead lights. “I believe it’s time for your injections.”
—
Sigrika was pouting again. Denia was able to ignore it up until her fifth, overexaggerated, drawn-out sigh.
“Yes, Sigrika?” Denia asked, uninterested, closing her eyes.
“I just wish Nivora could’ve come with us!” Sigrika said, shooting up on the bench like a Zip-Zap had struck her. “This field trip would’ve been so fun with all three of us!”
“Mhm.”
“And she’s always so mysterious when I ask her where in Bjartr Woods she’s from. Do you think she’s secretly a Soliskin?”
“Mhm.”
“Nia!” Denia was forced to open her eyes when Sigrika began tugging on her sleeve. “Are you listening to me?”
“If you say something interesting, I might.” Denia attempted to extract her arm from Sigrika’s grip to no avail. She settled back against the bench, wondering why the train was taking so long. “And for the last time, my name is Denia.”
“I like calling you Nia!” Sigrika argued. “The nickname is pretty, like you!”
Denia didn’t know what to say to that. She settled on Ol’ Faithful: “Mhm.”
The Reactor Drive’s light was glowing a dull orange, as close to evening as Lahai-Roi would get. The two were waiting at the Starward Riseway transit stop, since Sigrika had just left a meeting with Professor Mornye. The plan was thus: take the train back to Startorch Academy, gather needed materials from Sigrika’s dorm, then head out on a motorbike to snap some photos for Exoswarm research.
They’d been friends for a few weeks at this point. Truthfully, Denia couldn’t fathom why in the world this underclassman was so fascinated with her. It made her job a lot easier, especially when she didn’t have to try as hard to figure out what personality someone would like, but still. Unlike her, Sigrika was the epitome of a model student: always showing up to class, always taking on extra work, helping other students, asking the professors endless questions, burning the midnight oil on research projects, what didn’t she do? Meanwhile, Denia had her head buried in her arms in class, snoring away.
She was suddenly relieved ‘Nivora’ hadn’t accompanied them for this. The Grand Architect was content in playing their role on Startorch grounds, but it seemed they lost interest when it came to anything outside of it. That, and they likely had other Fractsidus plans to put into motion elsewhere. None of it was Denia’s concern. ‘Nivora’s’ constant presence made her skin itch, like a blade scraping along; not at the right angle to cut, but enough to kiss the threat of danger.
The train finally arrived. Denia grumbled about all the walking they had to do when it returned to the academy, and she began following Sigrika to the dorms.
“My feet hurt,” she complained. “Can’t I just meet you by the motorbikes?”
“No,” Sigrika said matter-of-factly, sliding an arm into the crook of Denia’s elbow and tugging her along, “I need you to help me.”
“I don’t even like photography,” Denia argued, nearly tripping over herself. Sigrika was shorter than her, but she walked fast. “I don’t see why you need me for any of this. I won’t know which of your seven cameras to take.”
“That’s why I need you to help me carry all of them!” Sigrika said, beaming up at her. “Also—”
She gasped suddenly, stopping in her tracks. Denia stumbled, nearly face-planting. A passing trash-can robot beeped angrily as her flailing legs kicked a stray can down the road.
“Siggy!” Denia huffed. “What—”
“Sh!” Sigrika was frozen in place, staring at…a street light? Denia turned to follow her gaze. At first, she saw nothing. Just the glint of metal. She squinted. An odd shape was sitting atop the street light, angular and white.
“A paper plane?” Denia wondered.
“It’s a bird.”
Denia stared at Sigrika in disbelief. “That’s not a bird. No bird looks like that.”
“I’m telling you, it’s an undocumented species!” Sigrika insisted. Her grip on Denia’s arm tightened. “I’ve seen it before! It’s like a little paper bird. But I can never get close enough to photograph it.”
Just as she finished speaking, the ‘bird’ vanished. It didn’t fly away, didn’t fall off. It was simply gone. Denia felt Sigrika sag in disappointment.
“Boo-hoo. We’ve wasted enough time,” Denia said, hand reaching up over Sigrika’s head before she froze. It hovered awkwardly before she quickly flung it back down. “Uh, let’s go to the dorms. Quickly.”
“True,” sighed Sigrika. “It’ll be dark soon.” She continued staring up at the empty streetlight, then paused. Steadily, as if her neck was formed of slow-turning gears, she faced Denia.
Denia arched a brow. “What.”
“Siggy.”
“What?”
“You called me Siggy,” Sigrika said, enunciating every word.
Denia opened and closed her mouth. Sigrika vibrated, appearing as if she was seconds away from exploding into dance. “I did not,” Denia protested. A futile, last ditch effort.
