Those Who Weep at Themselves

Lightning tore across the sky, casting jagged shadows against the steel fortress ahead. The structure was colossal, moss clinging to its walls like dew, seeming to defy gravity as it loomed over the cliff's edge, barely balanced. The wind howled around its base, as if in warning, yet Edward walked those dark halls toward the child that had just taken her first breath—a breath mingling with the pained gasps of a dying beast.

As he approached, he saw the men surrounding her, examining her with expressions as cold as the steel walls. He broke the silence. "Lawrence."

His father glanced over, face impassive. "What is it, Edward?"

"Strange, isn't it," Edward said, voice low, "how babies always cry when they're born? Almost like they can sense what awaits them."

Lawrence's gaze flicked to the woman sprawled lifeless on the table—the prisoner they'd sacrificed for this twisted experiment. Her body lay open, eyes fixed and unseeing, staring into the abyss that awaited them all.

"If you could even call that thing a baby," Lawrence muttered, his voice heavy with something Edward couldn't quite name.

"What should we name her?" Edward asked, a hollow ache settling in his chest.

Lawrence's eyes lingered on the dead woman. "After her mother," he replied. "Let her carry one of their names."

"Zhei-Lan," Edward murmured, brushing a gentle kiss across the child's forehead. A shuddering breath escaped him. By the gods, what have we done? He cradled the child closer, a tear slipping down his cheek, lost in the weight of the moment.

Lawrence's expression softened, and Edward sensed something like regret. "I understand," Lawrence said quietly. "But, my apprentice, remember—this is for the good of humanity. We have to make our own monsters to harness the forces that rule us." His voice wavered. "I'm sorry, Edward. You weren't ready for this."

Edward's hands trembled as he looked at him, and every feeling he'd buried—guilt, sorrow, rage—surged to the surface. His resolve crystallized in that moment, and he raised his pistol, leveling it at Lawrence.

"Father," he whispered, "I'm sorry."

Lawrence's gaze met his, calm and resigned. "It's only right, son."

Edward pulled the trigger, and Lawrence's body crumpled, blood splattering across the cold, sterile walls—a grim requiem for all the lives they'd destroyed. As Zhei's cries pierced the silence, Edward set fire to the lab, smashing the computers, erasing every trace of their crimes.

Up the lonely lighthouse at the edge of the galaxy, Zhei stood, her gaze fixed on the dark waters below, where faint beams of light began to slip across the horizon. The air was heavy with salt and the distant cries of seagulls, and for a moment, it felt as if the whole universe was holding its breath.

Footsteps sounded behind her, snapping her from the reverie. She didn't even need to turn around.

"Zhei?" came Elliot's familiar voice. "Why do you always come up here? You know the adults lose their minds when they find out. They're scared half to death every time you wander off."

"Elliot, look!" she said, pointing toward the endless sky. "Do you see that sunrise? The seagulls, the open ocean? There's a whole world out there just waiting for us! Mr. Dunningham told me about it. He even showed me one of his maps."

Elliot gasped. "Zhei! You weren't supposed to touch those!"

"There are places called planets, Elliot! Some of them are big enough to hold a hundred Aloncias!"

Elliot turned, sighing, that familiar worry etched into his face. He didn't understand—not really—but it didn't matter. The dream was big enough for both of them. She nudged his arm. "Walk me home, will you? You can stay for dinner. I'm sure Father won't mind."

By the time they reached her small house by the edge of the village, Edward was already busy tinkering with his ship. It was old, barely running, but he had poured himself into it—just like he had poured himself into raising her.

"Father! I'm home!" she called, tugging Elliot along beside her. Edward emerged, face streaked with grease, wearing that look of exasperated affection.

"And what sort of trouble has my little explorer gotten into today?" he chuckled, pinching her nose.

She grinned, recounting the small adventures of her day. But as soon as she pulled out Mr. Dunningham's star chart, Edward's face softened. He shook his head.

"You know the rule, Zhei. No stealing."

Her shoulders slumped, and she muttered an apology.

Edward's voice came over the comm to Elliot's parents. They answered reluctantly, and something in their tone made Zhei uneasy. She didn't understand what was going on at the time.

In the years that followed, her world grew darker. Colder. The dreams faded into shadows, buried deep within her, echoes of a life once lived.

Now, as she snapped out of her daydream, it wasn't to salt and sea air—but to sterile, cold steel and the hum of gunships overhead. She looked down at her black armor, polished and edged with cold, indifferent gold.

A soldier beside her looked at her with something like fear, and she saw herself reflected in his eyes—a shadow, a ghost of what she had once been.

Zhei held her rifle tightly, barely listening to the banter around her. Then one of the soldiers spoke.

"Believe it or not, I used to have a friend who was one of them… Her name was Zhei."

It was all she could do to keep from screaming. I'm right here, she wanted to say. But she bit down the urge. She had no right to disrupt the life he must have rebuilt—safe from the monster she had become. She felt the absence of life within herself and turned away, back toward the looming descent into battle.

The gunship descended, flak tearing against the hull. Her eyes met the bishop's as she steadied her rifle, but her mind was already calculating.

