Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Elysium was the kind of place that made you forget the galaxy could be dangerous.

The colony was beautiful, almost too pristine—all white-and-blue Alliance architecture, vast open courtyards with manicured greenery, and sleek, high-rise structures that caught the sunlight just right. It had that ‘model human colony’ look like it had been pulled straight from a recruitment poster.

The main thoroughfares were bustling with activity. Civilians moved in easy-going waves, their voices blending into a chorus of casual conversation, the occasional laughter echoing between the buildings. Market stalls along the promenade sold everything from imported alien cuisine to high-end tech mods, while local shopkeepers peddled fresh fruit grown in the colony’s fertile outskirts.

Above all, Alliance patrol shuttles skimmed low over the city, their sleek hulls reflecting the golden afternoon sun. The recruits—fresh-faced, some excited, some already jaded—moved through the colony in navy blue fatigues, occasionally stopping to chat with locals or grab a quick meal before their next rotation.

It was a peaceful day.

It wouldn’t last.

-͟͟͞ ☆

The Asari presence on Elysium wasn’t unusual, but this visit had drawn attention. Not just any asari had come—this was a high-profile delegation, and people were talking.

Benezia, towering and dignified, moved through the colony gracefully, making people pause. Even humans, who weren’t always impressed by Asari's mystique, could recognise her as important. It wasn’t just the way she carried herself—it was the way others reacted. Even the local Alliance brass straightened their backs when she passed.

At her side, Matriarch Aethyta was the complete opposite. Where Benezia walked with an air of regal patience, Aethyta stalked beside her with the kind of loose-limbed swagger that belonged more in a mercenary camp than a diplomatic meeting. She had the posture of someone used to standing in a firefight, arms crossed, eyes constantly scanning the crowd as if waiting for trouble. If Benezia were here to talk, Aethyta would make sure nobody got any dumb ideas.

Between them, Liara looked every bit the young scholar. She wasn’t paying attention to the military presence or the political tension—she was absorbed in her omni-tool, likely going over notes from some Prothean text she’d been studying.

The human civilians whispered as they passed.

"That’s Matriarch Benezia, right? The politician?"

"And the one next to her—that’s her bondmate, Aethyta, a commando."

"Huh. Thought she was a merc or something."

Alliance recruits barely paid them any mind. They had their own business to worry about—some were gearing up for training exercises, others just loitering with their squads.

- ͟͟͞ ☆

For Recruit Shepard, it was just another day of patrol duty.

She was posted near one of the main plazas, her rifle slung over her back, watching as civilians milled about. The rest of her squad wasn’t taking it too seriously. It wasn’t an actual assignment—just basic presence patrol.

A group of recruits stood nearby, their conversation half-bored, half-mocking.

"Man, I hate these patrols. Nothing ever happens on Elysium."

"I dunno, I like it here. Feels like a vacation compared to Arcturus training."

“You just like the bars, O'Connell."

Shepard listened with half an ear, still scanning the plaza.

That’s when she saw the Asari delegation passing through. She recognised Benezia from the newsfeeds. She didn’t expect to see her in person. But what caught her attention was the contrast between the two matriarchs.

Benezia walked like a queen. Aethyta moved like a soldier. Shepard knew enough about battlefield presence to recognise a warrior when she saw one.

One of her squad mates, Corporal Diaz, nudged her with an elbow.

"That’s Benezia, right?"

"Yeah."

"Who's the pissed-off one with her?"

"Her bondmate."

"No way. Can you imagine being married to her?"

Shepard didn’t respond. She kept watching. Something about Aethyta’s posture set her on edge. The Asari wasn’t just walking—she was watching the crowd, reading the atmosphere, like she expected something to go wrong.

Like she could sense trouble coming.

Shepard shook the thought off. There was no trouble on Elysium. Nothing ever happened here.

She turned her attention back to her squad.

It wouldn’t be long before the first explosions tore through the colony.

It wouldn’t be long before the peaceful streets became a warzone.

And when it happened, Shepard would be standing in the middle of it.

- ͟͟͞ ☆

Liara sat beside her mother in the sleek, glass-walled conference room overlooking Elysium’s central district. The view was breathtaking—from this high up, the city stretched toward the horizon, the golden glow of afternoon light reflecting off the clean, white-stone architecture. In the distance, shuttles weaved through the sky in a neat formation, ferrying people between corporate towers and military outposts.

But she wasn’t paying much attention to the view.

She was bored.

Across the long polished table, human politicians and Alliance officials discussed the finer details of a new trade agreement between Elysium and the Asari Economic Council.

It was supposed to be a historic partnership, a symbol of humanity’s growing place on the galactic stage—or so the humans kept saying. The details, however, were far less inspiring.

The human officials—primarily men in crisp suits, though a few wore military uniforms—spoke in a measured, rehearsed manner. They smiled, nodded, gestured toward datapads filled with proposals, and insisted on the mutual benefits of further trade between Elysium and Thessia.

Her mother, Matriarch Benezia, sat composed and regal, her expression unreadable. She listened intently, occasionally offering smooth, precise responses that steered the conversation exactly where she wanted it to go.

Liara had seen this performance before.

Benezia wasn't just discussing trade policies—she was manoeuvring. Every carefully chosen word, every pause before she responded, was a calculated move. The humans might have believed they were in control of the discussion. Still, Liara could already see that by the end of the meeting, Benezia would have subtly reshaped the entire agreement in favour of the Asari.

It was fascinating, in a way. But also exhausting.

She shifted in her seat, glancing down at her omni-tool. She had been quietly reviewing Prothean research notes while the meeting dragged on, but her mother had already cast her one of those looks that warned against further distraction.

With a sigh, she sat up straighter, trying to look engaged.

Her father, Matriarch Aethyta, was taking a very different approach to the meeting. She wasn’t even pretending to care.

She slouched slightly in her chair, arms crossed over her chest; she looked like she wanted to be anywhere else. She let out a deep, impatient sigh every so often, earning her a subtle glance from Benezia.

When one of the human politicians began a long speech about human-asari cultural exchange, Aethyta rolled her eyes. Liara resisted the urge to smile.

The younger Alliance officer sitting across from them—a stiff-backed commander who looked uncomfortable in his formal uniform—cleared his throat.

“Matriarch Aethyta,” he addressed her politely, “do you have any input regarding the security measures of the trade routes?”

Aethyta scoffed. "Yeah. Don't let 'em get raided, genius." Liara nearly choked.

Benezia didn’t react outwardly, but Liara could tell she resisted the urge to sigh.

The human commander looked flustered but quickly regained his composure. “I meant—”

"I know what you meant," Aethyta interrupted, leaning forward with a more serious expression. "Look, these routes are gonna be passing damn close to the Terminus Systems. That’s pirate territory. You wanna keep ‘em safe; you need real security. Not just your Alliance boys playing soldier—you need serious firepower, gunships running escort."

One of the politicians—a middle-aged human with greying hair and an overconfident smirk—laughed.

"With all due respect, Matriarch, humanity is more than capable of handling a few scattered pirates."

Aethyta raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that, pal?"

Liara knew that tone. It meant Aethyta was about to embarrass someone.

Benezia must have known it, too, because she spoke before Aethyta could continue.

"My bondmate makes an important point," she interjected smoothly, her voice silencing the room. "The Asari Republics will support any necessary measures to ensure the safety of these routes. But underestimating the dangers of the Terminus Systems would be… unwise."

Aethyta huffed. "That's a fancy way of saying, ‘You’re gonna get your ass kicked if you don’t take this seriously.’"

Benezia closed her eyes briefly as if summoning patience. The humans shifted uncomfortably. Liara knew she should have been embarrassed, but… Honestly, she found it fascinating.

Her parents were so different—one the picture of careful diplomacy, the other brutally direct. And yet, somehow, they made it work.

She had seen them disagree a thousand times but never truly clashed. Even now, despite Aethyta’s casual disrespect and Benezia’s unshakable patience, Liara could see the mutual understanding beneath it all.

Benezia didn’t try to silence Aethyta outright. She never did. And Aethyta, despite her grumbling, always deferred to Benezia’s final decisions. Liara wondered if this was what a true bond was meant to look like.

She filed that thought away for later study.

Aethyta stopped fidgeting. She had been leaning back in her chair, half-listening to yet another human politician drone on about economic benefits and interstellar cooperation, but now, her posture shifted.

Tensed.

Her arms, once loosely crossed, tightened. Her jaw set.

Something was wrong.

Benezia noticed immediately. “Something wrong?” she murmured, barely tilting her head toward her bondmate.

Aethyta didn’t answer right away. Instead, she looked up. Liara followed her gaze.

The sky.

It had been blue only moments ago. It was a perfect, cloudless afternoon over Elysium’s capital district, the golden glow of the descending sun reflecting against sleek, white buildings.

But now… it was changing. The blue was shifting, and there were oranges, reds, and sudden bursts of white.

For a heartbeat, Liara thought it was just a trick of the atmosphere, a sunset coming in faster than expected.

Then she saw the shapes—tiny at first—moving, falling, falling like debris, like wreckage.

Her breath caught.

Aethyta swore. A deep, guttural asari curse that made every human at the table snap their attention to her.

“That ain’t the sunset,” she growled. “That’s the fleet.” The words dropped like a stone. A hush fell over the room.

Liara’s stomach twisted. The fleet. The Alliance fleet? No, that didn’t—

Then, like clockwork, the officers’ omni-tools exploded to life.

A chorus of urgent, clipped voices burst from their Comms, overlapping, frantic:

“—Fleet is compromised—”

“—Multiple hostiles, we are under attack—”

“—Direct hit, taking fire, we—”

“—They’re already on the ground—”

The human officers shot to their feet. A split second later—

The world erupted as a barrage struck the building.

The impact was immediate, violent, and deafening. A roaring boom shook the entire structure; windows shattered outward, and furniture and bodies flung like weightless objects.

The room was collapsing. Liara felt herself lifted and flung backwards. A sudden rush of air, glass, and fire cut across her vision.

A figure—Aethyta—grabbed her and yanked her sideways just before the ceiling collapsed where she had been. The sound was unbearable—screams, explosions, and metal groaning under pressure.

They hit the floor hard. Liara landed against something unyielding, pain flashing up her arm.

Dust. Smoke. Heat.

She gasped, blinking against the debris clouding the air. Everything was spinning—the meeting table was gone, the walls were caved in, and the sky was visible through a gaping hole where the windows had been.

The meeting room—the entire floor—was wrecked. Benezia’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and controlled.

"Aethyta! Liara!"

Liara coughed, struggling to push herself up. Aethyta shifted beside her, a strong hand gripping her shoulder, grounding her.

"I got her!" Aethyta snapped back. "We need to move!"

Benezia emerged through the settling dust, her robes dusty, her biotics humming at her fingertips.

Aethyta turned, eyes blazing. “We’re under full assault.” She wasn’t asking. She already knew.

Benezia nodded once, and that was all the confirmation Aethyta needed.

The sky had turned red. The colony was burning.

- ͟͟͞ ☆

The first barrage hit the city like thunder.

Shepard barely had time to react before the shockwave sent her squad sprawling. She landed hard against the pavement, the heat of the explosion searing against her skin. The sound—a deafening mix of metal shattering, alarms wailing, and buildings collapsing—made her ears ring.

She pushed up on one elbow, coughing through the dust cloud settling over the streets. Her vision swam—smoke, fire, moving shapes.

Another explosion. The ground trembled under her as more artillery pounded the colony. Her squad was scattered, groaning, dazed but alive.

“Report!” Sergeant Vasquez’s voice snapped through the ringing in Shepard’s head.

“O’Connell’s down!” someone shouted. “He’s breathing, but he’s not moving!”

Shepard shook off the haze, forcing herself onto her knees. She still had her rifle—her Mantis, standard-issue, held tight even after the blast knocked her flat.

She looked up. And there—past the skyline, past the flaming wreckage of what used to be Elysium’s commercial district—she saw the sky.

It was red. Orange. Black. Falling debris streaked across it like meteor showers.

Ships. Alliance ships. Burning. Exploding.

The fleet was being torn apart.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her squad had barely gotten their bearings before the dropships started descending. Dark silhouettes broke through the smoke-filled sky, their engines roaring as they closed in on the colony. The enemy was landing.

Sergeant Vasquez cursed, shoving off the ground. “They’re coming in hot! Get to cover!”

Shepard didn’t hesitate. She dropped behind the nearest piece of rubble—what used to be a transport shuttle—heart hammering.

Boots hit the pavement across the street, dark-armoured figures moved through the dust, weapons raised. The enemy was here.

Vasquez turned to Shepard. "Rookie! We need overwatch! Find high ground—now!"

Shepard gritted her teeth, pushing off the rubble. "On it!"  she ran—low and fast, moving through the chaos, weaving past wreckage and bodies, ducking under broken scaffolding.

Find high ground. Find high ground.

The city was collapsing around her. Civilians screaming. Alarms blaring. Alliance forces scrambling to organise. She barely felt the heat of the fires licking at the streets as she sprinted toward the nearest tower still standing.

She could hear the gunfire now. Elysium wasn’t just under attack. Elysium was falling.

Shepard ran.

Smoke choked the streets as fires raged unchecked, their orange glow casting long shadows against the ruined skyline. The acrid scent of burning fuel and scorched metal filled her lungs, but she pushed forward, sprinting through the wreckage. Gunfire echoed from every direction.

Her boots pounded against the broken pavement as she closed in on her target—a towering skyscraper's sleek glass exterior now cracked and blackened from the first barrage. Flames licked at the lower floors, but the upper levels were intact. It was still standing. That was enough.

She didn’t slow down.

"Shepard, you copy?" Vasquez’s voice crackled through her earpiece, distorted but steady.

She clicked her comm. "Still moving. I’ve got a high-rise ahead. I can get a vantage."

"Then get your ass up there. We need eyes." She didn’t waste breath on a response.

The building’s front entrance was blown open, twisted metal and shattered glass scattered across the floor. A security mech sparked and twitched near the doorway, half-buried under collapsed ceiling tiles.

Shepard vaulted over debris, darting inside. The elevators were dead. No surprise there. Shepard turned for the stairwell, already knowing what would come next. She took the stairs two at a time, her breathing sharp and focused.

Five floors. Eight. Eleven. She didn’t stop.

Each landing she passed showed more damage—walls cracked from the impact tremors, overhead lights flickering, emergency sirens screaming. Somewhere below, she could hear distant voices—civilians still trapped, calling for help.

She gritted her teeth. Suppressed tears. No time. Seventeen floors.

Her legs burned, her lungs ached, but she pushed harder. Twenty.

She reached the top floor just as another explosion rocked the city, shaking the building beneath her. She staggered but didn’t fall.

She burst onto the rooftop, the night air slamming against her like a wall of heat and smoke.

And there it was.

The entire city stretched out below her, a battlefield of fire and chaos. Dropships littered the skyline, landing in waves. Smoke billowed from shattered districts, a thousand different fires merging into an inferno.

And in the distance—Alliance forces struggling to hold the line.

She hit her comm. "Vasquez, I’m in position."

"Good." Her voice was tense, barely audible over the gunfire. "Marking targets for you now."

Her visor flashed, updating her HUD. Red markers appeared in the smoke-filled streets below—enemy sniper nests, incoming dropships, and advancing infantry.

She dropped to one knee behind the wall at the roof's edge, shouldering her rifle.

Deep breath.

The chaos of the battlefield faded away, reduced to nothing but angles, distances, and wind speeds. She settled her crosshairs over the first target. Exhaled. And pulled the trigger.

Through the scope, she saw everything.

Alliance soldiers pinned behind wreckage, exchanging desperate fire with mercenary squads.

A gunship strafing a defensive position, cutting through marines before someone hit it with a rocket.

Civilians were trapped in a collapsed plaza, screaming for help while enemy units moved in.

And beyond that, a distant tower—shattered, smoke pouring from its broken windows. She hesitated. That was the conference hall where the Asari delegation had been. Her gut clenched.

Her comm crackled. "Shepard, focus." She swallowed hard and adjusted her aim.

Another shot. Another enemy down. She didn’t have time to think about anything else. Not about the burning city. Not about the people still trapped below. And sure as hell not about the fact that, for the first time, she was really, truly afraid.

She just had to keep shooting. Because if she stopped, even for a second—they were all dead.

"Shepard, focus! We need fire support, now!" Vasquez’s voice was tight, strained—battlefield exhaustion creeping in—but still controlled. Still holding the line.

Shepard didn’t respond. She just adjusted her scope and fired. Another shot. Another kill. Her hands were steady. Her breathing wasn’t. The streets below were a storm of fire and bullets, bodies crumpling in the wreckage of what had once been a city plaza. She could barely tell Alliance from the enemy now.

