Fragmented Light

The Weight of a Shadow

I maintain optimal temperature despite the crystalline patterns spreading beneath my skin. Through the shuttle's viewport, Galri hangs like a diseased pearl in the void. Primitive. Imperfect. Beautiful in its chaos.

The observation deck of Lumina Corp's headquarters stretches before me, all clean lines and corporate efficiency. My siblings maintain careful distances - a dance we've perfected over years of serving Her. Blood drips onto my pristine console as my fingers dance through calculations, but I don't acknowledge it. Show no weakness. Feel no pain.

"Quite the dreary little rock," Charlie drawls beside me, his breath frosting the window. I catalog the hunger in his voice, the predatory anticipation he can never quite hide. Unlike me, he doesn't bother with emotional control. His crystalline corruption feeds on chaos.

"The moon's aesthetic value is irrelevant." I keep my voice perfectly neutral as I work the terminals. More blood stains corporate white. The readings from the deep tunnels sing to my crystalline structures - pure Olais concentrations that make my careful control waver. "Our sensors indicate significant Olais concentrations in the deeper tunnels. Far more than Lumina's primitive equipment could detect."

I force down the excitement trying to build. Excitement amplified by crystal would shatter every window in the room. Perfect control. Perfect focus.

Della reports on acquisition progress, standing closest to Her as always. Poor, devoted Della. Still believing Her love is anything but calculated.

"Almost everything." Her voice sends ripples through my crystalline matrices. I adjust my breathing, maintain stability. "Tell me about the incident in Sector 7."

"A minor security breach." My hands never stop their dance across the keys, though frost patterns try to form beneath my fingers. "Some local troublemaker managed to access restricted areas and—"

"And made three of our advance team look like fumbling amateurs."

The temperature drops. Light dies. My crystals sing higher harmonies as Her power fills the room. Perfect control. Perfect—

"The locals say she's just a street rat," Charlie offers, enjoying the tension as always. "Lyra something. Velrose, I think."

The name sends unexpected resonance through my structures. The readings spike impossibly as I track her energy signature. Raw. Untamed. Pure possibility without mathematical constraint. My hands still on the keys as combat scenarios flood unbidden through my mind. How would she fight? How would that golden fire feel against crystalline precision?

No. Analysis only. Observe. Report. Feel nothing.

"Lyra Velrose." Her voice makes ice form where reality bends. "Tell me everything."

We recite the facts like a ritual - the orphan, the thief, the girl with impossible Olais readings. With each word, my crystals vibrate in harmonic recognition. Another girl with power that could burn or break. Another chance to—

No. Focus. Control.

"How interesting." Her smile drops the temperature further. I adjust my crystalline structures to compensate. "Perhaps this dreary little rock has more to offer than we thought."

We assume our positions around Her - a pattern carved in void and shadow. I maintain perfect posture despite the blood now flowing freely. The crystals want to respond to her power, to her presence. Want to reach and resonate and—

Control. Focus. Tool not person.

"Find this girl. Watch her. If she has what we're looking for..." Reality shimmers around Her. "Well, let's just say the Xevial Well may be closer than we thought."

"And if she resists?"

My pulse spikes before I can suppress it. Combat. Challenge. Purpose.

"Then you'll have your fun. But remember—I need her alive. For now."

As we disperse, my steps measured and precise, I review the girl's readings again. Golden fire that burns through corporate calculation. Power that answers to no mathematics. A worthy—

No.

I am a tool. I am an equation. I am perfectly controlled.

But she burns so bright.

And deep beneath crystalline paths and corporate words, something stirs. Something that remembers burning golden instead of bleeding crystalline ash. Something that wants to—

My Olais spikes warning. I force everything down. Return to baseline. Return to purpose.

Find the girl. Watch the girl.

But she burns so bright.