The starport on Nareth's Edge was one of the last remaining active outposts in this region of space. Vorian hadn’t intended to stop here—his trajectory was calculated to skirt the system entirely. But something had pulled him in. Lumen, ever observant, had paced near the nav controls before his decision, tail low but alert, as if sensing the turn in their journey.

  Upon landing, Vorian disembarked with Lumen trotting silently beside him. A light breeze tousled his cloak as they stepped onto a platform overlooking a sea of greenish mist. Locals here were few and scattered. A dusty trail led to a circular plaza of carved white stone where a figure sat cross-legged in the center, unmoving, as though part of the landscape.

  The man was old—not biologically, but in presence. White hair flowed like silk around a face lined with peace, not age. He opened his eyes before Vorian could speak.

  “I thought you might come,” the man said. His voice carried no pretense.

  “Do you know me?” Vorian asked.

  The man smiled. “Not yet. But I’ve met those like you. I'm Elior.”

  Vorian sat cautiously across from him. Lumen settled down nearby, ears flicking at the silence.

  “You live here?” Vorian asked.

  “In a manner. I observe, write, dream. People call me a thinker, a recluse, a teacher—depending on what they want me to be.”

  “You sound like someone I’ve met before,” Vorian said. “Another man, in solitude, seeking clarity by pushing others away.”

  Elior chuckled softly. “You speak of Aramat. I've read his work. A mind without water—sharp, dry, untouched by rain.”

  That earned a faint smile from Vorian.

  “Why do you travel?” Elior asked.

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  “To see what’s out there,” Vorian replied instinctively.

  “And what have you found?”

  Vorian hesitated. “Worlds, people, ideas… isolation.”

  Elior nodded, and leaned forward. “Let me offer you something. Not an answer—just a question. Have you noticed the pattern in your journey?”

  Vorian frowned. “Pattern?”

  “You seek minds. Detached minds. People like Aramat. People like me. And yet, each time, you leave. Why?”

  The question struck deeper than Vorian expected. “Because… something doesn’t fit. They speak truths, but they miss something.”

  “Or maybe,” Elior said gently, “they mirror what you fear becoming.”

  Vorian opened his mouth to counter but found no words. His mind traced over each encounter. The quiet of the stars. The calm of his own vessel. The resistance he felt at closeness, and the occasional ache he refused to name.

  “You run from attachment,” Elior continued, “because it once hurt you. Or perhaps, because it made you vulnerable. But here’s the paradox: we find ourselves only through others. The shadow you carry—have you ever asked whose it is?”

  “I don’t believe I carry one,” Vorian said.

  “No one does. Until they turn and see it,” Elior replied.

  Vorian shifted uncomfortably. He thought of Seris. Of the woman who once smiled at him at the social event. Of the wife he’d left behind. He had convinced himself he was better alone—more stable, less at risk. But now, the silence in his chest felt less like peace and more like an echo.

  “Connection gives us weight,” Elior said. “The psyche cannot become whole by shedding its parts. It becomes whole when the parts recognize each other.”

  Vorian stared past Elior into the distant horizon, where the mist met the edge of stone. “When I’m alone, I feel in control. When I’m with others… I feel pulled.”

  “Yes,” Elior said. “And that tension is what makes you real. The self is not static—it is sculpted by encounter. Isolation polishes the shell. But only intimacy cracks it open.”

  Vorian’s breath hitched.

  He didn’t cry. But something constricted in his throat, and the edges of his vision blurred. His voice dropped to a whisper.

  “I think I broke something in myself. And I don’t know if I want to fix it.”

  Elior reached out but did not touch him. “You don’t need to fix it. You need to witness it.”

  A long silence passed. Lumen stood and approached, resting her head on Vorian’s knee. Her eyes, calm and unblinking, held him still.

  Finally, Vorian stood. “That’s enough for one cycle.”

  Elior bowed his head slightly. “I’ll be here. Until you return. Or until you no longer need to.”

  As Vorian and Lumen made their way back to the ship, the air felt thicker, more present. A question had taken root, and for the first time, Vorian did not brush it away.

  Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.

  – Carl Jung