The Siren of CyVoda
T he ache in Kisan’s soul pulsed with the rhythmic thrum of his boots against Eden II’s polished streets.
The never-ending day was stifling in its constant light cruelty.
His mood matched the pallor of the moonscape at the height of Alphetraz’s summer—disillusioned, drained, bleak, a blend of exhaustion and bitterness.
The infinite chorus of voices of the fallen echoed in his mind, clinging like an unwanted specter.
He needed to escape, if only for a while.
He’d spent the hours after his encounter with the Falasians filling out a detailed report and presenting it to Xion.
They’d discussed the possibilities of further reprisals.
Kisan, dejected and feeling like shit, had grunted his outtake. ‘Perhaps I should leave Eden II, going somewhere where my name does not rankle the locals or turn them into assassins driven by revenge.’
Xion huffed. ‘Brother, running away because you have haters is not the way. Only leave on your terms because you have just motive and a righteous purpose. Do it because you have a cause to live for. Otherwise, all you’ll do is walk this galaxy with bitterness, regardless of your location.’
The prescient and wise words echoed in Kisan’s mind as he hit the boulevards after work.
The streets burned with relentless brilliance, even in what passed for night beneath the artificial dome of the lunar colony.
Twin suns, harnessed and refracted through the shimmering silvery structure, spilled waves of searing light over the city.
Kisan moved through the gleaming labyrinth of moonscape buildings, a visor shielding his luminous green eyes from the unforgiving glare.
Also, to shield against the unwanted attention he always received.
As Kisan passed, a hush often followed.
The lone Rider was commanding, blending raw strength and enigmatic presence.
However, people perceived more than just his size and might.
They recalled his legend.
He sent his neural node a command to darken his visor, hiding not just from the sun but from their judgment.
What he wouldn’t give to be elsewhere, out beyond the dunes on the moon’s dark side.
He longed for the ink-black sky peppered with stars, where silence reigned supreme. Out there, it was easier to forget.
For they stared. Sometimes they glared.
Whispers rippled in his wake, though most dared not voice them aloud.
Kisan. The man formerly infamous as Ankis.
The mighty annihilator and destroyer. The marauder. The killer of planets.
Infamy earned through blood, fire, and the fury of his vendetta against The Sable Riders, the brotherhood he now called his own.
His former reputation defied death, the burden of his past sins crushing him.
He hunched his shoulders, tamping down his guilt as he prowled towards the ornate, ancient quarter of Eden II stretching ahead of him.
Here, towering Paladian temples loomed, their intricate carvings and grotesque gargoyles a testament to a forgotten age.
The statues’ distorted features fascinated him, relics of another time, hewn from a time when humanity still believed in gods.
The streets bustled around him—merchants hawking trinkets, visitors snapping holograms of the shrines, children darting through the crowds.
He stared at them, aware how apart from them he was.
Even though his brotherhood, the Sable Riders, had welcomed him like a long-lost sibling, he felt like an imposter, like he never fit in with them.
They’d spent years doing good. In contrast, his misspent young adult life had been consumed with exacting revenge on them, on evil, on rampaging, on consolidating enough power to hit out at them.
He’d failed and learned the error of his unfettered hatred.
Despite his sins, they hadn’t abandoned him.
Instead, they’d forgiven him. Kainan, Kage, Riv, Xion, even the gruff Ki’Remi—they had welcomed him into their fold, notwithstanding the past.
However, after the initial reception, they soon returned to their lives.
They had homes and families. Their women—Selene, Harlow, Illanna, Elisa, and Katya—shared the joy of building futures.
Kisan? He was alone—a specter in the shadow of their light.
Fokk .
He tamped the bitter gall from his throat. Making his way down a nondescript archway at the end of an unmarked alley.
The entrance to his intended destination was almost invisible.
He stepped through the portal, descending a spiral staircase lit by floating orbs of blue illumination.
The temperature grew cooler, the walls wetter, the edge of minerals wafting up to meet him as he reached the bottom.
The view opened out to reveal an expansive under-surface lake.
It stretched before him, a vast expanse of crystalline water glowing with an otherworldly azure hue.
Its radiance danced on the grotto walls, reflected and refracted by the stalactites hanging like frozen tears above.
At its center, a circular stage rose over the top, surrounded by pulleys, ropes, and shimmering curtains of mist.
Overhead, thin platforms and wires crisscrossed the cavern, an aerialist’s playground.
The establishment buzzed with quiet energy.
Patrons lounged on plush seats that hugged the lake’s edge, their conversations a muted hum beneath the gentle lap of water against the stone.
A bar carved from translucent crystal curved along one side of the interior, its facade embedded with shifting lights that pulsed like the heartbeat of the place.
Kisan found his preferred table in a shadowed corner with a clear view of the stage.
A server, a young man in a smart uniform with a broad smile, appeared.
‘The usual, sir?’ he asked.
Kisan nodded, leaning back in his seat.
He favored CyVoda over the teeming, vibrant entertainment spots on the surface.