“No, I definitely heard it.” Sigrika was smiling ear to ear.
Denia looked away from those excited green-blue eyes, wrenching her arm free. Her ears felt warm.
Sigrika laughed and began skipping away, twintails swinging in the cool evening breeze. “I like it! Let’s go, Nia!”
“I didn’t—!” Denia growled, hastening after her. “Sigrika!”
“No take-backs!”
“Sigrika!”
—
Denia watched, hand on her chin, as Sigrika’s attention was snagged every five seconds.
“Sigrika, can you help me with this?”
“Sigrika, please tell me about the ancient Royan calendar! I have a test next week!”
“How can you do math so quickly, Sigrika? You have to help me study for my calculations exam.”
“Sigrika, there you are! Beth told me you could—
Sigrika, Sigrika, Sigrika. By the time the classroom was empty, save for them two, Sigrika shoulders were heavy, both metaphorically and from the packets of papers in her hands.
“You can’t do that all by yourself, Siggy,” Denia drawled, as Sigrika struggled to find the classroom doors with her vision obscured.
“I—” Sigrika grunted, struggling as she side-stepped her way towards the sliding doors—“absolutely can.” She added, quietly enough that Denia almost didn’t hear her, “I have to.”
Denia sighed, her chair screeching as she pushed it back from her desk. She crossed over, briefly resting a hand on Sigrika’s shoulder to prevent her from moving any further, then moved to slide her fingers under the stack of papers, taking away half.
The Reactor Drive was in full gleam at noon. Narrowing her eyes against the artificial sun, and easily avoiding the highway of passing students, Denia headed over to the railing. She lifted her arms over it, and without hesitation, let go.
The papers fell a total of five inches. They scattered and slid across the electronic barrier, a couple fluttering in the wind.
Denia clicked her tongue. “…I forgot about that.”
“Denia!”
Her plan foiled, Denia placed her hands on the railing and swung her legs over on the other side. She began gathering the papers into a messy pile, looking up at Sigrika, whose face was as red as her hair.
“Yes?” Denia asked. Her mouth twitched; Sigrika only used her full name when she was upset, and she definitely looked the part.
“Wh—why did you do that?!” Sigrika demanded. Her own stack of papers were nowhere in sight. Perhaps she’d left it back in the classroom. Denia scooped the final stray paper into her arms and clambered back over the railing. A theft was attempted immediately: Sigrika grabbed both of Denia’s wrists and was tugging the packet towards her. “Why would you do that?!”
“This is Startorch. Those students should do their own homework,” Denia said. She could’ve easily resisted, but allowed Sigrika to tug her arms back and forth. “You have your own business.”
“They trusted me!” Sigrika yelled, now just tugging as many papers free as she could. She smoothed the top layer, jaw tensed. The points of her ears were twitching angrily. Denia had a pointless thought to poke at them. “You can’t just do that,” she muttered. “What would they think of me, if they found their precious work tossed away like that? After trusting me with it?”
“Who cares what they think?” Denia crossed her arms, eyes half-lidded. Her naptime was coming up, and she was already feeling tired. “You physically cannot get all these done. Lazy students who pawn their work off to others should reap their reward.”
“They’re not like you, Denia!” Sigrika snapped. “They don’t sleep all day, doing nothing, being rude to people! They deserve to be here!”
Silence.
Sigrika sucked in a breath, eyes wide. She started forward. “I didn’t mean—”
Denia turned away, her expression already shifted into something carefully neutral. “Well, when you collapse out of exhaustion, don’t blame me.”
Fingers tugged hesitantly at her sleeve. “Nia—”
She jerked her arm away, resisting the urge to walk faster than necessary.
“Nia! Wait!”
Fists clenched, Denia disappeared into the student crowd, ignoring Sigrika’s increasingly desperate cries after her.
—
“I told you.”
Sigrika was slow to stir. Denia waited.
“Ugh, N.A.N.A. was right. You really are in a bad state.”
She hadn’t spoken to Sigrika for two days. It was easy enough to avoid her, all she had to do was not go to class. Simple enough. What wasn’t easy was the odd stirring in her limbs every time she thought about her.
There had been an idle thought, one she quickly squashed and sent to the void, that if she had a beating heart, it would be skipping nervously at Sigrika’s absence. But that had been ridiculous, and that thought no longer existed, and it never did.
Then she received a call from N.A.N.A. that Sigrika had collapsed and was now receiving treatment in the infirmary, and Denia found herself in front of the building before she realized.
