Ghosts of Failure
T he Eden Guards Central HQ was a clean, minimalist, utilitarian structure, its gray walls streaked with the pale glow of embedded circuitry.
Set within the acreage of Eden II’s Civic Justice Centre, it was where the dregs of Edenite society were funneled. Either to recovery tanks, courthouses, or worse, when sentenced, to the notorious off-world prisons such as Deathreach.
Kisan strode through its sterile halls, his booted steps echoing against the polished floors. The air carried the traces of disinfectant and ozone from the automated security systems humming around him.
His face was impassive, but inside, a storm brewed.
He arrived at the holding cells, a small, gloomy area where two Falasians sat behind two energized shields.
Their dark honey skin, with subtle iridescent undertones, shimmered under the harsh artificial light.
One of them was younger, the second shooter, with a lean body coiled with tension.
The other, broader and older, had his arms crossed, his gaze a smoldering fire that didn’t flinch when it met Kisan’s.
The Guardians at the station hovered back, watching in silence, well aware of who the Rider was—what he had been and was trying to become.
With a wave of his wrist comm, Kisan unlocked the first energy barrier without a word, giving him full access to the holding area in front of the cell.
Kisan stepped in. His green eyes, still luminous, locked with theirs.
‘Talk,’ he growled.
The older Falasian stood, hands on hips, his gaze unyielding, mouth twisted into a sneer. ‘What do you want me to say, Ankis? That you ruined lives? That you burned homes and left our people to die in the rubble?’
Kisan’s jaw tightened. The title they used—Ankis—was both a curse and a reminder of who he once was, like a blade pressed against his chest.
‘I don’t recall,’ Kisan admitted, the words falling like thuds into the silence.
He went on, his honesty surprising even him. ‘I’ve done terrible things. More than I can count. I don’t know how to atone for all of the villages, cities, communities, and families I ravaged.’
The younger Falasian also rose, snarling, coming close to the edge of the cell. ‘You don’t remember? You think that excuses you?’
His utterance was cracked, raw with emotion. ‘I saw you that day. Leading them. A monster in black, glowing like a demon with your massacre mask, as you brought death to my family.’
Kisan searched his mind and heart, trying to place the moment, the village, and the faces of the lives he’d destroyed.
However, his memories were a fractured mosaic of rage and bloodshed, the years blurred by his relentless pursuit of power and vengeance.
‘I don’t recollect,’ he rasped again, his voice quieter.
He gazed at the floor, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. ‘However, that doesn’t make it right.’
The younger Falasian spat on the surface, in the Rider’s view. ‘ Fokk off! We don’t want your apologies. What can words do for the dead?’
Kisan raised his head, his emerald eyes meeting theirs with a rare vulnerability. ‘You’re right,’ he grated. ‘Words won’t bring anyone back. They won’t ease your pain, and they won’t erase what I did.’
He stepped closer to the barrier, his broad frame looming but his burr softening. ‘I’ve been pardoned for my crimes and served a commuted sentence. The Sable Riders gave me a second chance, given that others had turned me into that monster. But the truth is, no punishment will ever be enough. No amount of atonement can undo my sins.’
The older Falasian sneered. ‘So why are you here? To gloat? To absolve yourself by speaking pretty words?’
‘ Nada ,’ Kisan rasped, shaking his head. ‘I’m here because I owe you a penance. I need to make amends with more than an apology, even if it means nothing to you. I feel obligated to give you a promise.’
He took a deep breath, steadying himself. ‘I swear, I will do no one any harm to any innocent soul ever again. Whatever destruction I’ve caused, it ends with me.’
For a moment, silence hung between them, heavy and charged.
The Falasians’ gazes bore into him, unyielding, filled with fury and grief. Kisan stood under their scrutiny, his head bowed, his regret etched into every line of his face.
‘You’re still a killer,’ the younger one hissed. ‘You can never undo what you’ve done.’
Kisan nodded. ‘You’re right, but I can pay for my sins for the rest of my life.’
He turned to leave, but not before meeting their glares one last time. Their defiance, pain, and derision struck him like a physical blow.
With a flick of his wrist, the barrier hissed to a close, cutting off the Falasians’ angry stares.
However, the echo of their words lingered in Kisan’s mind as he stalked down the corridor to the front desk.
The Guardian behind it glanced up as he approached.
Kisan’s expression was unreadable, but his tone left no room for argument. ‘Give me their Sys IDs.’
The man he addressed hesitated, then tapped into the system. The information appeared on a holo-display, which Kisan copied onto his comm device.
He didn’t explain himself; he didn’t need to. He was a Rider, after all. Which effectively meant he had keys to the proverbial kingdom.
Outside the station, Kisan leaned against the cool wall of the building, pulling up the interface for his private accounts.
The numbers were staggering, the wealth a byproduct of his share in the Riders’ interstellar ventures.
Shipbuilding contracts, security enterprises, and trade routes had made them astronomically rich.
Kisan rarely touched his portion of profits. Like everything else in his life, he considered them undeserved.
He entered the Falasians’ Sys IDs and transferred a significant sum to them and their families.
‘Twas a form of restitution, an acknowledgment of the lives he had upended.
Also, not the first time he’d done this.
Every victim he found, each survivor whose path crossed his own, he sought out. He paid for their medical expenses, their homes, and their futures. It wasn’t enough. It would never be adequate. However, it was all he could offer.
A soft chime confirmed the transaction, and he stood for an extended moment, staring at the screen.
Trying to remember.
The ghosts of his victims were hazy silhouettes in his mind, but their palpable agony remained with him. It pressed in, oppressive, crowding his psyche, thoughts, and long, lonely nights.
Most would never forgive him, and he didn’t expect them to. Forgiveness was a luxury he didn’t deserve.
He carried the guilt not as a burden but as a part of himself—a constant reminder of who he was and who he was trying to become.
Kisan was a man of action, but his yearning for redemption now tempered his actions. He was driven by a need to rebuild what he had once destroyed and safeguard those who could not protect themselves.
While he had a fierce temper, it was never directed outward; instead, it manifested as an incessant internal struggle and the specter of his past failures.
The guilt gnawed at him, sharper than ever.
He deserved to be in that cell, not the men who had sought vengeance. But penance wasn’t a simple thing. It was a long, grueling road, and he hadn’t reached the end of it yet.
He would repay all his sins, even if it cost him the little peace he had left, even if it broke him.