Page 43

“Show me, please.” Roy settled his cup onto the tray, unwilling to risk spilling it.

“Close your eyes and open your mind.”

Roy obeyed, his fingers gripping the rough fabric of his trousers. A quiet ringing echoed in his ears, but no headache followed. His nostrils filled with a fresh sea breeze, and Dad’s grilled fish⁠—

He opened his eyes and took a shaky breath, blinking around. The boat rocked on the waves, and he saw himself—two decades younger, not a strand of grey in his curls, fighting with a loaf of bread. With a few long strides, teenage Roy rushed across the deck and jumped into the cerulean bay. He surfaced, shaking the water out of his hair, and stretched out to catch his boyfriend.

A polished cabin wall caught Roy’s reflection. Milo’s ruffled blonde hair, soft fluff on his chin, thin lips twisted into a grin, and piercing green eyes stared back at him.

The sea muffled all sounds as he jumped into the water. His former self’s hands wrapped around his shoulders as soon as he surfaced, the gentle waves lapping against their sun-heated skin.

The memory dissolved into a foam of colours, floating in Roy’s mind. With a blink, he found himself, again as Milo, in the rented mountain cabin, the pyrite peaks reflecting bright morning sunlight. He gently adjusted the blanket that slipped from freshly graduated Roy’s shoulders.

A breath took him to the Academy’s grounds, the crimson tube with Milo’s Master’s diploma in his hands. The ticket to his future, to admission into doctoral studies. He descended the stairs with his classmates, following Jodie, the one who saved him from failing Pre-Exodus Literature. Below the dais, a group waited for him. The sight made his heart swell—Mum, Ms and Mr Toggio, and Roy in his long-haired era. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision.

When his vision cleared, he found himself admiring Private Toggio in his fighter jumpsuit, nerves coiling. Younger Roy winked at him as he slipped on his leather gloves.

“Ready?”

“Afraid,” Milo’s voice mumbled.

“Hey.” Younger Roy leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Just one combat, and then it’s over. Besides, do you think I would let anything happen to you?”

Roy’s chest heaved as he lay on the velvet bedding, staring into the ceiling. The memories the Swarm had protected now existed only in his mind, splintering it on each replay. He tilted his head to the side, his gaze landing on the window.

Darkness had fallen hours ago, transforming the sky into a jet-black sea. A flickering star in the distance pinned Roy’s gaze.

The door handle croaked, announcing Cal’s return to their chambers. Roy swiped his cheeks with the heel of his palm, sat up and cleared his throat.

“Hey.” Cal sneaked in, closing the door quietly. “You’re still up? It’s late.”

“Yeah.” Roy offered a polite smile. “How did it go?”

“Exhausting.” Cal’s face had turned ashen. “But, um, the Human Rights Association and the Imperial Union have managed to connect us to Eiden. I spoke with Leo.” He rubbed his hands and exhaled. “Aunt Ormi agreed to pay a ransom. I mean… a bail. They’ll set sail tomorrow morning.”

“That’s awesome.” Roy stood and hugged Cal briefly, patting his back.

“Yeah. I’m glad they’re safe.” Cal smiled, weakly. Perhaps it was fatigue from the meetings, or a weltschmerz settling on his shoulders. He walked—or rather dragged himself—to the en-suite bathroom and sat on the rim of the gigantic bathtub, fumbling with the water taps. Roy joined him, watching the splashing water with a strange fixation.

“Oh, how I missed this planet,” he sighed, pouring a flask of lavender salt into the stream. It fizzled quickly, foam bubbling to the surface.

“Did you come here often?”

“Every summer break, since I was a kid. Auntie never had children. She loved us as her own.” He pulled off his shirt, blue hair sticking out in all possible directions. “It was here I fell in love for the first time.”

“Was Leo a Graxian?”

“No,” Cal scoffed. “That was way before. I was sixteen, and Auntie just hired a new garage steward.”

Roy cocked his head. “A commoner?”

“The heart doesn’t care about titles. He was handsome. Skilled hands, hard-working, and called me Young Master. I, um—promise me you won’t laugh.”

“Why would I laugh?”

“Promise,” Cal insisted.

“Okay.” Roy held up his hands. “You have my word.”