Her comm crackled—another voice, Corporal Diaz. "Vasquez! They’re flanking left—shit, they’re everywhere! We need—" The line cut out. Shepard’s stomach lurched.

Her hands stayed firm, almost mechanically, as she adjusted her aim. Diaz was gone. She tried to swallow down the shaking feeling creeping up her spine. Don’t think. Don’t stop. She fired again.

One enemy down. Then another. Then another.

"Shepard, we’re falling back— dammit, they’re hitting us from all sides!" Lance Corporal O’Connell’s voice crackled in her ear. He sounded breathless, but still moving. Still alive.

"Hold the line—get to cover!" Vasquez barked over the comms. "O’Connell, get—" A loud explosion cut through the channel. Shepard flinched.

The feed went silent. Her mouth felt dry. She adjusted the scope, swinging toward where her squad had been. There was nothing but smoke, firelight flickering against shattered concrete.

O’Connell was gone.

She could hear her own breathing now—too fast—another voice, barely audible through the static. Private Jenkins. He was just a kid—barely older than her.

"Sergeant—Vasquez, I—" Another gunshot. The channel cut out. Shepard’s hands started shaking. They were dying.

Her squad—the people she trained with, the ones she laughed with, the ones who had ribbed her about being the rookie—they were all dying.

Because of her? Because she wasn’t fast enough? She couldn't—couldn’t breathe. Shepard dropped her rifle for a second, pressing her forehead to the scorched rooftop. They were gone.

She had killed people—real people. Not target dummies. Not simulations. And now—her squad, her team—she was alone. She didn’t want to be alone. Her breath hitched, sharp, ragged.

Her comm crackled. "Shepard." She didn’t respond. "Shepard! Rookie, breathe. Focus." Sergeant Vasquez’s voice was still there.

Shepard forced herself to respond, but her voice came out wrong. Too tight. Too small.

"I—I can't, Vasquez, I—"

"Yes, you can." Her CO’s voice was firm, unwavering.

"You are not panicking right now. You are listening to me. You are still in this fight." Shepard couldn’t see Vasquez but clung to her voice like a lifeline.

"They’re gone," Shepard whispered.

A pause. Then, Vasquez, quiet but certain: "Yeah. They are." Shepard clenched her teeth. "You don’t have time to fall apart, kid. You hear me?"

Shepard nodded, even though Vasquez couldn’t see her. Her hands were still shaking. But she reached for her rifle anyway.

"We’re still here," Vasquez said, her voice steady, unshaken. "You and me."

Shepard swallowed hard. "What do I do?"

A pause. Then, calmly: "You keep shooting."

Shepard exhaled. Her hands still shook. But her grip tightened. She lifted the rifle back into position. And she kept shooting.

Shepard kept shooting.

The city below was still a maelstrom of fire and chaos. The enemy wasn’t slowing down. Dropships kept landing, spilling out wave after wave of mercenaries, pirates—whoever these bastards were. She didn’t know how many she had killed. Didn’t count. She couldn’t count. But she knew it wasn’t enough.

Her crosshairs locked onto another enemy sniper perched on a collapsed building. She fired—a headshot. The figure crumpled. She swung left—and picked off another. Then another. She could barely hear herself think over the gunfire, the explosions, the screams. But Vasquez’s voice still cut through.

"Shepard, report!"

She pressed her comm. "Still here! Still taking them down!" she wiped tears from her eyes and fired again.

Vasquez grunted over the line, followed by more gunfire. "Good. Keep going. You need to push them back however you can." Shepard exhaled, lined up another shot, and fired.

Vasquez kept talking, her words sharp, clipped. But underneath it, Shepard could hear it—strain. Pain. Something was wrong. The next thing Shepard heard was a sharp intake of breath.

Then—a low curse. Shepard froze. "Sarge?" A second of silence.

Then—Vasquez’s voice, tight, controlled. "Took a hit. Doesn’t matter. Keep fighting."

Shepard’s chest seized. "Where? Where are you? I can cover you—"

"Negative, Shepard. I said keep fighting." Her breathing hitched. She could hear it now—the weakness in Vasquez’s voice. She was hurt. Badly. Shepard wanted to run to her, break cover, sprint through the hellscape of Elysium, find her CO and drag her out. But Vasquez wasn’t done giving orders.

"Listen. Elysium doesn’t fall today. You understand me?"

Shepard’s hands tightened around her rifle. Her chest burned. "Copy," she whispered.

"You’re falling back." Vasquez’s breath hitched slightly. "Alliance brass are in the conference building. That’s where you make your last stand. That’s where the civvies are headed."

Shepard barely processed it. Her mind was stuck on the words ‘falling back.’ They weren’t winning. They were retreating. Vasquez knew it. Had known it.

Shepard felt her stomach twist. She wanted to say something—wanted to argue and tell her they could still win if they just—Another gunshot over the comms.

Vasquez grunted. Shepard’s heart stopped. "Sarge—"

"You’re done here, rookie."

Shepard gritted her teeth. "No. No, I can still—"

"That’s an order, Shepard." Her breath hitched. "Fall back. Get to the conference building. Protect the civilians. That’s where the fight is now."

Shepard’s throat tightened. Vasquez wasn’t coming. She knew it. And now, so did Shepard.

"You make it there, you hear me?" Vasquez’s voice was fading now, strained but firm. "You make it there, and you hold the line."

Shepard blinked rapidly, her vision swimming. Her hands were shaking. She tightened them into fists. "Copy," she whispered.

"Good girl," Vasquez muttered. Then—one last breath. "Now run." The line cut out.

Shepard stayed frozen for half a second. Half a second where, she considered ignoring the order. Staying. Fighting. Going down with her squad. She had already lost them. Every single one of them. And now Vasquez—the last voice, the last anchor keeping her from unravelling—was gone.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her rifle felt so heavy. For a second, she couldn’t breathe. Then—the next barrage hit.

The shockwave tore through the city, fire and metal bursting into the sky. Shepard stumbled back as the skyscraper trembled beneath her. She couldn’t stay here. She had to move. She had to survive.

She had to make it to the conference building. With one last shuddering breath, Shepard slung her rifle across her back. She turned—and ran for the stairs.

- ͟͟͞ ☆

The streets were war zones now.

Smoke curled through the shattered buildings, the sky above a swirling storm of fire, ash, and debris. The scent of scorched metal and burning fuel filled the air, mixing with the acrid bite of ozone left behind by biotic discharges.

And in the middle of it—Aethyta took control. Liara had never seen her father like this before.

She’d seen Aethyta grumble about politics, joke about mercenary life, and drink through long diplomatic meetings. She’d seen her throw punches in friendly brawls, teach Liara how to shoot a pistol, and roll her eyes when Benezia reminded her to behave in front of important guests.

But this was different. Yes, her father was a Matriarch, but right now, she was something else—a warrior.

The conference hall’s lower levels had turned into a makeshift command post.

The Alliance officers—the ones who weren’t dead or dying—were barely keeping things together. The highest-ranking ones were injured, bloodied, and barely standing. Aethyta didn’t wait for orders. She started giving them.

"You—get that barricade reinforced before they break through the south side!"

"Marines, form a defensive perimeter— I don’t want any of these bastards slipping through while we evac the civvies!"

"Snipers—rooftop, now! I want eyes on every goddamn street!"

She grabbed a fallen soldier’s rifle, slinging it over her shoulder like it belonged there.

And it did.

No hesitation. No uncertainty.

She was calling shots like she’d been leading these people for years. And they listened.

Liara stood near Benezia, her mind still reeling. She wasn’t ready for this. She had spent her life in libraries, in research labs, and peaceful Asari colonies. She knew how to translate Prothean glyphs and theorise about galactic civilisation's evolution.

But this? This was war. And it was happening around her, all at once, too fast to process.

Alliance medics scrambling to stabilise the wounded. Civilians screaming, crying, clinging to their loved ones. And then—the gunfire.

The mercenaries were closing in.

She flinched as the first rounds slammed into the barricades. Aethyta didn’t flinch at all. She stepped forward, raising the stolen rifle quickly, and let off three controlled bursts.

Three enemies went down.

A soldier beside her—a human lieutenant—looked at her in stunned disbelief.

"Matriarch, I—"

"No time for gawking, kid!" Aethyta barked, already shifting position. "You wanna live? Then keep shooting!"

Benezia, for her part, was calm. Liara had expected her to panic or—at the very least—to start giving orders the way she always did. But Benezia wasn’t leading this battle. She was observing. Calculating. And then—when the time was right—she acted.

As an enemy vaulted over the barricade, charging straight toward them, Benezia barely even moved.

Her hand flicked up—A surge of blue biotic energy crackled through the air—And the attacker was hurled backwards, slamming into a collapsed transport shuttle with bone-shattering force.

Benezia exhaled, smoothing her robes like she had handled a minor inconvenience.

"Barbarians," she muttered. Liara stared at her mother, then at her father. This was the moment she realised—she had never truly known them.

Aethyta reloaded her rifle, casting a glance at Benezia. "So, uh, you gonna keep throwing people into walls, or you wanna tell me what the hell we do next?"

Benezia gave her an unreadable look. Then, softly: "We wait."

Aethyta frowned. "For what?"

Benezia tilted her head toward the skyline. Liara followed her gaze.

A lone figure ran toward them through the smoke and the crumbling ruins of Elysium’s capital district. Moving fast. Dodging gunfire, leaping over the wreckage, sprinting as if her life depended on it.

A human. Young. Carrying a sniper rifle slung across her back.

Aethyta’s eyes narrowed. "Looks like we got a runner," she muttered; Benezia nodded. "Let’s see if she makes it."

The gunfire outside was getting louder. Liara could hear the screams of dying soldiers, the crackling of fire consuming what remained of the city, and the brutal percussion of explosions as the enemy pushed closer.

The barricades wouldn’t hold forever.

She glanced at her father—Aethyta was still barking orders, firing in controlled bursts, still holding the line like she’d been born for it. On the other side, her mother stood perfectly still, a picture of biotic precision and power, waiting.

Then—a shadow darted through the smoke. Fast. Unnaturally fast. A blur weaving through the carnage—dodging gunfire, sliding across broken pavement, moving like she’d done this a thousand times before.

But Liara saw the hesitation in her steps—the exhaustion in her body. She was running on nothing but adrenaline. Liara’s heart lurched as the mercs behind her raised their weapons, shouting.

The girl didn’t stop running.

She just yanked something from her belt, pressed the button, and hurled it behind her—a grenade. Liara barely had time to react before it detonated mid-air, engulfing the pursuing mercs in a concussive blast of fire and shrapnel.

The force of it sent the girl flying forward, hitting the ground hard. Liara gasped. The figure skidded across the ruined floor, landing hard on her knees.

And for the first time, Liara saw her. Too young for war. Her long, golden hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail that had come loose from the chaos of battle. Strands of it clung to her sweat-dampened forehead. Her skin was pale and dusted with freckles, the kind Liara had only seen on human faces in passing.

And her eyes—Liara had studied the colour blue in every form imaginable. She had read about the shades of alien oceans; she knew the richness of Thessia’s skies and how ancient Prothean murals had once been painted with lapis-lazuli dyes.

But she had never seen blue like this. Sharp. Electric. Burning with something she couldn’t quite name. This human girl was covered in grime, dust, and blood—not all of it hers. Her fatigues were scorched, her hands shook, and her lips parted in breathless exhaustion.

And she was crying. She wasn’t sobbing. She wasn’t breaking down. But silent tears cut clean streaks through the filth on her face, carving their way down her dust-streaked cheeks.

Her shoulders trembled, barely holding herself together. Liara wanted to say something—to reach out, steady her, and offer reassurance.

But before she could move, the girl gasped for breath and turned toward Aethyta as she barked an order to a marine. "Where’s the admiral?" Her voice was hoarse, wrecked from smoke and exhaustion.

Aethyta turned back and stared at her. She looked this human girl up and down—took in her expression, the bloodstains, bruises, and raw desperation. And then—her face softened. Just slightly. "What’s your name, kid?"

The girl blinked rapidly, trying to force the tears back. She swallowed, squared her shoulders, and then, breathless—"Shepard."

Liara felt her stomach tighten. She had never heard that name before, but somehow—in that moment, looking into those burning blue eyes—she knew she would never forget it.

Aethyta kept staring at the girl. Something was unreadable in her gaze—not scepticism or disbelief—something more profound, a quiet assessment. Shepard was still kneeling, still shaking, her hands curled into trembling fists against the scorched ground.

She looked so small.

Not in size—Liara knew most humans were physically shorter than Asari, but this girl looked like she had just barely stopped growing. She still had the sharpness of youth in her face, hidden beneath the blood, sweat, and grime.

Aethyta stepped forward, slung the rifle over her back, and crouched before her. Close enough to look her in the eye. "What’s your name, kid?"

Shepard swallowed hard, eyes darting up, barely holding focus. Her breathing was still too fast, her hands still unsteady, like her body hadn’t realised she was safe yet. She hesitated. Then—softer, broken: "Zoey."

Aethyta nodded once. She didn’t push. Didn’t question it. Didn’t even comment on the hesitation. But then—"How old are you, Zoey?"

Liara felt herself tense. She hadn’t considered it, hadn’t thought to wonder. Shepard—Zoey— was a soldier. She had fought across a burning city and made it farther than most trained marines outside these walls. And yet—the way she was trembling, her voice kept cracking, her face was caught somewhere between shock and desperation.

She didn’t look like a soldier. She looked like a kid. Shepard blinked rapidly as if struggling to remember. Then, voice still hoarse—"Sixteen."

The number hit Liara like a punch to the stomach. She was just a child. Aethyta exhaled sharply. Liara wasn’t sure if it was entirely frustration, anger, or something else. The older Asari reached out, gripping Shepard’s shoulder, grounding her.

"Where’s the admiral?" Shepard rasped again, her voice cracking completely.

Aethyta didn’t answer immediately. She didn’t need to. Shepard saw the truth in her expression before she even said it. "He’s dead, kid."

Shepard’s breath hitched. Her eyes flickered—somewhere between disbelief and something breaking. She wasn’t surprised. Not really. Liara could see that.

But knowing it—hearing it aloud—was different. Shepard closed her eyes. And for the first time, she looked utterly lost.

Shepard didn’t speak. She slowly pushed herself to her feet, swaying slightly, her movements stiff with exhaustion and injury. Liara almost reached out to steady her.

But Shepard wasn’t paying attention to anyone. She was moving, driven by something unseen, something she refused to let go of. Aethyta watched her guardedly, but she didn’t stop her. Instead, she sighed and muttered, “Damn, kid’s got more fight in her than sense.”

Shepard limped toward the makeshift command post. The Alliance comms equipment was barely operational. It had taken a hit during the barrages, and wires were exposed. Sparks occasionally flickered from one of the transmitters.

A dead soldier was slumped nearby, his hand still resting against the broken console. Shepard didn’t hesitate. She shoved his body aside and dropped to her knees in front of the console. Liara flinched at its casual brutality—but there was no hesitation, no second thought.

Shepard wasn’t thinking about the dead. She was thinking about the living.

Shepard’s fingers moved quickly, adjusting dials, flipping frequency channels, and inputting emergency codes. Her hands were still shaking. Her breaths were ragged, sharp, just barely holding it together. But she kept going.

The first channel—nothing but static.

She tried another. More static.

Another.

Another. Still nothing.

Her jaw clenched. She hit the console with her fist.

"Come on," she muttered, voice cracking. She tried again.

Liara stepped forward hesitantly. "Shepard—" The console flickered. Then—a voice.

A male voice, deep, steady, controlled. "This is Captain Anderson aboard the Normandy. Identify yourself."

Shepard’s breath hitched. For a moment, she didn’t move. She just stared at the console, her hands frozen over the controls as if she couldn’t quite believe she’d finally gotten through.

Then, in a broken, desperate voice— "This is Recruit Zoey Shepard, Alliance Marines, Elysium Defence Force." She swallowed hard. Her throat burned. And then, voice cracking completely—"We need help."

The comm crackled. Then—Anderson’s voice, steady, controlled. “Shepard. You’re coming in broken. Say again.”

Shepard clutched the edge of the console, her fingers white-knuckled, trying to get her breathing under control. She was shaking. Her throat was tight, her lungs felt like they were on fire, and her hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

But she forced herself to speak. “This is… This is Recruit Zoey Shepard—Alliance Marines—Elysium Defence Force.” She swallowed, voice wrecked and hoarse. “We’re trapped.”

A pause. Then—Anderson, sharper now, more urgent. “Where?”