She noticed the marines exchanging glances, their fingers twitching near the triggers. The confined space would be perfect to take down the war priest and his guards. It was too tight for long-range abilities. She flicked her rifle off safe.

The moment she did, they stood—too slow. She used her psychokinesis to manipulate the hull, knocking them down while opening fire with her rifle in the other hand, taking out two of the three.

The others hadn't seemed to notice, too preoccupied to sense her intent. She let one of her uranium spheres slip down the corridor, releasing a magnetic field that distorted the light around them. For a moment, they laughed.

Then a blinding flash.

The hull screamed as it tore open, wind and metal battering them from all sides. She grasped Elliot, clutching him close, praying the parachute would hold against the debris tearing through the air.

Pain ripped through her as shrapnel lodged deep in her abdomen, but she held on, tumbling through the sky until they slammed into the cold, muddy earth.

When she woke, Elliot was there, watching her with that same look of concern from so long ago. She reached down, touching her stomach, realizing the wound had been healed.

A bitter laugh slipped out. "Is your last name… Pages?"

"Yes," he replied softly.

Something in her broke open. It was the first time she'd felt anything in so long.

"Are you... all right?" he asked.

"Yes. I'm just… happy. I'm just happy," she whispered.

His brow furrowed. "We're stranded, and you're happy?"

"Because… I am Zhei," she murmured, half-hoping he'd recognize her.

A smirk tugged at his lips.

"I was going to hit on you anyway," he teased.

And for the first time in years, she smiled.

"Why? So the clergy can gallivant through the capital with your head on a pike?"

"Guess I understood the assignment."

A deep melancholy washed over her. "Ugh, let that shit die," she said, a grin stretching across her face.

Before she could say more, a gun barrel pressed against her head.

The resistance had found them—dragging them through the mud, taunting them along the way. One sneered at Elliot, demanding why he'd shown kindness to someone like her.

"She has a name. It's Zhei," Elliot replied, undeterred. "She's human, no matter what you believe."

"Humanity is something you earn," the soldier muttered, looking down at her.

The words cut deeper than any wound.

As they trudged forward, Elliot stayed close, his presence steady, like the lighthouse she had once clung to, even if everything else faded into the dark.

She clenched her teeth as she studied the man across from her, reading the rigid look in his eye. She could take four or five down if it came to it—but he was right. Nine strong against two didn't leave much room for escape. She forced herself to calm, releasing her tightened fists.

After a moment's tense silence, the rebel leader seemed to believe her. He lowered his gun and stepped forward, untying the ropes binding her and Elliot.

"Come now," he said firmly. "Don't take our sincerity for granted."

Elliot shot her a sideways look. "Guess we're even now," he muttered.

She nodded, silent.

As they walked toward the settlement, the landscape shifted. People came into view—hollow faces, sunken eyes. They shuffled by, weighed down not just by hunger, but something deeper.

"These are our new recruits," the leader said. The townsfolk cast wary glances. A child reached out, brushing fingers over her skin, where the strange prismatic mist shimmered beneath the surface. It flickered in response. The child recoiled, surprised.

A giggle escaped her lips—a sound she hadn't heard in a decade. It felt strange. As if it belonged to someone else. A few frowned. Others smiled tentatively.

"All these people want a life outside the monarchy's chokehold," she thought. They weren't soldiers, but their resolve burned fiercer than anything she felt.

A hand on her shoulder pulled her from thought.

"The commandant wants to speak with you," whispered one rebel.

She was led into a modest office. The commandant studied her.

"My men tell me you're able and willing to help," he said, cautious. "And that you're worth more alive. For your sake, I hope that's true."

She held her arm. "I don't want to go back."

The most truth she'd spoken in years.

He considered her. "We'll see how you contribute to the Republic of One.. tomorrow. Get some rest."

"Once a week is all I need."

"Then enjoy yourself—enjoy the settlement," he replied, amused.

Outside, Elliot slouched against the wall, asleep. She studied the patch on his sleeve: Interstellar Marine.

"So, you're a Marine?" she asked, nudging him.

"Was," he replied, groggy.

"Suppose we're just supposed to stare at each other and avoid saying what we're both thinking?"

"Zhei, I'm gonna put a baby in you."

She laughed, startled. The sound echoed in the camp's hollow walls.

"Your honor, put that on the record."

"Record?" he raised a brow.

"Everything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

She rested her head on his shoulder, catching the glance from rebels nearby. One muttered, "Well, shit… she's human after all."

But the moment didn't last. Her guard returned.

She could already hear the headlines: Rogue walker. Enemy of the state.

Elliot saw it in her. "Just remember, I have a life too. Friends. Music. There's no cause noble enough to justify murder, Zhei."

She heard it—but couldn't show it.

Janice appeared. "Why don't I show you to the family you'll be staying with?"

Sunlight dipped across the horizon. Seagulls cried in the distance. The air was heavy with salt.

Elliot smiled. "Better than the smog-filled red skies of the capital."

"Could be," Zhei replied, smirking. "If we had some rhythm and blues."

She pulled out a relic—an old smartphone. An earbud in each ear. A soft melody filled the space.

Then Janice interrupted.

They'd arrived.