Alive for only a moment.
Burned painfully bright but not for long, just as all the best lives did.
Couldn’t keep himself in line, but he could do one thing right: kill.
Donning armor and helmet—one to protect the body and one to protect the breath—he’d made his way beyond his world.
Enough credits to hitch a ride on the next ship outbound, enough time to polish his sword, enough strength to drive it clean through a neck—numb enough to accept payment.
Few military men left the service and lived to tell the tale, but his father held some sway in upper management.
Good thing, too, since someone else had to take the fall.
He still thought about it sometimes, what it must have been like for his father to die for his son’s whims.
It rarely crossed his mind now, and never for long.
Just enough for him to see them pull the trigger, back of his father’s neck, see the light fade from his eyes and feel a shake in the top of his spine—white-hot.
Knowing that inevitably, that will be him.
Landing was always quick, quiet, efficient.
Maneuvering around with a sword and a duffle was a challenge, but he made space for himself with his every step.
Nobody cared to ask for his passport or motion him to a contraband scanner.
Only walked in front of him briefly, gazes averted.
Port towns always had shady alleys, where no one would bat an eye at him scrolling through bounty forums.
Quality over quantity, never taking jobs too close to the top, just enough to buy his supplies and his next fare.
Rich bastards, never at the very top, but still ones the world would be better without.
Staying was never an option for him.
The voices from the void that pooled in his blade’s radiating light made sure of that—swarming him, waiting for a chance to invade.
Upon the sparks he could only ever see his eyes, which clashed with his face.
Vibrant, never losing their brilliant, empty shine despite it all.
When he saw them, he was only ever disgusted.
Xiphoid, he’d been told: his whole body honed for battle, as sharp as his blade.
You could tell from a glance that he never looked for a fight, but a hunt.
Zephyr-blown to his next target, driven by the waves of the local population’s discontent.
Yes, there—tech heir, second child, not set to inherit the company but still running the planet into the ground with their family’s control.
Xenial looking face, he noticed, not the type he usually saw.
Whites of the eyes, flush of the cheeks, scrunch of the nose with a smile, all adding to the unexpected image.
Very often, there was a look to these people, and it certainly wasn’t inviting. But something underneath their eyes was familiar.
The journey to the edge of the family’s estate was not the hard part, given a large swath of the moon was covered by the sprawling campus.
Something had to be a challenge, of course, and if there were no beasts then there would be men.
Raiding went much smoother when borders were guarded by wilderness instead of walls.
Quietly, he slipped over stained wood and steel, armor clinking and sword swinging on his hip.
Perfectly hidden, he’d stashed his duffle in the shrubs and cherry blossoms on the edge of the wall, assuming a quick return.
One last piece of his amor, he put on his helmet, face obscured by the wispy streaks among the layered glass.
No one needed to see his eyes.
Making his way through the sakura trees, he followed the nearest voices and went from person to person, hoping to find the heir’s retainers.
Lucky for him, the heir found him first.
Knock knock.
Just two taps on his plated shoulder and he jumped.
In an instant, they were on the ground, knee pinning body to grass and dirt, sword poised upon neck.
Here, in the garden, he found them—the eyes he’d only ever seen in himself.
Gorgeous for the first time.
Fumbling and still on top of them, he removed his helmet in a rain of hair and stagnant pink petals.
Every nerve in his body screamed out in sheer panic, but he would not give, would not budge, staring into their eyes with his own.
Damned to die from the very moment they reached out to lightly touch his cheek.
Couldn’t see a single future for himself where he finished this job and moved on as usual.
Burning bright as ever, his eyes met theirs in a blaze, seeing the same radiating pure-white void as his sword showed in his.
And when they smiled, when they grabbed the hilt of his blade and positioned the tip to the back of his neck, he knew—just this once, he could hear the voices clearly, seeping in, telling him to join them among the stars and the sakura petals.