Shepard squeezed her eyes shut. “Conference building—last known location of Admiral Grayson—” she coughed, her ribs protesting. “The others… they—” Her voice broke.

She tried to say it, to force the words out, but her breath hitched. She pressed her forehead against the console, gripping the edges so tightly that her nails scraped the metal.

“They sealed the doors,” she whispered. “They—” She clenched her teeth, trying to hold it in, but the first sob cracked through anyway. Her whole body seized, a choked noise escaping her throat. “They’re gone.”

Anderson was quiet for half a second. Then—his voice softened, but only slightly. “You’re the last ones?”

Shepard nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. Her throat was too tight to answer. Anderson exhaled, and then his voice hardened. “Alright, Shepard. Listen to me. You are not alone. We’re en route.”

Shepard shook her head violently, gasping. “No, no, no, we don’t have time—” Her voice was spiralling. She could hear it, feel it. The panic clawing up her ribs, the breakdown threatening to take over. “They’re coming. They’re gonna get in. We can’t—”

“Shepard.” Anderson’s voice cut through her panic like steel. Sharp. Grounding. “Breathe.” She did. Shaky. Unstable. But she did. Anderson didn’t stop talking. “We are thirty minutes out. I need you and whoever's left in that building to hold that line.”

Shepard pressed her hand against her chest, trying to force herself to focus. “I don’t—” she gasped. “I don’t think I can—”

“Yes, you can.”

Shepard bit her lip, squeezing her eyes shut. She wanted to argue and tell him she wasn’t ready and was just a kid. Just a recruit. But she wasn’t. Not anymore.

Anderson took a breath, then said, quieter this time— “Elysium doesn’t fall today, Shepard.”

Her chest lurched. That was the same thing Vasquez had said. Her fingers curled into fists, she forced herself to breathe. She opened her eyes. Then, hoarse, quiet, still shaking—but more assertive this time: “Copy that, sir.”

Anderson’s voice was firm. Unshakable. “Good girl. Now get to work.” The line cut out.

Shepard exhaled sharply. Then—she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, sniffed once, squared her shoulders, and turned back toward the barricades.

Toward the fight that hadn’t ended yet. Shepard felt raw. Her body was aching, her ribs protesting every breath, her fingers still trembling from the adrenaline crash. But she kept moving.

She forced herself to focus, eyes scanning the room for a weapon she could use in close combat. Her sniper rifle wasn’t going to cut it now, so she dropped it; her gaze landed on a fallen soldier’s assault rifle—an Alliance-issued M7.

Still loaded. Still warm from the last hands that held it, she swallowed down the guilt, bent down, and picked it up. The weight was different than her Mantis. Heavier. More immediate.

She took a deep breath, gripped it tighter, and turned toward the barricades, and then—someone stepped up beside her. “Well, damn, kid.” Shepard jerked her head up.

Aethyta was standing next to her, arms crossed, one brow raised in something that looked like amusement, and looked her up and down, taking in the dirt, the blood, the raw, exhausted look in Shepard’s eyes.

And then, with a smirk: “Didn’t think I’d be fighting beside a teenager today, but here we are.”

Shepard huffed out something between a laugh and a breathless exhale. "I didn’t think I’d live this long, so we’re both surprised."

Aethyta let out a sharp chuckle, then nodded at the rifle in Shepard’s hands. "You know how to use that thing?"

Shepard rolled her shoulders, testing the grip. "Point and shoot, right?"

Aethyta grinned. "Now you’re getting it."

Shepard adjusted her stance, settling the rifle against her shoulder. But before she could take another step, Aethyta’s voice dropped slightly and became quieter. “You know you’re not fighting alone, right?”

Shepard stood still. She turned to look at her—look at her. Aethyta was still grinning, still had that lazy, battle-worn confidence in her stance—but there was something else in her eyes.

Something solid. Something steady.

Shepard exhaled slowly. Then, after a moment—she nodded.

Aethyta gripped her shoulder once—brief, firm, grounding. Then she turned toward the barricades, a shotgun swinging up into position. “All right, kid. Let’s go remind these bastards whose planet they’re invading.”

Shepard took a breath. Her hands were still shaking. But she wasn't alone for the first time since she had lost her squad since she had thought she was the last one left standing.

And that was enough. She squared her shoulders, lifted her rifle—and followed Aethyta into the fight.

-͟͟͞☆

The air inside the conference building was thick with the scent of blood, smoke, and sweat.

Shepard’s breath came in ragged gasps, her muscles aching from hours of running, fighting, and surviving. Outside the shattered windows, she could hear the distant echoes of gunfire, the heavy percussion of explosions shaking the foundations beneath her boots.

But she wasn’t dead. Not yet.

She adjusted her grip on the M7, flexing her fingers around the trigger. It was still foreign in her hands—heavier than her sniper, more immediate, more violent. She didn’t have the luxury of distance anymore.

This fight was up close. This fight was personal.

She stood in what had once been the grand lobby of the conference building, now converted into a makeshift stronghold. Shattered glass crunched beneath her boots as she moved between what little cover they had left: overturned tables, makeshift barricades of broken furniture, and abandoned military gear.

She could feel the weight of the civilians pressed behind them—hundreds of people crammed into the upper levels, waiting for salvation that wasn’t coming fast enough.

Around her, a few Alliance soldiers huddled against what cover remained, loading weapons and exchanging sharp glances. Some were young like her—barely older than recruits—while others were seasoned veterans, their faces set with grim determination.

They all knew what was coming. The enemy was closing in—footsteps—heavy, confident, unshaken.

Shepard turned as Aethyta strode beside her, shotgun slung lazily over one shoulder. The Matriarch’s eyes flicked to her rifle, then back to her face, and she nodded.

She glanced around—at the soldiers and officers giving last-minute orders, Benezia standing near the command station, her hands clasped in an eerie calm, and Liara, wide-eyed and silent, watching everything unfold.

The conference building felt like a tomb. It hadn’t always been. Hours ago, it had been a place of politics, negotiations, and carefully measured words exchanged over datapads and handshakes. Now, it was a barricaded fortress, its marble floors slick with blood, its once-pristine glass windows shattered into jagged edges that let in the cold, smoke-choked air.

Liara had never felt so small. She stood near the back of the room, just outside the command station where the last Alliance officers tried to organise defences.

And beside her, like an unmoving pillar of certainty, stood her mother. Benezia was as composed as ever. While the humans around them shifted nervously, gripping their weapons tighter and adjusting their stances as if they were already preparing to die, Benezia stood with her hands folded in front of her, watching.

Waiting.

Liara gritted her teeth. "How can you be so calm?"

Benezia didn’t look at her. "Panic serves no purpose," she answered.

Liara’s fingers curled into fists. "We could die, Mother." Her voice was quieter than she intended, but there was a rawness to it that she couldn’t mask.

Finally, Benezia turned. Her gaze was as unreadable as ever, but there was something behind it that flickered like a candle’s flame, something Liara couldn’t quite place. "Yes," she said. "We could."

Liara felt her stomach twist. She had expected some form of reassurance, some kind of reminder that the Alliance was strong, that Normandy was coming, and that this battle would not end in their deaths.

But Benezia didn’t lie. She never did.

Liara looked away, arms crossed over her chest. She hated this—the helplessness, the waiting, the knowledge that soon, the enemy would be inside these walls, and there would be nothing left to do but fight or die.

She wasn’t a fighter. She had never been one. She was a scholar and a researcher. The most dangerous place she had ever faced was a lecture hall full of sceptical peers questioning her Prothean theories.

But now—now there was blood drying on the floors and gunfire rattling the city outside. Terrified civilians pressed together in the upper levels, praying for an evacuation that might never come.

She wasn’t ready for this. She wasn’t like her mother. "I don't want to die," she whispered.

For a moment, Benezia said nothing. Then—a hand, gentle, steady, rested against Liara’s shoulder. She looked up. Benezia was watching her now—not as a Matriarch, a leader of the Republics, but as her mother. And then, softly: "Then we will not."

Liara blinked. There was no arrogance in the words—no empty bravado—only certainty.

And for the first time since the battle had begun—Liara let herself believe it.

And then the world shook. The building trembled violently, dust shaking loose from the rafters, debris rattling as another explosion rocked the city. Across the room, Alliance soldiers tensed, weapons rising.

Liara’s breath hitched. This was it—the final stand.

She turned, instinctively reaching for Benezia’s hand—but her mother was already moving, stepping forward with calm precision, her biotics humming faintly in the air around her.

And Liara realised something. Her mother wasn’t afraid. Not because she thought they would win but because Benezia had already accepted it, no matter the outcome. Liara swallowed hard. She straightened. And, for the first time, she forced herself to do the same.

The building trembled again, another impact roaring through the walls like a distant earthquake.

Liara’s heart pounded in her chest. She stepped back as debris fell from the ceiling, landing in scattered dust and broken stone piles. The murmur of soldiers checking weapons and shifting their positions filled the air like the low hum of thunder before a storm.

And then—the barricades shattered.

The doors at the far end of the hall burst open with a concussive blast, the force sending shards of metal and splinters of wood across the marble floor. The smoke from the explosion clouded everything momentarily, filling the air with dust and fire.

And from the haze—the first mercenary charged in.

He was fast.

Too fast.

He slipped through the chaos, darting past the line of fire, weaving between broken tables and makeshift barricades. He held a knife and a pistol in one hand and was heading straight for her and Benezia.

Liara’s breath caught. She tried to move, tried to do something, anything—but she wasn’t fast enough.

The mercenary lunged—and then he stopped.

Midair.

Suspended.

His entire body was locked in place, frozen as if time itself had betrayed him.

Liara felt the air shift. Benezia had not moved from her place and had not flinched; a hand was still clasped behind her back, regal and composed—except for her other hand, which was lifted slightly, her fingers curled in an effortless grasp.

Biotics. Pure, controlled force.

The mercenary twitched, struggling against the invisible hold. His feet dangled inches above the ground, his pistol slipping from his fingers. Benezia turned slightly, examining him as if inspecting a broken object. And then—without a word—she flicked her wrist.

The mercenary was hurled backwards violently, like a ragdoll caught in a hurricane.

He crashed through the air, tearing through the remains of the barricades with a sickening crunch, his body smashing straight past the first line of defence and into the hall beyond.

Liara barely had time to process what she had just seen. And then—the shouts from outside.

The battle had begun.

Shepard had just reached the barricades when the first body flew past her. It hit the broken stone wall with enough force to leave a dent before crumpling lifelessly to the ground.

There was a brief pause. Aethyta blinked, then looked at Shepard. “…Well, shit.”

A moment later, another explosion rocked the front entrance. The smoke and fire parted just enough to reveal the first wave of enemy mercenaries charging forward.

Aethyta cocked her shotgun.

Shepard gritted her teeth, raising her rifle.

There was no more waiting. No more running. This was it. Shepard exhaled sharply, steadied her hands, and whispered to herself loud enough for no one to hear—"Hold the line."

Then—the enemy was on them, swarmed through the breach. Shepard didn’t hesitate. She raised her rifle, lined up her first shot, and fired.

The first merc went down, his body jerking as rounds tore through his chest armour. Another rushed past the smoke, shotgun raised—Shepard shifted and fired again, a burst to the head. He crumpled.

Then, the real fighting began. They poured in, wave after wave, mercenaries and pirates with no fear, no hesitation. Bullets shredded what little cover remained—tables splintered, barricades collapsed, and walls cracked under the impact of explosives.

Shepard ducked and rolled into a better firing position, her pulse hammering against her ribs.

Aethyta was a force of nature beside her. She moved with brutal precision—one moment unloading her shotgun, the next hurling a merc clean across the room with a biotic throw. One enemy got too close—Aethyta caught him by the throat, slammed him into the wall, and snapped his neck like a twig.

Shepard didn’t stop moving. She couldn’t. She vaulted over debris, repositioning as fast as possible, her finger never leaving the trigger. The world was nothing but muzzle flashes and screams.

The air was thick with smoke and the smell of gunpowder and blood. Alliance soldiers fell one by one; Shepard heard their screams, their last gasps, their weapons firing until they clicked empty. She heard them fighting, dying. And then—one by one—she listened to their voices disappear:

"I’m hit—! I can’t—"

"They’re pushing through, we need— ARGHH!"

"Lieutenant down— I repeat, Lieutenant—"**

"FALL BACK! FALL BA—"

Silence.

Shepard gritted her teeth, ignoring the burn in her muscles and the raw ache of exhaustion dragging at her bones. She kept firing. Her hands were slick with sweat and blood. She barely felt the rifle's kick anymore—it was instinct, movement, survival.

She didn’t know how many she had killed. She stopped counting. The pile of bodies around her was proof enough, and then—it was just her.

Shepard exhaled sharply, the sound almost lost beneath the chaos. She risked a glance around the battlefield. There were no more friendly uniforms—only her.

She was the last one.

The last Alliance soldier in the fight.

A mercenary broke through the smoke, rifle raised—Shepard shot him before he could pull the trigger, and another charged at her, swinging a combat blade—she ducked, grabbed his arm, twisted, and drove her knife into his ribs.

She wasn’t fighting for orders anymore. She wasn’t fighting for command, survival, or even the mission. She was fighting because she refused to fall.

Not here. Not today. Elysium didn’t fall today.

Shepard heard Aethyta grunt and felt the energy shift beside her. The Matriarch was still fighting, but she was slowing. Shepard glanced over—and saw blood soaking through Aethyta’s side, her biotics flickering, her shotgun slipping in her grip.

Another merc charged toward Aethyta’s blind spot. Shepard didn’t think; she pivoted, raised her rifle, and emptied half a clip into the bastard before he could reach her. Aethyta grinned, teeth stained red. "Not bad, kid."

Shepard didn’t answer; she kept fighting until her rifle clicked empty.

Shepard cursed, reaching for another thermal clip—but she was too slow. A merc rushed her before she could reload; Shepard barely saw the rifle stock before it cracked against her jaw.

Pain. Sharp, blinding. She staggered, head snapping back, the world tilting dangerously.

The merc grabbed her by the collar and slammed her into the ground, boot pressing against her chest.

Shepard gasped, struggling—her fingers scrambled for her pistol, but she couldn’t reach—the merc grinned down at her, raising his weapon.

"Should’ve stayed down, kid."

And then—a blue biotic glow erupted behind him.

The merc’s body was lifted, frozen in the air, and then, with a flick of invisible force—he was hurled across the room, slamming into the wall.

Shepard coughed, gasping for air. A firm hand grabbed her arm, yanking her back to her feet.

Benezia. Her motherfucking saviour.

The Matriarch stood tall beside her, biotic energy humming around her hands, her expression unreadable. Shepard, dazed, barely managed a shaky breath. Benezia tilted her head. "On your feet, Miss Shepard."

Shepard exhaled, spit blood onto the ground, and picked up a rifle. "Already there." The enemy was still coming. But Shepard was still standing—the last Alliance soldier, and as long as she could still hold a gun and stand—she would not let them take Elysium.

She squared her shoulders. Aethyta moved beside her, shotgun reloaded. Benezia stepped forward, lifting a hand as raw biotic power cracked through the air. Behind them, Liara watched, eyes wide. She would remember this moment forever.

- ͟͟͞ ☆

The world was fire and gunfire. Shepard’s rifle was nearly empty, her arms ached, and her legs felt like they’d give out at any second. She had lost count of how many mercenaries had stormed the conference building.

But they were still coming. No matter how many they cut down, there were more. Shepard barely noticed the deep roar of engines at first. Not until the sky above them darkened.

Then—a thunderous explosion tore through the street outside.

The air vibrated with a deep, mechanical howl—The Normandy had arrived. Blue streaks of Alliance mass accelerator rounds cut through the night, tearing through enemy formations.

The mercs outside had no chance to react—suddenly, the sky was filled with fire, their squads torn apart as the Normandy’s guns lit them up.

Dropships tried to scatter and retreat—but were too slow. One exploded mid-air, metal shrapnel raining down in a molten shower. The Normandy’s hull gleamed as it swept low, hovering just above the battlefield.

Then, with a loud, metallic clang—The cargo bay dropped open.

And the Mako fell from the sky.

The heavily armoured vehicle landed with a thundering crash, crushing debris beneath its massive wheels. The turret whirled immediately, locking onto the largest group of mercenaries outside the building.

A deep BOOM echoed as the first cannon shot was fired. The explosion ripped through the street, bodies flying in all directions, dust and fire consuming what was left.

The mercenaries stumbled, some turning toward the new threat—some running.

It didn’t matter. The Mako kept firing as the Normandy flew low to land in the new clearing.

With each shot, more enemy ships and ground troops were torn apart, the balance shifting.

Then, the cargo bay ramp extended fully. A squad of Alliance Marines stormed out, rifles raised.

