At Hero's Bay

Welcome Home, Soldier

𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬

𓄹 𝐘/𝐍 𓄼

        Whether or not Y/N Skaraeith fits into the likeness of Knowhere's despicable inhabitants, she's at least glad to know that Wendell Vaughn won't be able to see the difference.

        Flying into the hollowed orbit of a decapitated celestial was harder than it looked; numerous aircraft and vessels were caught in a traffic jam, seeking clearance or validation from the Tivan Group. Grubby, Y/N often described them to be but doesn't bother to vocalize her misgivings about them, not when she doesn't have the right to make her judgments. The view outside the deck's elongated pane—a viridian gossamer sky that is perpetually wreathed in stardust and interstellar clouds—kept the two silently occupied until they were granted access inside of the skull.

        The Wayfarer trembles when it comes into view of an affluent civilization that is made of metal and degeneracy, where machines and scaffolding reach miles high to the curving base of the skull that seemed to be a poor replication of the night sky. Lights of all shapes and sizes—which are not as amorphous as stars—flicker with a chromatic vibrance that is harsh on the eyes as Y/N momentarily struggles to steer the ship. Resting within the hollowed surface of the mandible, towers and complexes are teeming with alien lifeforms that Y/N had not seen in a millennium and didn't visibly perturb Wendell, who only shifted awkwardly in his seat.

        From what she understood of the risks of wandering these lively streets, many merchants seek to swindle more than sell their wares, hoping to trade or invest their profits in profligacy. And those who do travel in groups make strenuous and dangerous efforts to build a reputation for themselves, and the Tivan group was no different. And knowing that they were the wealthiest residents of Knowhere, it wasn't particularly difficult to scan over the city to find the Collector's museum—one of the largest buildings in the furthest province. Following the Asgardians' lead, who soared ahead over the numerous airships that were built upon the skull's maxilla.

        "This place is huge," Wendell exclaims breathlessly, practically pressing his face against the glass of a window, "You get to see this kind of stuff every day? All the time?"

        Y/N scoffs as she switches the Wayfarer's gears to auto-pilot, "Certainly not every day, but often. These are but a few of the colonies that are spread out throughout this system. There are other civilizations, bigger and far more interesting than this decrepit place."

        "I don't know, I don't think it's common to build a city inside of the skull of a...of a...hey, just what is this thing exactly?"

        "In Amis, some of us were taught that this being was a god, similar to the divine entities of my pantheon," Y/N explains, ruminating over her old lectures in disdain, "And according to the other darker theories, this being was a Celestial. An immortal being of immense power, perhaps stronger than a god. But no one can really know for sure."

        Wendell peers his head over his shoulder, his brow raised at her dubiously, "And you believe that?"

        Y/N shrugs lightly as she begins to clamor around the ship, gathering her effects, "I know that the Collector does. As for myself, I'm not totally sold. Strong as it is, if it can live, then it can certainly die."

        "And how do you know that for sure?"

        "Because we killed our gods," Y/N says, opening the hatch of the ship that leads out to the airstrip of a private hangar, "Alright, I'll be back in a bit. Remember to stay on the ship. If you get caught up in a bar fight, I'm not coming back for you. But I'll be sure to pay for your funeral. Later!"