The room Sigrika was in was private. A blessing. Denia couldn’t stand the beds a short walk away from the lobby. It felt too open, too exposed. Dr. Luuk Herssen had just exited the room when Denia approached. He smiled at her in that kind way of his, which for some reason sparked a bit of resentment.
“She needs rest, but she’ll be fine,” he’d said softly as he passed by. “I think she’d like to see you.”
Denia doubted that, but entered anyway. As the doors whirred shut behind her, and she took a seat at Sigrika’s bedside, she questioned why she was even there. Sigrika didn’t want to see her, right? Why would she? Denia certainly didn’t want to see her, she was just…
Just what? Denia waited for an excuse to form, for her mind to come up with something, but came up empty. She sighed, leaning back in the chair, head tipped up to the ceiling. It was quiet in the room. Denia’s ears strained. Aside from Sigrika’s breathing and the quiet hum of the AC, it was silent. She couldn’t even hear the patients outside.
Her fingers drummed on the chair’s armrest. Denia hated silences. It’s why she napped in such busy areas, why she could fall asleep right in the middle of a lecture, why one of her favorite places was the arcade. Noise didn’t stop in those places, it was a constant, ever-growing presence, undulating in volume like a wave.
Because when it was too silent, a different voice made itself known. Denia could hear the beginnings of it now, even as she drummed her fingers faster, an erratic rhythm, even as she began humming tunelessly.
Aleph-1.
Sometimes its voice was little more than mutterings, words inaudible. Those were bad enough, like an awful song she couldn’t get out of her head. But she hated when it spoke. There was no perfect way to describe it. It sounded like a dull cacophony of infinite out-of-tune instruments, screeching all at once. It sounded like a ravine opening up under her and swallowing her whole. It sounded like starving and eating everything in sight, only to still starve.
It sounded like Nothing.
And it wouldn’t shut up. It spoke on repeat. Nothingness. The void. Insatiability. Futile hunger. An empty maw. Desperation. Desire. Impatience. The Stridergate. Solaris-3. More. More, more, more, moremoremoremoremore—
“…enia?”
Denia’s eyes shot open. Her palms were pressing against her ears. She looked up, finding Sigrika blinking blearily at her.
“Siggy?”
Sigrika didn’t turn her head, but her eyes flicked slowly around the room, as if she didn’t know where she was. “You’re…here?”
Denia cleared her throat, sitting up properly. She patted down her dress aimlessly. “Yes, well. I see you’re awake now, and I have somewhere else to be.” She stood up—
Fingers brushed the edge of her wrist, where her gloves ended and her skin began, where void briefly returned to human flesh. Denia froze, watching, as Sigrika’s hand loosely encircled her arm.
“Nia.” Sigrika sniffled, and a tear trailed down the side of her face. “I’m sorry.”
Denia was unsure of the emotion that scattered across her chest just then, but she did know she didn’t like it. “Stop it,” she demanded, using her other, freer hand to brush the tear away. “I don’t care.”
“You do.”
“I don’t.” Denia used the opportunity to poke Sigrika in the forehead.
“Yes, you do,” Sigrika argued weakly. “You care…you care so much. I see it.”
Yet another new and discomforting emotion enveloped her. Denia felt as if she was manually breathing, like a heavy anchor was tugging at the lower rungs of her ribcage. She pinched Sigrika’s cheek, who whined in protest.
“Cut it out,” Denia demanded. “You look pathetic right now; you’re in no shape to make useless apologies.” Gently, she extracted Sigrika’s hand from her wrist and placed it back under the bed covers. “Go back to sleep. You can talk my ears off when you get out of this boring place.”
“Stay…with me.” Sigrika’s eyes were already closing.
“What? Why?”
There was no response.
Denia had the strangest urge to kick something. She felt restless. She turned to stare at the door, almost as if hoping N.A.N.A. or Dr. Luuk would saunter in and she’d have an excuse to leave. But the seconds ticked by, and with a restrained huff of confused frustration, Denia plopped back in the chair. She leaned forward to rest her chin on the edge of the bed, frowning at Sigrika’s sleeping form.
“You’re so aggravating,” she muttered to nobody in particular, reaching up to brush some stray bangs out of Sigrika’s face. Her gaze wandered.
Siggy looked so…tired. There were shadows under her eyes. Her hair, normally annoyingly bright as the Reactor Drive and plaited impossibly perfectly, was now messily done. Even her clothing seemed rumpled. Denia adjusted Siggy’s cloth headband, which was a tad askew.
Hmph. Still cute, though.
Denia went still, her hand hovering over Sigrika’s face. Her eyes widened in panic.
Oh no.