And at the front—Captain Anderson.

“Marines! Take the line!” Anderson’s commanding, unwavering voice boomed across the battlefield. The soldiers spread out immediately, laying down, covering fire, and pushing the enemy back.

The mercenaries who had been slaughtering Alliance forces minutes earlier were now scrambling for cover, completely off guard.

Shepard watched it all, watching as more Alliance shuttles descended from the sky and more reinforcements touched down, battle-ready. Watching as the mercenaries, who had been so sure of their victory, now found themselves cornered, outgunned, and desperate.

The tide had turned. And the battle for Elysium was over.

Shepard felt her knees buckle. Her rifle slipped from her hands, clattering onto the blood-streaked floor. The exhaustion hit all at once as if her body had been waiting for permission to collapse.

Her lungs burned, her limbs ached, and her mind spun.

She had fought for so long.

Had killed so many.

Had lost everything.

And now—now, she didn’t have to fight anymore.

She sank to her knees, watching, breathless, shaking.

Above her, the Alliance fleet was arriving. One after another, the sky filled with ships. More and more, until Elysium’s darkened skyline was alight with the glow of engines and mass effect fields.

Shepard exhaled, her vision blurring.

The cavalry had arrived.

And for the first time in hours, she let herself believe it was over.

Chapter Text

The battle was over. The mercenaries were dead or retreating, their ships burning in the sky. Once filled with gunfire and screaming, the streets were quiet—except for the distant echoes of Alliance orders and the mechanical hum of landing shuttles.

Liara should have felt relieved. She didn’t. Because in front of her, Zoey Shepard had fallen to her knees, and she was breaking.

Shepard hadn’t made a sound at first.

She had just stared, her eyes sweeping over the battlefield as if she could force it to make sense. As if, if she just looked hard enough, she’d find some proof that it wasn’t real. That the bodies strewn across Elysium weren’t the same people she had trained with, eaten with, joked with.

That Vasquez—who had given her half of her rations when she was too tired to get her own—wasn’t lying face-down in the dirt with a hole in her chest.

That O’Connell—who always hummed under his breath while cleaning his rifle—wasn’t staring at nothing.

That Jenkins—who never shut up about the ship he wanted to buy one day—wasn’t slumped against a wall, his blood smeared down the stone like someone had tried to drag him back before giving up.

Her hands hung limp at her sides. She barely noticed when her rifle slipped from her fingers, landing in the dust with a dull thunk. It didn’t matter. It was over.

It was over.

Her breath came in sharp and shallow. The silence pressed down on her like a vice.

There had been so much noise just moments ago. Gunfire. Screaming. The low, hollow thud of bodies hitting the ground. Now, the only thing left was the distant murmur of Alliance orders—background static compared to the chaos before. It should have been a relief.

It wasn’t.

Because silence meant it was done. It meant everyone who was going to die was already dead.

The air was thick with the acrid stench of burnt flesh, and something sharper—blood, soaked into the dust and drying in the heat. The same smell clung to her skin, uniform, and hands.

Her fingers twitched, and she looked down at them. There was blood under her nails. She didn’t know whose. Her stomach churned.

She had fought like a soldier. She had moved like one, shot like one, survived like one. Like someone twice her age, someone trained for this, someone who had done this before.

But she wasn’t. She was sixteen, and she had just watched everyone she knew die.

Her breath hitched. Sharp and ragged.

The first crack.

Her shoulders shook. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would stop the stinging behind them, as if she could force the grief back inside where it wouldn’t show, where it wouldn’t break her apart in front of everyone.

Then—she exhaled, and the sound that left her throat was a strangled, wrecked thing. A sob clawing its way out, desperate and ugly and unstoppable.

She folded in on herself, her arms wrapping around her sides as if she could hold herself together, as if she could stop herself from falling apart entirely.

But it was too late.

The dam had broken.

The sobs came like a tidal wave, dragging her under. Deep, gut-wrenching, helpless. They tore out of her throat like they had been waiting, buried under months—years—of pretending she could handle this.

She couldn’t.

She never could.

The first time she had held a gun, she had been seven. The first time she had killed, she had been today—today she had stopped counting.

She didn’t even know how many people she had killed. She had fought. She had survived, and in the end, she had won. But why the hell didn’t it feel like victory?

Her chest ached, torn between sobbing and trying to breathe, but the grief didn’t care. It poured out of her, unrelenting.

Then—a hand. Firm. Grounding. Warm.

She flinched at the contact, her breath hitching sharply—but the touch didn’t go away.

“It’s okay, kid,” Aethyta murmured, voice rough but steady.

Shepard shook her head, hard. “No—it’s not—” Her voice shattered.

“They’re gone. They’re all gone. Vasquez, O’Connell, Jenkins—” She hiccupped through the words, her whole body wracked with exhaustion and grief.

Aethyta exhaled sharply, rubbing slow, steady circles against her back. “I know, kid,” she said. “I know.” and Shepard collapsed into her, sobbing like she was trying to pour everything out, like she could purge the pain if she just let herself break enough.

Aethyta let her.

Benezia stepped beside them, silent but present. She knelt gracefully, her biotics still flickering at the edges of her fingertips, remnants of the power she had wielded moments before. Liara had never seen her mother kneel before anyone, but now, she was kneeling for a human girl.

A girl who had saved all of them.

Benezia touched Shepard’s shoulder, her touch light but certain. "You fought well, Zoey," she said, voice as calm and unwavering as ever.

Shepard gasped between sobs, shaking her head. "It wasn’t enough," she whispered.

Benezia watched her for a long moment, then softly, "It never is."

Shepard choked on another sob. Aethyta shifted beside her, glancing up at Benezia with something unreadable in her expression. "She’s just a kid, Bene," Aethyta murmured, voice hoarse.

Benezia nodded sadly. Liara felt frozen, watching all of this unfold. She had seen death in history, records, and old Prothean ruins. She had studied the devastation of the Krogan Rebellions and the horrors of the Rachni Wars.

She had thought she understood. But now—now she realised she had understood nothing. Historic Archives didn’t capture what it looked like when someone fell apart before you. It didn’t capture how Shepard’s hands curled into fists like she was trying to stop herself from unravelling. It didn’t capture the raw, ugly grief that clawed its way out of her chest, the way her body trembled with the weight of survival.

But most importantly, it didn’t capture the way Aethyta and Benezia—two asari Matriarchs, two of the most powerful figures Liara had ever known—didn’t tell her to be strong, stop crying, or pull herself together.

They just stayed with her. Let her cry. Let her grieve.

Liara swallowed hard. For the first time, she saw the difference between war in history and war in reality. And for the first time—she understood why war was never something to be studied lightly.

Because this was war, and Shepard was its casualty. Shepard’s sobs eventually slowed, exhaustion finally winning out; her body was shutting down—too much blood loss, too much fatigue, too many hours of fighting.

She swayed where she sat. Aethyta caught her, steadying her. Shepard blinked slowly, her breath still uneven. Then, barely above a whisper, she said, "Is it really over?"

Liara opened her mouth, unsure what to say, as footsteps approached.

Anderson’s voice—strong, unwavering—answered first. "Yes, Shepard." Shepard’s bleary blue eyes flickered toward him. Anderson stood over them, his expression unreadable but his presence grounding. "It’s over."

Shepard exhaled sharply. Then—her body finally gave out. She slumped, unconscious. Aethyta caught her before she hit the ground; Liara stared, unable to look away. She had never seen someone so young, so strong—so utterly broken by the weight of survival.

And at that moment, she realised something. This girl—Zoey Shepard—would stay in Liara’s thoughts for a long time.

-͟͟͞ ☆

The battlefield was still settling.

Smoke curled into the air from the burning wreckage. The occasional burst of gunfire echoed in the distance, the last remnants of scattered skirmishes being put down by Alliance forces. But the bulk of the battle was over. Anderson surveyed the scene with a hardened expression, taking in the damage.

The conference building—what was left of it—was barely standing. The once-pristine structure had been reduced to a bullet-riddled husk, its walls scorched, its floors slick with blood. His soldiers were already moving, securing the perimeter, checking bodies—both human and mercenary—for any signs of life.

Anderson turned, clicking his comm. "Joker, what’s your status?"

A second of static—then the Normandy’s pilot responded, his voice sharp and professional. "Still airborne, sir. Got a full scan of the battlefield. You want us sweeping for survivors?"

"Affirmative." Anderson glanced around the war-torn streets. "Not just ours. Check for any civilians still out there. We don’t leave anyone behind."

"Copy that, sir. We’ll make the rounds."

Anderson switched channels.

"All Alliance units, secure the city block. If you find any wounded, tag them for evac. We need medics down here—now."

He turned toward the Mako, still positioned near the entrance. Its turret swivelled, keeping a close watch on the skies, ready for any straggling enemy forces. "Lieutenant Briggs," he barked toward the Mako crew. "Expand the perimeter. I want a full sweep—ensure no remaining hostiles are trying to regroup."

"Yes, sir!"

The soldiers moved quickly, the weight of victory settling over them. But Anderson wasn’t done yet. His gaze shifted to the survivors at the centre of the ruined conference hall. He had expected Alliance officers. Maybe a few scattered diplomats, a handful of civilians. He hadn’t expected the Asari standing in the middle of the carnage like ghosts from another battlefield.

Matriarch Benezia. Tall, regal, untouched by panic, her robes torn but her posture unshaken. Beside her, Matriarch Aethyta—the exact opposite in appearance and energy, battle-worn and bloodied, still holding a shotgun like she was expecting another fight.

And between them—Anderson’s eyes flickered toward the unconscious human girl in Aethyta’s arms.

Zoey Shepard. Her voice soft: "Is it really over?"

“Yes, Shepard." His gut clenched. She looked too damn young to be lying in a pool of blood and dust, too damn young to have fought in this battle, and yet—she had. Anderson exhaled sharply, straightened, and stepped toward the Asari. "It’s over."

He watched as she slumped, and Aethyta caught her before she hit the ground. He waited for a minute, taking everything in, before speaking: "Matriarchs." His voice was firm and commanding. "What happened here?"

Aethyta snorted, shifting Shepard’s weight slightly in her arms. "Well, Captain, that depends on how much you wanna hear."

Benezia tilted her head slightly, ever composed. "The battle has ended, Captain. But I suspect you are more interested in how it began."

Anderson folded his arms, gaze sharp. "I want to know how an entire Alliance battalion was wiped out, how an admiral was killed, and why the last one standing was a goddamn recruit." His tone wasn’t accusatory—just heavy.

Benezia studied him, then nodded. "Then I suggest we speak quickly, Captain." She glanced down at Shepard. "She is in no condition to explain herself."

Anderson felt his jaw tighten. He had questions. Too many. But right now—he needed answers. And he needed them fast; he looked at the persons before him who, it seemed, had those answers.

Benezia—graceful, composed, untouched by the raw brutality of what had just happened. And Aethyta—bloodied, her shotgun still in reach like she was waiting for round two, and between them—Zoey Shepard, barely conscious, barely holding on, resting in the latter's arms.

“Medical Teams are on route” Anderson exhaled sharply. "Start talking."

Aethyta let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shifting Shepard’s weight before glaring at Anderson. "Oh, I’ll talk, Captain. I’ll tell you exactly what happened." She jerked her head toward the ruined streets outside. "Your goddamn brass got cocky, that’s what happened." Her voice was sharp, laced with frustration. "We warned them. The Terminus bastards don’t play fair. We told ‘em they needed heavier security, a damn fleet on standby— but no. They figured a bunch of ‘scattered pirates’ weren’t a real threat." She scoffed. "And now? The entire garrison’s wiped out. The admiral’s dead. The only reason this damn building didn’t fall was because a goddamn sixteen-year-old held it together by herself."

Her grip on Shepard tightened as if emphasising the sheer unfairness of it all. Anderson held his ground. He had seen pissed-off soldiers before—hell, he had been one himself. But there was something different in Aethyta’s anger. It wasn’t just frustration. It was something more profound like she’d seen this before. Like she’d lost people like this before.

Benezia stepped forward, her voice a measured contrast to Aethyta’s fury. "The attack was inevitable, Captain." She clasped her hands in front of her, calm and calculating. "The mercenaries struck hard and fast. They overwhelmed the Alliance defences before anyone could properly mount a counteroffensive. By the time we reached the ground floor, the enemy had already torn through most of the security forces." Her gaze flicked down to Shepard, who stirred slightly but didn’t wake. "Your forces were scattered. Your officers were injured or dead. By all accounts, this building should have fallen."

Anderson’s jaw tightened. "But it didn’t." Benezia’s gaze met his directly. "Because of her. And those who gave their lives.”

Liara, who had remained silent until now, swallowed hard. She had been watching, listening, absorbing everything. But now, she finally spoke. "I saw it." Her voice was quiet but clear. "I saw her hold the line when no one else could. She fought until there was nothing left to fight with." She hesitated, then added, softer: "She is just a child, Captain. And she did what your entire battalion couldn’t."

Anderson let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand down his face. He already knew what the Alliance would say about this. They would turn Shepard into a symbol. A hero. A survivor. Anderson looked at the bloodied, unconscious girl in Aethyta’s arms. Shepard had held the line, but at what cost? "She’s getting a medal for this," Anderson said, voice firm.

Aethyta and Benezia shared a look. It was subtle—the kind of glance exchanged between two people who had already reached the same unspoken conclusion. Then, at the same time—they both turned back to Anderson. Aethyta’s grip on Shepard shifted slightly, her voice quieter but no less firm: "She’s not staying with you, Captain."

Anderson arched a brow. "That so?"

Benezia nodded once, controlled and assured. "She requires medical attention." Her voice didn’t leave room for debate. "And once she has recovered, she will come with us, should she wish."

Anderson tilted his head slightly, studying them. "And why’s that?"

Aethyta grunted. "Because she’s ours now."

Liara’s breath caught slightly. She looked at her parents, at the way they regarded and protected Shepard—not just as survivors of the same battle, but as something else. Something deeper. Something that Liara didn’t quite understand yet. But she knew one thing for sure. Zoey Shepard wasn’t going to be left behind.

Not by them.

Anderson exhaled sharply. He had seen enough battles to know when an argument was already lost. So he just nodded. "We’ll get her patched up," he said gruffly. "We’ll talk about this when she wakes up." But even as he spoke, he knew Shepard’s life had changed forever.

And so did she, even if she didn’t know it yet.

-͟͟͞☆

The steady hum of the Normandy’s engines vibrated softly through the walls.

The medbay was quiet, save for the faint beeping of medical monitors and the occasional rustle of fabric as Dr Chakwas moved between her patients.

Shepard lay on the primary bed, still unconscious, her body finally given the chance to rest after hours of battle, blood, and death. An oxygen mask covered her mouth and nose, her golden hair spread messily across the pillow, strands still clinging to the dried sweat on her skin.

She looked young. Too young for what she had endured.

Across from her, Aethyta sat on the secondary medbay bed, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, her boots still on. Her injuries were relatively minor—some bruised ribs, a few deep cuts that had needed sealing—but compared to what she’d seen today, it was nothing.

And compared to the kid, it was even less than nothing. "You know," Aethyta said, rolling her shoulder as Chakwas finished checking her vitals, "I’ve been in some nasty fights before. But this?" She jerked her head toward Shepard. "This was a whole different kind of shitshow."

Dr Chakwas didn’t glance up from her work; her expression focused as she adjusted Shepard’s IV drip. "She’s lucky to be alive," she said. "You all are."

Aethyta huffed, shifting slightly to get comfortable. "Yeah, well. Lucky’s not exactly the word I’d use." She leaned back, glancing at the unconscious girl. "More like too stubborn to die."

Chakwas let out a quiet chuckle, finally stepping back from Shepard’s bed. She pressed a few commands on the overhead terminal, rechecking the scans before turning to Aethyta. "You care about her."

Aethyta snorted. "I just met the damn kid."

Chakwas arched a brow. "And yet, you insisted on staying in the medbay despite my very clear instructions that you were free to leave after treatment."

Aethyta grumbled something under her breath, shifting again like she was uncomfortable. Then she sighed. "Look, Doc. I don’t get sentimental over just anyone. But that girl? That girl didn’t just fight. She survived. When everyone else got torn apart, she was the one still standing." She paused. "She shouldn’t have had to."

Chakwas studied her momentarily, then turned her gaze back to Shepard. "No," she agreed quietly. "She shouldn’t have."

The two fell into silence for a moment, listening to the rhythm of the medical monitors and the soft hum of the Normandy’s engines beneath their feet. Then Aethyta, ever restless, exhaled sharply and stretched her arms over her head. "All right, Doc. Hit me with the bad news. How’s the kid doing?"