The eponymous establishment retained human servers, had an old-world feel, and excellent diversions.
It was also where he could brood in the safety of relative anonymity.
Where he escaped his well-meaning, found family and their endless questions about his state of heart, soul, and mind.
Here, he encountered space and rare peace.
Despite his stoicism, Kisan was often hyper-alert, his senses tuned to the slightest disturbances. His military background and meta-kinetic abilities had forged him into a calibrated weapon, but they had also made relaxation an elusive dream.
He moved through the world like a predator, always watching, always prepared.
Only when he was at CyVoda or in the confines of his home could he relax.
It helped that the venue’s water show was otherworldly and fokkin ’ soothing.
His drink arrived moments later—a deep amber liquid that glowed, its surface swirling like molten fire.
He sipped it, savoring the burn as it traced a path down his throat. For the first time that day, the tension in his muscles began to ease.
The lights dimmed, and the hum of conversation stilled.
A single spotlight illuminated the stage, followed by a cascade of mist that shimmered like starlight.
Kisan leaned forward, expecting the familiar silhouette of his favorite aerialist.
He took an inhale, for the woman who emerged was not her.
Instead, a female he didn’t recognize appeared, stepping onto the dais as if floating on air.
His eyes narrowed on her, sucking his teeth in annoyance.
She was lithe, her figure wrapped in a bodysuit of flowing, silvery fabric that appeared to ripple like liquid mercury. A long diaphanous skirt of the same fabric fell from her waist.
Her hair, a waterfall of midnight black with blue highlights running through it, tumbled over her shoulders down to her shapely ass.
The strands caught the glow of the lake and reflected it in cerulean accents.
Her face was sculpted and elegant, and her eyes were a striking shade of silver, emerald, and gold that seemed to pierce through the dim light.
Kisan frowned, his lips pressing into a thin line. He gestured to the server as the woman began to ascend a set of silken ropes that unfurled from the ceiling.
‘Where’s the usual dancer?’ he asked, his rasp hoarse, insistent.
The attendant hesitated. ‘Ma’Shella? She left without warning. Management had to find someone new. This one’s called Samira. I’ve heard she’s good.’
The Rider raised a chin at him and nodded, conceding.
Still, irritation prickled his skin.
He didn’t appreciate change, not here, in the one place he came to forget.
However, as the woman named Samira ascended, her movements fluid and hypnotic, his annoyance began to wane.
She spun, her form entwined with the silk, her limbs an extension of the fabric. She climbed higher still, her silhouette framed against the glowing mist, then released her hold.
For a breathless moment, she fell, twisting and spiraling in a controlled free fall before the material caught her again.
The audience gasped, and Kisan found himself leaning forward, entranced.
The graceful dancer didn’t just perform; she commanded the water and fokk , the air above it.
Her movements told a story of strength and fragility, power and grace.
She twisted her physique into impossible shapes, her muscles taut, her every motion precise yet effortless.
The silk wrapped and unwrapped her like a living thing, catching the glow of the lake and casting it across her skin. She seemed to shine, a beacon in the dim cavern.
Her finale was a slow descent, the shimmering fibers spiraling around her as she lowered to the stage.
Then she drove into the water and disappeared.
Kisan leaned in, wondering if the show was done and dusted.
Without warning, she shot out of the lake.
She tumbled high above it and then dove.
Impossibly, she halted a fraction over its surface, and the entire audience gasped.
With a graceful twirl, she righted herself and began to dance across the water.
Kisan arched a brow as she glided on a cushion of air.
This was freakin’ new.
Narrowing his eyes on the energy bands from her feet to the water’s surface, creating an electrified tension.
It was stunning, a visual feast of fluid artistry.
He’d never seen anything like it.
The mist thickened as she reached the edge of the lake, where she hovered still, arms raised and head bowed as though surrendering to the lake’s glow.
It was then that her eyes flew up and found his.
For a moment, the world around him ceased to exist.
Her glittering gaze locked onto his.
He jolted, for it was like she perceived straight through him. Past the layers of regret and guilt, the facade of the stoic warrior, to the broken man beneath.
His chest tightened, a sensation he hadn’t experienced in years. It wasn’t fear, but it was close.
Kisan sliced his eyes away, his jaw clenched.
He drained his glass and signaled for another.
He didn’t like how she made him feel. Fokk , he didn’t welcome the vulnerability that crept into his thoughts.
He had no room for such emotions, no right to them. Any woman who came to know him intimately would recoil in horror.
He stayed long enough to watch her bow and leave the stage, her silhouette disappearing into the shadows behind the curtains.
The applause was thunderous, but Kisan didn’t join in.
He couldn’t. Instead, he flicked a few credits from his wrist comm towards the table’s pay module, downed the last glass of liquor, and stood, his movements stiff as he headed for the exit.
The spiral staircase seemed longer on the way up.
Chillier, more ominous, and laborious.
By the time he reached the street, his mood had darkened again, his brief respite shattered.