Chakwas tapped a few notes into her datapad before responding. "Severe exhaustion. Multiple contusions, mild concussion, moderate dehydration, a broken rib, and two cracked. Several moderate lacerations needed sealing, but no permanent damage. She’ll need rest, but she’ll recover."

Aethyta let out a low whistle. "Not bad for someone who went through hell."

Chakwas looked at her. "Not bad? Matriarch, she’s in critical condition. She might not have made it if she hadn’t been stabilised on-site."

Aethyta shrugged. "Yeah, well. I meant more in the ‘damn, this kid can take a beating’ kind of way."

Chakwas sighed, shaking her head. "She shouldn’t have had to," she repeated, softer this time.

Aethyta glanced at her again. Then, with an unexpected softness—"Yeah. I know."

They both looked at Shepard again. The kid had been through more in one day than most soldiers saw in a lifetime. And yet—she had survived. But at what cost?

The medbay doors slid open with a soft hiss. Liara hesitated at the entrance, her hands clasped together, uncertainty written across her face. Her mother had sent her here, but now that she was standing inside, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do.

The room was quiet—eerily so, compared to the chaos of the battlefield. The only sounds were the steady beeping of Shepard’s monitors and the faint murmur of the Normandy’s engines.

She looked toward the hospital bed where Zoey Shepard lay, unconscious, pale against the white sheets. She looked fragile. And after everything Liara had seen her do—that didn’t feel right.

A small part of her had thought Shepard would always be moving, always fighting. But now, she was utterly still. Liara swallowed hard, her stomach twisting; she didn't know why it hurt so much to see Shepard like this.

She just knew that it did—a rustling of fabric. Aethyta, seated on the next bed, glanced up from where Chakwas had finished treating her wounds.

She studied Liara for a moment—really looked at her. Her daughter wasn’t just shaken. She was hurting. And Aethyta—not one for sentimental bullshit—still knew when her kid needed her. With a sigh, she patted the space beside her. "C’mon, kid. Sit."

Liara hesitated. "I—"

"Don’t argue, just sit your ass down."

Liara let out a quiet huff—half annoyance, half reluctant relief. She moved toward the bed, perching awkwardly on the edge. Aethyta leaned back, stretching out a little, her tone lighter than before.

"You look like someone kicked your pet varren."

Liara shot her a look. "I don’t have a pet varren."

"Yeah, well, you’ve got that same kicked-puppy look. It’s weird. Don’t like it." Liara sighed, but she didn’t argue. Aethyta leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees. Her voice, when she spoke again, was softer. "You scared, kid?"

Liara stiffened. She wasn’t sure what to say. Fear wasn’t something she was supposed to admit to. She was a scientist—a scholar. She was supposed to be logical.

But nothing about today had been logical. Her hands tightened in her lap. "I don’t know what I am."

Aethyta exhaled, scratching the back of her head. "Yeah, that’s normal." Liara blinked, looking at her father. Aethyta shrugged. "After your first real battle, your first real loss—it screws with your head. You start questioning everything." She jerked her chin toward Shepard. "And then you see someone like that—some dumb kid standing when no one else could—and it messes you up even more."

Liara’s throat tightened because that was exactly it. She had seen Shepard break. Had seen her sobbing, shaking, trying to hold herself together when there was nothing left to hold onto.

But Shepard was still here. She was still fighting, even now, just by breathing. And Liara—for all her intelligence, for all her education—had no idea how to process that.

Aethyta nudged her gently with her elbow. "Don’t overthink it, kid."

Liara frowned. "That is fundamentally against my nature."

Aethyta snorted. "Yeah, I know. You got that from your mother."

Liara sighed, but some of the tightness in her chest eased. Aethyta just sat there, solid, warm, grounding. And even though she was still blunt, still crass, still Aethyta—she had known precisely what Liara needed.

The doors hissed open again. Matriarch Benezia entered the medbay, her presence immediately shifting the atmosphere. She moved with her usual grace, but her eyes were sharp and calculating. Anderson followed just behind her, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Aethyta sat up straighter. "So, what’s the verdict?" she asked, nodding toward Shepard. "We pin a medal on her chest and ship her off back to boot camp?"

Benezia’s gaze lingered on the unconscious girl. Then, with quiet certainty, she said, "No."

Anderson exhaled. "Figured you’d say that."

Aethyta raised an eyebrow. "What, you got some secret plan for the kid?"

Benezia met her gaze, then glanced back at Shepard. "I looked into her past."

Liara’s brow furrowed. "Why?"

Benezia didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she spoke evenly and carefully. "She is an orphan."

The room went quiet. Anderson sighed but shifted on his feet. "Yeah. No known next of kin. Parents were killed when she was a kid."

Liara felt her chest tighten. Before this, she had never considered where Shepard had come from or wondered who awaited her after the battle. But now she knew. No one.

Aethyta exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Shit."

Benezia continued. "She has no family, no home beyond the Alliance. And given what she has endured, I do not believe sending her back into the military as though nothing has changed is… appropriate."

Anderson grunted. "The Alliance brass will want to make her a symbol."

Aethyta rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah, that’s what she needs—a bunch of politicians parading her around like a damn war poster. That’ll fix everything."

Liara looked at her mother. "You’re suggesting she come with us?"

Benezia nodded. "If she wishes it."

Anderson frowned. "And if she doesn’t?"

Benezia glanced at Shepard, her expression softening just slightly. "Then she must choose her path."

Liara watched as her parents exchanged another look—one of silent agreement. Shepard wasn’t just a survivor to them. She was someone they wanted to protect.

Liara wasn’t sure how she felt about that yet. But as she looked at the sleeping human, fragile yet unbreakable, she knew one thing.  No matter what came next—she wanted to be there when Shepard woke up.

-͟͟͞☆

The room was quiet. The steady beeping of the monitors and the soft hum of the ship’s engines were the only sounds that filled the space. Shepard stirred.

For a moment, she wasn’t sure where she was. She wasn’t sure if she was still on Elysium, still fighting, still hearing the screams of dying soldiers, the thunder of gunfire.

She wasn’t sure if she was still that girl standing alone against an army. But then—awareness crept in.

Her body ached, a deep, bone-weary exhaustion settling into every fibre. Her ribs protested as she shifted, her fingers twitching against the fabric of the medical cot. Her throat was dry, raw.

She blinked slowly, vision swimming in the dim light. And then—she saw her.

Liara. She was sitting beside her bed, hands folded in her lap, watching her with an unreadable expression. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Shepard wasn’t sure if she could. She didn’t know what to say or how to begin processing what had happened.

So she didn’t. She just breathed, removed her mask, and then—she cried.

Liara watched as silent tears slipped down Shepard’s face. No sound. No gasping sobs. Just tears falling freely, trailing down her cheeks. Liara felt something tighten in her chest.

She had spent the past few hours re-hearing about what this girl had done. She had heard soldiers murmuring in quiet, awed voices about how she had held the line. She had seen her parents—both powerful, experienced Matriarchs—lay claim to her as if it were the most obvious thing in the galaxy.

And yet—now that Liara was seeing her up close, awake, vulnerable…

She saw what everyone else had seemed to forget. Shepard was just a child.

Liara had lived for just short of a century, and in the eyes of most Asari, she was still considered young. Still inexperienced. But Shepard—this girl, this human—was only sixteen. By Asari's standards, she was barely more than an infant. And yet, she had fought like a war hero.

She had held the weight of an entire battle on her shoulders. And now—now that it was over, now that she was safe, now that she had no orders to follow, no enemy to fight—she was breaking.

Liara didn’t know what to do. She had no words to offer, no reassurance that wouldn’t sound hollow. So she just sat there, watching as Shepard curled in on herself, trembling from the weight of everything she had been forced to endure.

And then—Shepard spoke: "I killed people." She stared at her hands.

She scrubbed the blood off and washed it away in the medbay’s sterilisation sink under Karin Chakwaz's ever-watchful eye, watching the water swirl red, then pink, then clear.

But she still felt it. Still saw it in the spaces between her fingers. Still felt it under her nails, deep in the creases of her palms, in the callouses worn into her skin from gripping a rifle.

The weight of her words settled between them. I killed people.

She had expected it to sound different. Sharper. More final.

Instead, it just… sat there. Empty.

Liara hesitated. “Shepard—”

Shepard inhaled sharply. “I—I don’t even know how many.” Her voice cracked. The rawest, ugliest truth clawed up her throat before she could swallow it. “I lost count.” Her breath stuttered, her chest tightening, something panicked and choking curling in her ribs. “I kept pulling the trigger,” she whispered. “Kept shooting. Kept moving. And now—”

Her hands shook.

“Now it’s quiet,” she rasped. “And I don’t—I don’t know how to make it stop.”

She closed her eyes.

Because every time she blinked, she saw them. Not just the mercenaries—the ones who had fired first, the ones she had been taught to kill. No.

She saw Jenkins, crumpled against a wall, blood soaking his collar.

She saw Vasquez with a hole in her chest, giving her last order.

She saw O’Connell, face slack, fingers twitching in the dirt before they stopped moving.

And her own voice—calm, flat, automatic—repeating: Elysium doesn’t fall today.

Like it was that simple. Like it was that easy. Her stomach twisted. She clenched her hands into fists, trying to breathe and hold herself together.

But then—a touch.

Gentle. Just the slightest pressure against her wrist. Her eyes snapped open.

Liara. She wasn’t saying anything. She wasn’t trying to tell her it was okay or that she had done the right thing.

She was just… there.

Present. Solid.

Shepard swallowed, her throat raw.

“You’re safe,” Liara whispered.

Shepard’s breath hitched. She didn’t feel safe. She didn’t feel anything except adrift—a weightless, hollow thing floating in a ship full of strangers, with ghosts clinging to her skin.

But she didn’t pull away from Liara’s touch.

Then—the medbay doors slid open with a quiet hiss. The air shifted. Liara turned, and her parents stepped inside. Aethyta wasn’t wearing her armour anymore—just a loose shirt and Alliance combat pants, somewhat similar to her usual casual wear, well, when Benezia didn’t make her wear a dress. But even out of armour, she still looked like someone who had just walked off a battlefield.

There were still traces of blood on her knuckles, a faint stiffness in her movements from her own injuries. But none of that seemed to matter because her focus was entirely on Shepard. Her eyes flicked to Liara, to how she held Shepard’s wrist, and something unreadable crossed her face. Then, carefully, she stepped forward. "How you holdin’ up, kid?"

Shepard didn’t answer. Didn’t even look up.

Aethyta exhaled, running a hand over her crest, glancing at Benezia as if unsure what the hell she was supposed to do. Then, after a moment, she sighed and moved closer. She pulled up one of the chairs from beside the bed, flipping it around so she could straddle it, her arms resting on the backrest.

"Y’know," she said, voice lighter than before, but not without weight, "I’ve seen a lot of battle-hardened bastards break after a fight like that." Her tone was carefully casual. "Doesn’t make you weak, kid." Shepard didn’t react at first. But her breath stuttered slightly. Aethyta noticed. Her voice softened just a little. "Hell, if you weren’t fallin’ apart right now, I’d be worried."

Shepard’s hands clenched in the sheets. Still, she said nothing. But Aethyta didn’t push. She just sat there, watching, waiting. Giving Shepard the space she needed as she got lost once more in her thoughts.

Anderson entered the medbay, his gaze sharp, assessing. He had seen soldiers like this before—ones who had fought too hard, survived too much, and were left barely holding together. His eyes fell on Shepard, then to Benezia.

"She needs time," he said. "But the Alliance is going to want to debrief her eventually. They’re already talking about what comes next."

Benezia straightened, her expression unreadable. Then, coolly—"No."

Anderson blinked. "What?"

"She will not be remaining in Alliance service," Benezia said smoothly. "Not in this condition. She is in no position to make that choice for herself."

Anderson exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. "Matriarch, you can’t just—"

"I can. And I will." The air in the room seemed to shift. Even Aethyta straightened slightly, watching with interest. Benezia stepped forward, her gaze locked onto Anderson’s with unwavering certainty. "This girl has suffered enough. She is not another Alliance asset to be paraded around as a war hero. She is not some propaganda tool to be exploited. She is a child."

Anderson’s jaw tightened. "And what do you expect me to do, Matriarch? Just let her walk away?"

Benezia lifted her chin. "Yes."

Anderson let out a slow breath, clearly weighing his options, finally, he crossed his arms. "You’re making this official, aren’t you?"

Benezia’s expression remained unreadable. “If necessary.”

Anderson exhaled sharply. He had seen plenty of politicians use measured words as weapons. Still, Benezia wasn’t just any politician—she was a Matriarch, which meant when she said “if necessary,” she had already won.

But damn it, he wasn’t about to roll over just yet. He crossed his arms. “Shepard belongs with the Alliance.”

Aethyta snorted from where she stood. “Yeah? That worked out great for her so far?”

Anderson shot her a sharp look, but she just raised her brow, unimpressed. He turned back to Benezia. “She trained for this. She fought for this. She earned her place.”

Benezia tilted her head slightly, as if weighing his words. “She is a child.”

“She’s a soldier,” Anderson corrected.

Benezia met his gaze evenly. “She is sixteen.”

Anderson’s jaw clenched. “I’ve seen younger fight in worse wars.”

“And I have seen Asari, centuries older, fall apart under far lesser burdens.” Benezia’s voice remained calm, level, but unyielding. “You mistake endurance for preparedness, Captain.”

Anderson took a step forward. “We don’t just let go of soldiers like her. You know what she did today. She held the line when no one else could.”

“I know.”

“She’s a hero.”

“I know,” Benezia repeated, voice smooth as polished steel. “And I know what your Alliance will do with heroes.”

Anderson stilled.

Benezia studied him, sensing the hesitation in his silence. She adjusted the fall of her robes, then continued, voice softer but no less firm. “The Alliance will commend her. They will decorate her. They will place a medal on her chest and a title before her name.” A pause. “And then?”

Anderson exhaled through his nose. “And then, she’ll have a future.”

Benezia arched a delicate brow. “Will she?”

Anderson hesitated.

Benezia took a step forward, her presence measured but impossibly heavy. “You are a soldier, Captain. You understand the cost of survival.”

Anderson held her gaze. “Every damn day.”

Benezia nodded. “Then you understand this: what Shepard endured today will not be the last time she is forced to stand alone. The Alliance will hold her up as a symbol, and when the next war comes, when the next battle needs a hero—they will send her into the fire again.”

Anderson’s throat tightened, but he didn’t look away.

“They will use her,” Benezia continued, “until nothing is left of her but a name in an archive.”

Anderson’s fingers curled into fists. She wasn’t wrong. Hell, he knew she wasn’t bad. It was what had happened to every soldier the Alliance had ever turned into a legend.

Wolff.
Dempsey.
Williams.

And now, if they had their way, Shepard. He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “Damn it, Benezia.” She watched him patiently, waiting for him to catch up. Finally, he shook his head. “I can’t just let her go.”

Benezia’s expression remained serene. “Then do not think of it as letting her go.” She tilted her chin slightly. “Think of it as allowing her to choose.”

Anderson hesitated. “You think she’ll pick you?”

Aethyta snorted. “Hell yeah, she will.”

Anderson exhaled, glancing between them. Two Asari Matriarchs—one calm and composed, the other rough and battle-worn—standing between him and a decision he wasn’t sure he could make.

But the truth was, the decision had already been made. Shepard wasn’t staying on this ship. Not if they could help it.

Finally, reluctantly, Anderson nodded. “We’ll get her patched up,” he said gruffly. “We’ll talk about this when she wakes up.”

Benezia inclined her head. “That is all I ask.”

But Anderson knew, deep down—this wasn’t just a conversation. It was a battle, and he had just lost.

Anderson was quiet for a long moment. Then, with visible reluctance—he turned toward Shepard, who was still silent, still trembling, still lost in something deep inside her own mind. Anderson sighed. "Damn shame. She’s got the makings of something great."

Benezia didn’t flinch. "She already is great."

Anderson gave a slow nod, then turned and left the room. The doors hissed shut behind him. Aethyta watched the whole thing with an impressed look on her face. Then, after a moment—she let out a low whistle.

"Damn, Bene..”

Benezia didn’t react. "I do what is necessary."

Aethyta grinned. "Shit, that was hot."

Liara immediately whipped her head toward her. "Father!"

Aethyta just laughed, throwing an arm over the back of her chair. "What? Can’t help it. Power’s sexy, kid. That’s how you got made."

Liara groaned, burying her face in her hands. Benezia exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose. Shepard, despite everything—despite the tears, despite the weight pressing down on her—let out the faintest, strangled sound.

Aethyta smirked. "See? The kid gets it."

Benezia momentarily closed her eyes, debating whether this was the battle she wished to fight. Liara sighed dramatically.

-͟͟͞ ☆

The Normandy’s comms room was dimly lit, the quiet hum of the ship’s systems filling the air as Anderson activated the secure channel. The battle for Elysium had ended, but the political struggle was beginning.

He wasn’t looking forward to this conversation. “Normandy to Everest,” he said, his voice firm as he keyed in the encryption protocols. “Priority request. I need a direct link to Fleet Admiral Hackett.”

There was a pause before the familiar, clipped voice of the Everest Comms officer responded. “Everest here. Stand by for transfer.”

A few seconds later, Vice Admiral Nylae’s holographic form flickered to life before him. The Turian’s mandibles twitched slightly, irritation evident even through the distorted transmission. “Captain Anderson,” she greeted her tone neutral but edged with something sharper. “Took you long enough to check in.”

Anderson exhaled sharply. “I’ve been occupied.”

“I can imagine,” she replied dryly. “Hackett’s schedule is stretched thin as it is. If this is about your after-action report, the Fleet Admiral will review it in due time.”

Anderson didn’t have time for this. “I need to speak with him now.”

Nylae’s eyes narrowed slightly. “He’s not available.”

Anderson’s jaw tightened. “Then make him available, Vice Admiral.”

A brief silence. Nylae regarded him carefully as if weighing how much pushback she was willing to entertain. “You’re not the only officer dealing with the fallout of Elysium, Captain. Alliance Command wants answers.”

Anderson folded his arms. “Then let me save everyone some time—I have the only answer that matters.”

Nylae’s mandibles twitched again, irritation shifting into reluctant curiosity. “...And what would that be?”

Anderson’s voice was stern. “Hackett is going to want to hear it himself.”

For a moment, it looked like she might push back further. Then, with a quiet huff, she tapped a command into her console. “Fine,” she muttered. “Stand by.”

The transmission flickered. Anderson inhaled slowly, steeling himself. The audio shifted to static, and then—Hackett’s form appeared.

The Fleet Admiral’s expression was like carved stone, his weathered features set in a deep frown. His voice, when he spoke, was like gravel.

“Anderson.”

Anderson straightened instinctively. “Sir.”

Hackett’s eyes burned with quiet fury. “You’d better have a damn good reason for interrupting my evening.”

Anderson straightened. “I do.”

Hackett exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. “I’ve spent the past six hours dealing with the fact that Elysium turned into the biggest goddamn embarrassment in recent Alliance history.” His voice was cold, clipped. “An entire garrison wiped out. An admiral, dead. And the only reason there’s still a colony left to protect is because a sixteen-year-old recruit did the job of an entire battalion.”

Anderson’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Hackett leaned forward. “So tell me, Captain, why in the hell is Shepard not on her way to Arcturus right now?”

Anderson met his gaze evenly. “Because the Asari took her in.”

Hackett’s frown deepened. “You let them?”

Anderson exhaled. “Wasn’t much of a choice, sir. Benezia and Aethyta weren’t asking for permission. And after what Shepard pulled off, I wasn’t about to start a fight with two Matriarchs.”

Hackett muttered something under his breath, shaking his head. “Damn asari. Always looking out for their own interests.”

Anderson hesitated. “You think they’re playing an angle?”

Hackett scoffed. “They’re always playing an angle. But in this case, it might be a blessing in disguise.”

Anderson frowned. “How do you figure?”

Hackett leaned back slightly, expression still hard. “Because the alternative is worse.” His tone shifted, lowering just slightly. “You think the brass is going to let this go? A recruit—not even a proper Marine—just made an entire unit look incompetent. The politicians will either want to turn her into a hero, or they’ll want to make sure no one ever hears her name again.”

Anderson’s fingers curled into fists. “She deserves better than that.”

Hackett studied him for a moment. Then, after a pause, he exhaled slowly. “This isn’t just about what she deserves, David.” Something about the way he said it made Anderson’s stomach twist. Hackett’s gaze darkened. “You and I both know there are things in Shepard’s past that cannot come to light.” Then—his voice dropped to a low, warning growl. “Revenant.”

Anderson inhaled sharply. His throat felt tight. “...Sir.” The word hit like a gunshot. A ghost from a past no one was supposed to remember.

Hackett’s expression didn’t change. “Do you understand me, Captain?”

Anderson swallowed, keeping his face carefully neutral. He understood. Of course, he did. But hearing the name aloud—after all these years—it sent an ugly chill down his spine.

Revenant .

Officially? It didn’t exist. It was nothing more than a blacked-out file in the Alliance’s deepest classified archives. No names. No reports. Just a handful of unanswered questions and a trail of bodies.

Unofficially?

Unofficially, it was a scar. One Anderson had tried to forget.

He exhaled slowly, forcing his voice to stay even. “I assume the brass doesn’t know.”

Hackett snorted. “Hell no. And we’re going to keep it that way.” His voice was iron. “I’ll handle the admirals. I’ll keep them distracted, give them just enough to keep them from digging. But you—” He pointed at Anderson. “You make sure Shepard’s past stays buried. I don’t care what the Asari do with her. If she disappears into the Republics, fine. But if anyone starts asking too many questions—shut it down.”

Anderson hesitated. That was the problem. The Asari weren’t just taking Shepard. Benezia T’Soni was taking her.

Benezia—the Matriarch known for her ruthless intelligence. A woman with Council ties, Republic influence, and enough resources to pull secrets out of the darkest places in the galaxy.

If anyone could find out about Revenant, it was her.

Anderson exhaled slowly, then squared his shoulders. “Maybe she should know.”

Hackett stilled. The air in the room shifted. Anderson knew that look. It was the same one Hackett had when some poor bastard suggested surrender during the First Contact War.

Hackett’s hand slowly went to his beard, fingers stroking through the silver strands—a rare, thoughtful gesture. The old Admiral was thinking. Hard. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured, careful. “Do you trust her?”

Anderson held his ground. “She doesn’t make moves lightly. If she’s stepping in for Shepard, it’s not out of the kindness of her heart. She sees something in this girl.”

Hackett grunted. “That’s what worries me.”

“She’s too smart for her own good, sure. But she’s got a reputation for keeping things quiet when it benefits her.” Anderson crossed his arms. “If we don’t tell her, and she starts digging—”

“She’ll find it,” Hackett finished, the weight of the words settling between them.

A long silence stretched between them. Then—Hackett sighed, rubbing his temple before dragging a hand down his face. He looked tired. More tired than Anderson had ever seen him.

Finally, he exhaled sharply. “Use your judgment.” Anderson blinked. Hackett’s gaze sharpened. “But understand this, Captain—whatever you decide, Revenant does not see the light of day.”

The words carried finality, an unspoken warning wrapped in steel.

Anderson felt the weight of it settle over him. “Understood.”

Hackett studied him for a long moment. Then, with visible reluctance, he muttered, “Damn Asari politics.”

Anderson let out a short, humorless chuckle. “You get used to it.”

Hackett scoffed. “I don’t get used to a goddamn thing, David.” He straightened. “Get your crew sorted. We’ll talk again once the dust settles.”

And with that, the transmission cut out. Anderson was left in silence.

Revenant .

The word echoed in his mind, a shadow from a past best left buried, a name that should have stayed dead.

And now, Anderson had to decide whether to risk telling Benezia.

Because if she wasn’t already looking for the truth—she soon would be.

Anderson exhaled slowly, running a hand down his face. His gut was still tight with tension. Revenant. He didn’t know what was worse—that it was still a problem or that Hackett had clarified that it would always be a problem.

The Normandy’s comm systems flickered again. “Incoming transmission,” the ship’s VI announced. “Origin: Everest.”

Anderson arched a brow. He had a good idea who was on the other end. With a resigned sigh, he reactivated the link. The holographic display crackled to life, and Vice Admiral Nylae’s stern Turian face reappeared, her expression unreadable.

“Captain Anderson,” she greeted, her tone still edged with formality. “Your business with Hackett concluded?”

Anderson snorted. “You were listening in, weren’t you?”

Nylae’s mandibles twitched slightly. “I don’t habitually eavesdrop on private conversations between my superior and one of his captains.”

Anderson gave her a look. “That wasn’t a no.”

She tilted her head, giving an amused chuckle. “It was a warning. Don’t let your guard down, Captain. You’re walking a thin line, and Hackett won’t be the only one watching.”

Anderson exhaled. “Yeah, yeah. What do you need, Nylae?”

Her tone shifted, more businesslike. “A status report on the Normandy. I want to know how she performed in live combat.”

That caught Anderson off guard. “You’re asking me for a report on my ship?”

“I am,” she confirmed. “As you well know, the Normandy is part of a joint Hierarchy-Alliance initiative.” Her mandibles twitched again in what might have been an approximation of a smirk. “And this particular project is mine to oversee.”

Anderson let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “So, that’s why Hackett keeps you close. You’re his in with the Hierarchy.”

Nylae’s expression remained unreadable. “Among other things.”

Anderson leaned back slightly, arms crossed. “All right, fine. Do you want a review? As expected from an advanced stealth frigate, she held up well in combat, kept us mobile, allowed us to strike fast, and didn’t take any serious damage. Your engineers did good work.”

Nylae gave a slow, approving nod. “I expected no less. The design was a calculated risk—more manoeuvrability in exchange for reducing defensive redundancies. It’s good to know the trade-off was worth it.”

Anderson chuckled. “That’s a very Turian way of looking at it.”

She arched a brow. “And what way would you prefer?”

He smirked. “I’d rather say it punches above its weight class.”

Nylae chuckled. “A very Human way of looking at it.”

Anderson let the moment linger before tilting his head. “So… how’s your counterpart doing?”

Nylae’s mandibles flared slightly, a brief flicker of amusement crossing her face. “Probably getting eaten alive.” Anderson raised a brow, so she elaborated. “The Hierarchy and the Alliance are working on several projects together.” She paused, then added dryly, “My counterpart is assigned to his.”

It took Anderson a second to put the pieces together. Then he laughed. “You’re telling me a lone Human officer is assigned to a Turian flagship? God, I don’t envy them.”

Nylae let out an amused hum. “Neither do I.”

Anderson shook his head. “Poor bastard must be up to their neck in regulations.”

“Regulations,” Nylae agreed, “and scrutiny. Humans are many things, Captain—stubborn, reckless—but respectful when necessary. That said, I don’t envy a lone Human trying to navigate my navy’s hierarchy.” She tilted her head slightly. “The discipline alone must be suffocating for them.”

Anderson grinned. “We don’t exactly run our ships like Turian war cruisers.”

“No, you don’t,” Nylae admitted. “Which is precisely why Hackett and I are keeping a close eye on how these collaborations develop.”

Anderson’s amusement faded slightly. “That another warning?”

“A simple fact,” Nylae replied evenly. “This project is a test. The Normandy—your ship—is proof of concept. You know how these things go, Anderson. If the results are good, we get more ships like her. If not… well.” She let that hang.

Anderson sighed. “Yeah. I get it.”

Nylae studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Good. Then I expect a full, detailed report within the next twenty-four hours.”

Anderson smirked. “You always this pushy?”

“Only when it gets results,” she said smoothly.

Anderson shook his head with a slight chuckle. “Fine. You’ll get your damn report.”

Nylae gave him a sharp nod. “Good. Then I won’t take up any more of your time, Captain.”

With that, the transmission cut, leaving Anderson alone once more in the dim glow of the comm room. He exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

First Hackett. Now Nylae. This day just kept getting longer.

-͟͟͞ ☆

The medbay was silent, save for the Normandy’s engines' soft hum and the medical monitors' quiet beeping. The others had left—Aethyta, Liara, Anderson—leaving only one figure standing by the bedside.

Matriarch Benezia.

She stood perfectly still, hands folded before her, watching the young human girl resting against the hospital bed’s stiff pillows. Shepard—Zoey—was still pale, her golden hair dishevelled, and her body visibly exhausted despite the healing procedures Dr Chakwas had performed.

She was awake, though. Awake but silent.

Her blue eyes were open, and she stared blankly at the ceiling. She had been like this since the others left, her expression hollow. Her fingers curled lightly into the sheets as if bracing herself for something. Benezia knew that silence well.

After a moment, she stepped closer, her robes rustling softly. “Would you like me to leave?” she asked, voice calm.

Zoey blinked once, slowly, then turned her head to look at her. “...No.”

It was the first thing she had said in nearly an hour. Benezia inclined her head slightly, then moved to sit in the chair beside her bed. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, softly—Zoey’s voice cracked. “I killed people.”

Benezia breathed in slowly, closing her eyes for a brief second before opening them again. The words were empty and toneless, but there was something raw beneath that emptiness. Something heavy.

She nodded once, accepting the statement for what it was. “Yes.” Zoey’s fingers curled tighter into the sheets. Benezia tilted her head slightly. “Do you regret it?”

A sharp inhale. A flicker of something in Zoey’s eyes—something caught between grief and confusion. “I—I don’t know.”

Benezia regarded her carefully. “Then what is it that troubles you?”

Zoey swallowed hard, her throat visibly constricting. “I—” She hesitated. “I had to do it,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “If I hadn’t, people would have died. I know that. But… it still feels…” She trailed off, shaking her head as if she couldn’t quite find the words.

“It feels wrong,” Benezia finished for her. “Killing is never something that should feel right, child,” she said softly. “Even when it is necessary. Even when it is justified, the moment it becomes easy and stops hurting, you should begin to fear what you are becoming.”

Zoey’s breath hitched slightly, and Benezia could see the fight within her—the desperate need to hold herself together, push past it, and survive because that was all she had ever known how to do.

Zoey’s gaze flickered toward her, uncertain. Benezia continued. “You are not a machine, Zoey. You are not a weapon, nor are you an executioner. You are a living being with a mind and a heart. Killing—even when it is necessary—should weigh on you.” She studied the girl, her voice remaining steady. “Because if it does not… then you have lost something precious.”

Zoey swallowed again, her body tense. “So it’s… okay? To feel like this?”

Benezia gave her a slight, solemn nod. “It is natural. It is human.” She paused, then added, “It is also Asari.”

Zoey blinked at her, caught off guard. “...What?”

Benezia’s expression remained serene. “You assume this weight is yours alone to bear. That it makes you weak, or wrong, or different.” She shook her head slightly. “But you are not alone in this, Zoe. Many Asari—many soldiers, many warriors—have felt as you do now. Who have walked this path before you and will walk it after you.”

Zoey stared at her for a long moment. “...I don’t understand.”

Benezia shifted slightly in her seat. “Tell me, Zoey—how much do you know of Asari culture?”

Zoey frowned slightly, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. “...Not much. Just what I’ve read in archives.”

“And what do those articles say?”

Zoey hesitated. “That you live a long time. That you’re all… uh, biotic? And that you don’t have, um, males.”

Benezia gave her a mildly amused look. “That is a rather simplified version of our people, yes.”

Zoey flushed slightly. “I—I wasn’t paying attention to culture when learning about aliens. I was more interested in technology and, you know, not getting shot.”

Benezia gave a slight hum of understanding. “Then allow me to enlighten you.” Zoey shifted slightly, looking at her more directly. Benezia folded her hands in her lap. “You are sixteen years old. In human terms, you are on the cusp of adulthood—or at least, responsibility. Your people view sixteen as an age where one may be expected to make choices that will shape their life.”

Zoey gave a small, bitter chuckle. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

Benezia’s expression remained gentle. “For an Asari, sixteen is… quite different.”

Zoey hesitated. “...How different?”

Benezia tilted her head slightly. “An Asari at sixteen is still, in many ways, a child. Perhaps not an infant, but certainly not a person capable of making lasting decisions. At sixteen, Asari have barely begun to form their understanding of the world. They have yet to enter their Maiden phase, a time meant for curiosity, exploration, and learning.”

Zoey’s brow furrowed slightly. “But… you don’t start training? Or fighting?”

Benezia shook her head. “Most do not. Some take to combat early, of course, but it is not expected of us. At sixteen, an Asari is still many decades from being considered mature.”

Zoey absorbed that, frowning deeper. “...So you’re saying I’m a baby?”

Benezia gave a light chuckle. “By our standards? Yes.”

Zoey groaned, rubbing her face. “Oh god.”

Benezia watched her for a moment, and then her expression softened. “You must understand, Zoey—what you have experienced and done is something no human child should have endured. And yet, by your culture’s standards, you are expected to carry it.”

Zoey swallowed. “...And by yours?”

Benezia’s voice was calm. “By ours, you are a child forced to bear the burdens of war far too soon.”

Zoey’s breath hitched slightly, her hands gripping the sheets. “...Then what the hell am I supposed to do with it?”

Benezia hesitated only a moment before reaching out—not forcefully, not demandingly, but with quiet certainty. Her fingers settled gently over Zoey’s clenched hands, offering warmth and presence.

“You do what all beings must do, Zoey.” Her voice was warm and steady. “You learn to live with it.” Zoey inhaled sharply, her throat tight. Benezia squeezed her hand gently. “You are not alone, Zoey. You do not have to carry this weight by yourself.”

For a moment, Zoey said nothing. Then—her fingers twitched slightly under Benezia’s touch. Benezia had spent centuries learning to maintain her composure.

As a Matriarch, diplomat, and leader, she had trained herself to be calm, measured, and in control. She had spoken before Councils, stood in war rooms, and negotiated peace between species that had only known conflict. And yet, sitting beside the hospital bed of a sixteen-year-old girl, she felt something stir in her that she had not expected.

Anger.

Not the cold, calculated kind she wielded when dealing with political adversaries. Not the quiet frustration she carried when coping with the Hierarchy’s stubbornness or the Salarian Union’s insufferable games. No, this was something else. It was raw and personal, and the anger that comes when you see something unjust and know you cannot stand by and let it continue.

She exhaled slowly, shifting her grip just enough to uncurl Zoey’s clenched fingers and lace them gently between hers. The girl’s skin was cold, trembling slightly, but she did not resist. Benezia squeezed her hand gently. For a long moment, there was nothing but silence.

Then—Zoey inhaled, shuddering, as if she remembered how to breathe for the first time in hours. Benezia let her. She did not push or demand anything from her. She stayed.

Minutes passed before she finally spoke again. “Come with us,” she said softly.

Zoey’s breath caught. She pulled her hand away, sitting up slightly, her exhausted body protesting the movement. “What?”

Benezia did not move. Did not falter. “Come with us. To Thessia. To the Republics.”

Zoey stared at her as if she had spoken in a language she didn’t understand. “Why?” she asked, and for the first time, her voice held something more than exhaustion—scepticism.

Benezia inhaled, choosing her words carefully. But when she spoke, it was not with the calculated precision of a Matriarch. It was something deeper, something real. “Because you deserve more than what you have been given,” she said. Zoey stiffened, and Benezia saw the flash of something in her eyes—something uncertain, something wary.

She pressed forward. “I have lived a long time, Zoey. And when you live long enough, you learn to see the bigger picture. You learn to recognise the moments that matter.” She exhaled slowly. “And this—you—matter.”

Zoey swallowed hard. “You don’t even know me,” she argued, but her voice lacked strength.

Benezia smiled. Not a political smile, not a diplomatic one, but something real. “I know enough.” She reached forward again—not forcing, not commanding, but offering. And this time, when her fingers brushed Zoey’s, the girl did not pull away.

“I do not want to see the Alliance use you,” Benezia murmured. “I do not want them to shape you into something that serves them rather than serves you.” Zoey stared at her, something raw and unreadable in her eyes. Benezia inhaled slowly. “I want you to have a family, Zoey.”

Zoey swallowed hard. Benezia gave a small, knowing smile. “And I want us to be that family.”

Silence.

The weight of the words hung between them, and for the first time, Benezia saw something in Zoey’s expression crack.

She had been alone for so long. For the first time, someone was offering her something else. She did not speak, did not answer. Zoey squeezed her hand, and that, for now, was enough.

Benezia let the silence linger, allowing Zoey to consider the offer and decide whether to accept it. The girl had been given so few choices in her life—it would not do to take this one away from her.

Then, the medbay doors hissed open. “Well, ain’t this just adorable.” Zoey jumped, yanking her hand back as if she’d been caught doing something illicit.

Benezia sighed. Aethyta leaned against the doorway with a smug grin, arms crossed over her chest, a fresh bandage on her temple from the injuries she’d brushed off earlier. “Walk in on somethin’ sweet, do we?”

Zoey blinked rapidly, still processing the sudden shift in tone, while Benezia straightened, smoothing the fabric of her robes.

Behind Aethyta, Liara’s expression shifted from curiosity to immediate horror. “Father,” Liara hissed, grabbing Aethyta’s arm. “Not now.”

Aethyta smirked, clearly enjoying herself. “What? I’m just sayin’; it’s real cute—Bene gettin’ all soft, kid holdin’ her hand like she’s found her new mommy—”

Zoey gasped, face turning several shades paler and then redder in the span of a second.

Liara buried her face in her hands. “Please stop talking.” Aethyta’s grin only widened.

Benezia closed her eyes briefly, inhaled, exhaled, and then—with a level of patience that only centuries of experience could cultivate—she turned toward her bondmate with all the weariness of someone used to this. “Aethyta.”

Aethyta grinned wider. “Yeah, babe?”

“Must you?”

Aethyta’s brow lifted in mock innocence. “Hey, I didn’t say anythin’ wrong. Just statin’ the obvious here.” Still wide-eyed from the comment, Zoey opened her mouth—but no sound came out.

Liara groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Can we please go one conversation without you making everything unbearable?”

Aethyta shrugged. “Nope.” Liara made a sound of pure suffering, as her father went to sit next to Zoey’s bed.

Benezia, rather than dignifying the entire situation with further commentary, turned back to Zoey and expressed deep regret for allowing this moment to be ruined. Zoey, however, still seemed stuck on something. Her eyes darted between Aethyta and Benezia, confusion warring with delayed comprehension, she turned to Benezia, then to Aethyta, then back to Benezia.

Her brow furrowed slightly. “I’ve heard your name so many times in different places. No one calls you Bene.”

Aethyta smirked. “I do, we, that or Nezzie.”

Zoey gasped, scandalised. “Wait. Does she call you that in important meetings?”

Aethyta grinned. “Damn right, I do.”

Zoey’s horror deepened. “You—during political summits—”

“Oh, that’s my favourite time to do it.”

Benezia sighed, adjusting the sleeves of her robe like a woman who had long since resigned herself to fate. “Aethyta believes that professionalism is an outdated concept.”

Aethyta grinned wider. “Nah, I just believe in keepin’ politicians uncomfortable.” She leaned forward, resting an arm on Zoey’s medbay cot. “Y’see, kid, when some stuffy Salarian tries to back us into a bureaucratic corner, nothing throws ‘em off their game like me turning to Bene and saying, ‘Whaddaya think, babe?’”

Zoey choked. Benezia closed her eyes briefly, inhaled deeply through her nose before exhaling slowly, deliberately. “Aethyta.”

“Yeah, babe?”

Benezia opened her eyes, gaze perfectly composed. “If you ever call me that in front of Councilor Tevos again, I will personally arrange for your next diplomatic posting to be on a Salarian research station.”

Aethyta blinked. “...The dry-ass science ones with no alcohol?”

“The very same.”

A beat. Aethyta pointed at Zoey. “Y’know what? She started this.”

Zoey’s eyes went wide. “I absolutely did not!”

Liara groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Father, you are unbearable.”

Aethyta grinned, unrepentant. “Hey, kid’s gotta learn early—this is what marriage looks like.”

Benezia arched a brow. “If that is the case, then I believe I am long overdue for an annulment.”

Zoey wheezed. Aethyta pressed a hand to her chest, mock-wounded. “Cold, babe. Cold.”

Liara buried her face in her hands. “Please stop talking.”

Aethyta’s grin softened slightly, the teasing edge still there but now laced with something warm. “C’mon, Bene. You love me.”

Zoey turned to Liara, whispering in shock. “She gets away with this?”

Liara sighed, exhausted. “Nothing can stop her.”

Zoey just stared, shaking her head slowly. For the first time in hours, something light, something warm, curled in her chest. It wasn’t much. But it was something.

She let out a small, breathless chuckle.

Aethyta smirked. “See? The kid gets it.”

Benezia sighed, but there was the ghost of a smile in her eyes, and for the first time since Elysium, Zoey felt like maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t entirely alone, but stopped realising she was laughing. Zoey frowned slightly, then swallowed as if the act was taboo.

Liara arched a brow. “You are allowed to find things funny, you know.”

A beat of silence passed between them. Then, tentatively, Liara sat down beside her. Zoey glanced at her, a little unsure, but she said nothing. Aethyta, of course, noticed immediately.

“Look at that,” she said, grinning as she gestured toward the two of them. “Already warmin’ up to your little sister.”

Zoey choked. Liara immediately turned a shade of blue that suggested she was experiencing something between horror and resignation. “By the Goddess,” she muttered, closing her eyes.

Aethyta was enjoying herself far too much, watching Zoey struggle to form a coherent response. “Y’know,” Aethyta added thoughtfully, “she’s already sittin’ next to you, already lookin’ up at you like you’re a lost little Maiden—”

Zoey gasped. “I do not!”

Liara groaned louder. “Please stop talking.”

Aethyta grinned. “What? Just statin’ the facts, kiddo.”

Zoey turned to Benezia with an expression of deep betrayal. “You’re just letting this happen?”

Benezia, who had long since resigned herself to her bondmate’s antics, gave her a mildly exasperated look. “I have learned that attempting to control Aethyta is a futile endeavour.”

Aethyta snorted. “That’s what makes me fun, babe.”

Still trying to get a handle on everything happening, Zoey turned to Liara. Liara refused to look at her. Silence fell over the room for a brief moment, then, quietly—Zoey mumbled, “So… sisters, huh?”

Liara let out a long, suffering groan and dropped her head into her hands. Aethyta cackled. “Goddess, I love this kid.”

Still flushed, Zoey glanced between them, clearly trying to find her footing in the whirlwind of the T’Soni family dynamic.

Benezia, amid her carefully maintained patience, finally sighed. “Aethyta.”

Aethyta looked at her innocently. “Yeah, Nezzie?”

“Please,” Benezia said, rubbing her temple, “let Zoey breathe.”

Aethyta held up her hands in mock surrender. “All right, all right. I’ll let up. For now.” Liara exhaled in relief. Zoey wasn’t sure if she felt the same. Aethyta smirked, nudging Liara again. “Still, gotta admit, you’re warmin’ up to her already.”

Liara stiffened. Zoey turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow.

Liara pointedly refused to make eye contact. Aethyta smirked. “Yep. Warmin’ up to her.”

Zoey narrowed her eyes. “...You’re enjoying this way too much.”

Aethyta winked. “You have no idea. Benezia sighed again.

Zoey exhaled, pressing a hand to her forehead. “What have I gotten myself into?”

Aethyta grinned. “A family, kid.”

Zoey blinked. The room was still. For all the teasing and absolute chaos Aethyta had brought into the moment, there was something warm beneath it all.

Zoey swallowed.

And—despite everything—despite herself—she smiled.

Just a little.

Chapter Text

The elevator was quiet.

Not just because there was no one else inside—though that was certainly part of it—but because Zoey Shepard had not spoken since they had stepped inside.

She stood still, arms folded tightly over her chest, gaze fixed on the floor. The polished metal reflected her face back at her, distorted by the faint ripples in the surface. Her long blonde hair had been brushed and tucked back neatly behind her ears, but it felt wrong—as if stiff from sweat, smoke, and dried blood.

She looked better. Cleaner.

But she didn’t feel better. Didn’t feel anything at all.

The elevator hummed softly as it ascended, carrying them toward the Asari Embassy. Zoey had no real idea what she was supposed to do once they arrived. She was here because Benezia had said so. Because the Alliance had signed off on it, the alternative was going back, and she couldn’t do that.

She barely even remembered agreeing to come. Everything had been a blur—one moment in the medbay, another on a shuttle, then a walk through the Citadel corridors she didn’t even register.

Now, she was here with Benezia. They were going to get whatever papers or visas or whatever they needed to make her an official resident of Thessia. The future stretched before her, vast and empty, and she had no idea what to do with it.

Benezia watched her carefully from the other side. She had seen this before in soldiers, warriors, and civilians alike, standing in the ruins of their own survival, unable to find their footing.

Some recovered, and some did not. Zoey Shepard looked like someone who did not yet know which she would be.

Benezia did not press her. Did not force conversation.

Benezia shifted slightly, clasping her hands together as she studied Zoey in the reflection of the metal panel. She waited a moment longer, then spoke.  "You do not need to be certain of your path, Zoey." Zoey’s fingers twitched slightly. Benezia’s voice was even, measured—not demanding, not expecting anything from her. Just offering. "Few ever are."

Zoey’s fingers curled slightly against her arms, nails pressing into the fabric of her sleeves. She swallowed, her throat tight.

Benezia continued, her words gentle, yet unwavering. "It is enough to walk forward and see where it leads." Zoey’s breath hitched. She didn’t know why those words hit her as hard as they did. She didn’t understand why she felt she might break again if she thought about them too much.

But she nodded. Just slightly.

The elevator slowed, the console beeping softly to signal their arrival. Benezia didn’t say anything else, she simply turned toward the doors as they slid open, stepping forward with quiet grace.

Zoey lingered for a second longer. Then, with hesitant, unsteady steps—she followed.

The Asari Embassy was quiet. It was not the same kind of quiet Zoey had felt on Normandy’s medbay or in the elevator, where silence had been a weight pressing down on her chest, a void she couldn't escape.

This was different. This was the quiet of bureaucracy.

There were soft murmurs of officials speaking in dignified tones, the faint tapping of fingers against holo-terminals, and the occasional rustle of robes as diplomats moved through the wide, open halls.

It was so pristine. So orderly. Zoey felt like a stain just by standing there. She still felt like she smelled of blood and smoke, even though she knew she didn’t. She still felt like she should be holding a rifle, scanning corners, waiting for the next attack, but there was no battlefield here.

Just a polished embassy full of people who had no idea what she had done. What she had lost. Her fingers twitched at her sides.

Benezia walked beside her, her presence commanding without saying a word. Zoey barely understood how someone could move with that much certainty, like she already knew how the entire day would unfold before it even happened.

She didn’t say anything as they entered the reception area. Didn’t need to. The moment they stepped inside, a well-dressed asari behind the desk looked up, her eyes widening slightly before she quickly stood.

"Matriarch Benezia, welcome. We were informed you would be arriving." Her gaze flickered toward Zoey—brief, curious, but not unkind. Zoey hated it anyway. She was tired of being looked at like she was something to be examined, evaluated, and categorised.

Benezia nodded politely. "We have an appointment to arrange long-term residency for Zoey Shepard."

Zoey barely even registered the words. Long-term. It settled in her stomach like a weight. Permanent. As if this wasn’t just a layover, wasn’t just another stop in the endless drift her life had become as if this was going to be her life now.

The receptionist nodded, typing quickly into her terminal: "Yes, of course. You’re expected. Please proceed to the interior offices—Administrator Talanis will process everything personally."

Benezia nodded, then turned to Zoey. “Come.”

Zoey didn’t move at first. She didn’t look at Benezia; she just stared at the polished floor beneath her feet. A second passed. Then another.

Because she had no idea what else to do, she followed.

-͟͟͞ ☆

The office was quiet, still. Peaceful.

Benezia knew better than to trust that peace. It was the silence of scrutiny, of evaluation.

Administrator Talanis was an efficient woman—older than Benezia by a century, though neither would acknowledge it. She had the sharp, poised demeanour of someone who had spent decades immersed in Thessian bureaucracy, weaving between laws and policies as deftly as any Matriarch in the Republics.

Her office reflected efficiency: clean lines, neatly arranged data files, no unnecessary ornamentation, and practicality over aesthetics. It was a space where negotiations were decided, where futures were dictated, and now, it was where Zoey’s fate would be decided.

Benezia sat before the desk, folding her hands calmly in her lap as she felt the tension beside her—Zoey stood stiffly, bracing for something.

Talanis greeted her respectfully, but her gaze shifted quickly to Zoey. Assessing. Calculating. "You are Zoey Shepard?" Zoey hesitated, then nodded mutely. Talanis hummed. She leaned forward slightly, fingers brushing over her console as she continued, her tone even. "I understand you are seeking residence within the Republics?"

A carefully neutral way to phrase it. Seeking. As if Zoey had come here of her own will. Benezia felt, rather than saw, the way the young girl tensed beside her.

She said nothing, and that said everything.

Before Zoey could be cornered into an answer, Benezia intervened smoothly. "She will be residing on Thessia under my care for the foreseeable future."

Talanis tilted her head slightly, an almost imperceptible shift of her expression—a hint of interest. "She is young," she observed. "I assume you are requesting wardship over her?"

A flicker of something from Zoey. A sharp inhale. Her fingers curled slightly against her sleeves, pressing into the fabric.. Benezia did not react. "I will take full responsibility for her well-being, as will my bondmate."

"That is not in question," Talanis said, voice like silk over steel. "The question is whether such a request is legally feasible."

A pause.

There it was.

Benezia held her gaze.

Talanis continued, "To my knowledge, no human has ever been granted full residency on Thessia outside of temporary diplomatic immunity or research exceptions. The Republics are self-sustaining—we do not grant citizenship lightly. It is not merely a matter of sponsorship. There are laws in place. Laws which, I assume, you are fully aware of."

A challenge.

Benezia smiled—small, patient, the kind that did not reach her eyes. "I am aware of the law, Administrator. Which is why I am not requesting standard citizenship for her."

Talanis arched a brow. "Oh?" Zoey wasn’t sure if that was curiosity or a challenge. Maybe both.

"I am invoking matron’s right to formal wardship," Benezia said smoothly. Talanis blinked. Just once. A momentary pause. "A clause which," Benezia continued, voice calm, "under Republics law, allows an asari of sufficient status to assume guardianship of a non-citizen under exceptional circumstances."

"Exceptional circumstances," Talanis echoed, voice edged with mild amusement. "A convenient phrase. And what, precisely, about this case qualifies as ‘exceptional’?"

Benezia did not flinch. "A human child, left without resources, without a home world, without a future—"

Talanis raised a hand. "Spare me the rhetoric, Matriarch. If I want a morality lecture, I will attend a Council ethics summit."

Zoey flinched slightly at the clipped tone, but Benezia remained impassive.

The administrator leaned back in her chair, studying her. "Wardship is rare. Matron’s right is rarer. And it has never been granted to an alien. You are asking to set a precedent that will outlive us both. Thessia is not a shelter for war orphans, nor are the Republics in the habit of adopting the burdens of the Systems Alliance."

Benezia inclined her head slightly. "I would argue that this is not a precedent, but an extension of an existing clause. The law does not specify that non-citizens cannot be granted wardship—merely that it must be approved under exceptional circumstances."

"A convenient interpretation," Talanis murmured.

"The correct interpretation," Benezia countered.

A pause.

Zoey shifted uncomfortably beside her. Benezia did not need to look to know the girl was fighting the urge to shrink into herself, to disappear under the weight of a conversation that had long since ceased to involve her.

Talanis steepled her fingers. "Even if I allowed this, there are complications. Thessian laws regarding foreign-born individuals place heavy restrictions on property ownership, inheritance, employment—"

"She will not be seeking employment."

"Perhaps not now," Talanis allowed. "But what of a decade from now? Two? Shall we rework our policies every time a Matriarch takes a personal interest in an alien?"

Benezia’s lips curved into something sharper. "An alien who fought to defend asari civilians when no one else could." Talanis stilled. Benezia pressed forward. "She stood against a force that would have left them—me, dead. She is young, but she is not untested. Her past is bloody, yes. But that blood was not spilled without cause."

Talanis considered her, gaze sharp. "Is that why you are doing this?" she asked. "Because she fought for us?"

"No," Benezia said simply. "Because she has nowhere else to go."

Another silence.

Talanis exhaled sharply, narrowing her eyes. "That is not our problem."

Benezia remained still. "No, I suppose it isn’t."

"It is not the duty of the Republics to take in every displaced alien child who has nowhere else to go," Talanis pressed, her voice gaining an edge. "You expect us to accommodate her, to alter legal precedent for her, when she offers nothing in return? No skills, no value, no purpose beyond the destruction left in her wake?"

Benezia caught the flicker of something in Zoey’s face—just for an instant. Not anger. Not defiance.

Something quieter. Smaller.

Talanis wasn’t finished. "Humans throw themselves into conflicts they barely understand. They burn their enemies, and when the flames reach them in turn, they expect the galaxy to pick up the pieces. But we are not the Alliance. We do not coddle children who do not belong."

Zoey made a small, choked sound—barely audible. Her fingers twitched at her sides, tightening into fists for a brief second before she let them go, limp.

Then, without a word, she turned stiffly and walked toward the far corner of the room. Her shoulders hunched slightly, as if trying to make herself smaller. She sank against the wall, drawing her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Her head bowed forward, and she didn’t lift it again.

A withdrawal. A retreat. The only form of control she could still exert over the situation.

For the first time in their conversation, Benezia felt something cold and sharp coil in her chest.

She looked toward Zoey—small, withdrawn, barely breathing.

Then she turned back to Talanis. Slowly. Deliberately.

The shift happened—not outwardly, not visibly. But there was a reason Matriarch Benezia commanded respect. A reason she was feared just as much as she was revered.

When she spoke again, her voice was different—no longer patient, no longer warm. It was cold, measured.

"Watch your words, Administrator."

Talanis met her gaze, unflinching. But there was a fraction of a second too long before she responded. "The truth is rarely kind, Matriarch," she said—smooth, but quieter now.

Benezia leaned forward, slow, deliberate. "A fascinating thing about the truth," she mused, "is how malleable it becomes when spoken by those in power."

Talanis’s expression barely flickered. "A diplomat’s philosophy. Nothing more."

"You mistake me," Benezia said, voice quiet, dangerous. "I do not need philosophy to unravel policy. I need only history. Would you like to discuss the precedents Thessia has already set? The ones the public conveniently forgets?"

Talanis’s jaw tensed. Benezia did not give her room to respond.

"In the centuries following the Unification Wars," she continued, "our Republics quietly absorbed refugees from across the galaxy. Salarians who had displeased the Union. Turians who defected from the Hierarchy. We did not call it citizenship, no—but we called it something else. We called it alliances. We called it good optics. We called it useful."

A beat. Then, sharper: "So tell me, Administrator—was that kindness? Or was it merely pragmatism dressed in the skin of diplomacy?"

Talanis’s gaze darkened. "You are twisting context."

"No," Benezia said. “I am reminding you that our laws have always been bent toward those who can shape the future." She did not blink. Did not falter. "And Zoey Shepard," she said softly, "will shape the future."

Talanis scoffed. "She is a broken child—"

"And what do you think we were," Benezia interrupted, voice like steel, "before we were Matriarchs?"

Silence. It was the smallest of hesitations, but in diplomacy, hesitation was a weapon. Benezia did not waste the moment. She stood, smoothing her robes, her gaze never leaving Talanis. "You are not afraid of setting precedent," she murmured. "You are afraid of setting precedent for a human." Talanis’s jaw clenched. "And that," Benezia continued, almost pitying, "is a mistake. A short-sighted one, at that." She gestured slightly toward Zoey—still curled near the wall, still silent. "You see a child," Benezia said. "I see what she will become." Her voice dipped, just slightly. "And I do not think you have the luxury of making an enemy of her."

The words landed. There was no visible reaction. No outward flinch. But Benezia could see it—the quiet realisation, the quick calculation. Talanis understood what she was saying. She understood that Zoey Shepard, a traumatised child now, would not remain a child forever. That the future could mould her into something else. It would be unwise to make her resent the Republics. Talanis exhaled, slow and measured. When she spoke again, her tone was more reserved. "Wardship remains an irregularity."

"As do many of the Republics' greatest decisions."

Another pause. A long one. Talanis’ fingers hovered over the console, unmoving.—Then, finally, she typed something into her terminal—a final authorisation. Benezia heard the quiet chime of confirmation. "It is done," Talanis said. Her voice was level, but there was something tightly restrained in it. "Welcome to the Republics, Zoey Shepard."

Zoey’s fingers twitched slightly against her sleeve. She didn’t look up, didn’t speak, but something about the words settled uneasily in her chest—heavy, unfamiliar.

Benezia inclined her head slightly.

A victory.  Not a clean one. But diplomacy was rarely clean.

Talanis spoke once more as they left her office: “You will be held responsible for the consequences, Matriarch. Do not expect the Republics to forget if this proves… unwise.”

Benezia held Talanis’ gaze for a fraction of a second longer. Then, with the same effortless grace she had walked in with, she turned and left.

She expected nothing less.

-͟͟͞ ☆

The Presidium’s artificial sky was a perfect blue, its light golden and warm, mimicking the soft glow of a distant sun.

It was peaceful here. Calm.

Liara sat on a bench near the railings, hands clasped in her lap. She should have admired the view—the sprawling gardens, reflective pools, and grand archways leading toward embassies and consulates—but Zoey was all she could think about. She exhaled sharply, unclasping her hands only to clasp them again.

"Kid, you’re gonna stress yourself into an early Maiden-phase crisis if you keep that up," Aethyta said, standing beside the railing, arms crossed.

Liara frowned, not looking at her father. "I do not ‘stress.’ I am simply… contemplative."

"Uh-huh. And I’m the Matriarch of a monastery."

Liara sighed, but didn’t argue, because Aethyta was right. She was stressing. Zoey Shepard is inside the embassy right now, being signed into the Asari Republics like a lost child who needs supervision. In a way, she was, which terrified Liara more than she wanted to admit.

Nearby, a Hanar floated beside the walkway, its bioluminescent tendrils pulsing gently as it addressed passersby.

"This one humbly asks that you consider the wisdom of the Enkindlers, whose guidance shaped the great journey of all sapient life."

Liara barely registered the words, too caught in her own thoughts. Aethyta, however, rolled her eyes. "Ugh. Here we go." The Hanar did not seem deterred as it turned to her.

"The Enkindlers wish only for unity among the stars. Those who listen may find purpose in their message."

Aethyta snorted. "Yeah? I listened once. Didn’t get nothin’ but a headache."

The hanar floated closer, tendrils rippling. "Perhaps you did not truly listen, honoured asari."

Aethyta made a face. "Oh, I listened, alright. I just don’t do well with sermons. The last time I sat through one, I ditched a diplomatic summit to drink under a table on Nos Astra."

Liara sighed. "Father, please do not antagonise the Hanar."

Aethyta grinned. "C’mon, it’s fun."

The Hanar seemed entirely unbothered. "This one believes enlightenment is a path open to all, even those resistant to its embrace."

Aethyta raised a brow. "You just called me stubborn in the politest way possible, didn’t you?"

The Hanar gave a slow, graceful pulse of light. "This one would never presume to insult an honoured traveller."

Liara rubbed her temples. "Father, please stop debating religion with a Hanar."

Aethyta rolled her eyes but seemed to be done antagonising the poor thing. She stretched, smirking as she turned toward Liara.

“Alright, kid, let’s go find something actually interesting before I start glowing and floating away.”

“Father, that is not how Hanar biology works,” Liara sighed.

“Sure, sure. But it’d be funny as hell if it was.” Before Liara could protest further, a new voice joined the conversation.

“Aethyta,” Benezia’s voice was calm and measured but laced with the kind of exasperation only years of experience could hone.

Aethyta grinned instantly. “Oh, hey, Nezzie. You’re just in time to hear how I almost converted.”

Zoey blinked, momentarily thrown. She had not spoken during the entire embassy meeting and spent the last hour listening to people decide her future, as if she weren’t even in the room.

And now? Now she was watching a Hanar preacher subtly roast an Asari Matriarch.

She’d barely even processed what was happening before the Hanar shifted its bioluminescence slightly, tendrils rippling with polite serenity.

“This one welcomes all travellers seeking the wisdom of the Enkindlers,” it intoned, unbothered.

Aethyta gave a mock-considering nod. “Mm. Tempting. What’s your stance on heavy drinking?”

“This one believes the path to enlightenment is open to all, even those whose vices weigh upon them.”

Zoey stared. That… sounded a lot like another polite insult. Aethyta blinked.

Stared.

Then—her grin widened. "Damn. Even the jellyfish have sarcasm."

Benezia exhaled sharply, pressing her fingers briefly to her temple. “Aethyta.”

“What?” Aethyta shrugged, clearly delighted. “I respect it.”

The Hanar gave a final pulse of light, then smoothly pivoted back toward a passing Turian, continuing its sermon as if nothing had happened.

Zoey blinked. Slowly. Then again. She had absolutely no idea what she had just walked into.

She glanced toward Liara, who simply looked long-suffering, as though this was far from the first time Aethyta had gotten into a debate with a Hanar.

“You’ll get used to it,” Liara muttered. Zoey wasn’t entirely sure she would. Benezia had already started walking again, giving Aethyta a pointed look that only made her grin wider.

“So,” Aethyta said as she fell into step beside them, hands tucked in her pockets, “did we get the paperwork sorted? Kid officially ours now, or we gotta steal her from the Alliance?”

Zoey stiffened slightly at the phrasing but didn’t comment.

Benezia inclined her head. “The matter has been settled.”

Aethyta whistled low. “Damn. Never thought I’d be responsible for a human kid, but hey—first time for everything.” Zoey felt increasingly unsure whether they were joking or not.

Aethyta shot her a teasing wink. "Told ya this place was weird, kid." Zoey had no argument. She wasn’t sure she’d ever have one again. "You made it through the paperwork gauntlet alive. That’s somethin’."

Zoey glanced between them all—Liara, looking embarrassed. Aethyta, looking smug. Benezia, looking tired, and the Hanar, already launching into a new sermon with a Salarian, having been ignored by the Turian.

This was her life now. Zoey felt distant, like watching the world from behind a glass wall, even as they began walking back to the landing pad.

Aethyta strode ahead, hands in her pockets, still chuckling about her debate with the Hanar as she regaled the tale to Benezia and Zoey.

Zoey followed at a distance, her fingers twitching at her sides. She was still feeling like a walking contradiction—like she was here but not part of this place. She barely noticed when Aethyta suddenly veered off course toward a small market stall nestled under the shade of one of the Presidium’s massive archways.

“Well, well,” Aethyta mused, arms crossed as she eyed the cluttered display of old human memorabilia. “What do we have here?”

The stall owner—an elderly Volus—wheezed a greeting. “Collector’s items! Artifacts of a bygone era!” another wheeze “Extremely rare!”

Zoey paused, moved over, and glanced at the mess of items. It was mostly junk—old dog tags, faded paper books, a rusting N7 helmet that probably wasn’t even real.

Aethyta, however, reached for a small, brightly coloured cube. Zoey blinked as Aethyta turned it over in her hands, frowning slightly. “Huh. I think I saw one of these in a museum once.” She looked at Zoey, then back at the cube. Then she grinned. “Here, kid. Think you could use somethin’ to keep your hands busy?”

 Aethyta tossed the small cube toward her. Zoey didn’t react at first. She wasn’t used to people giving her things—giving her something without expecting something in return.

Then, on instinct, she caught it.

She didn’t turn it right away. Just held it.

It was lighter than she expected. The plastic was smooth but worn at the edges, its stickers slightly faded from years of use.

It felt… used. Old. Familiar. Like something from a different time. A different life.

She pressed her thumb against the centre square, turning it just once. The click was oddly satisfying. “It’s a Rubik’s cube,” she muttered.

She had seen one before. She thought. The memory wasn’t clear—just a vague sense of something small and bright in her hands, turning, clicking, twisting into order.

Aethyta nodded. “Rubik's is what it’s called? Damn, humans name their puzzles weird.”

Zoey didn’t respond; she just turned the top row once and again with the soft click of the plastic oddly grounding. Aethyta leaned closer, watching as Zoey twisted another row, colours falling into place with quiet precision.

She let her do it for a few seconds. Then—grinning—“Alright, but if you solve that thing in, like, ten seconds, I’m gonna start calling you ‘Lil’ Prodigy.’”

Zoey huffed through her nose—barely a reaction, but not quite nothing. She turned another row, then another. The pattern was already falling into place.

Aethyta’s grin widened. “Yep. Knew that’d be your kind of thing.”

Zoey shot her a look. “What kind of thing?”

“The ‘quiet, broody problem solver’ kind.” Aethyta teased as she paid for it.

Zoey huffed through her nose, shaking her head, but she didn’t return the cube. She kept turning it over in her hands, watching the colours shift, letting the small, familiar motions anchor her.

It had been a long time since someone gave her something just because they wanted to.

Not quite a smile. But close.

Aethyta rejoined Benezia as she walked a few steps ahead. They engaged in a quiet conversation. Liara lingered close to Zoey, observing her, as she fiddled with the cube before pocketing it.

The Presidium’s pathways stretched ahead of them—smooth, perfect, untouched. Walking through all this calm and cleanliness after everything that had happened felt surreal. Her boots barely made a sound against the polished surface.

It wasn’t like the places she was used to. No dust. No blood. No signs of a fight.

Benezia’s voice was even, controlled. "Her papers are finalised. She is legally under our care for as long as necessary."

Aethyta whistled low. "Well, never thought we'd have another kid."

Zoey barely reacted; she had lowered her head again. Aethyta glanced back at her, then nudged Benezia with her elbow. "Gotta admit, though—I never pictured you as the adopting type."

Benezia raised a brow. "And yet, here we are."

Aethyta grinned. "Next thing you know, we’ll host birthday parties and ensure she eats her vegetables."

Benezia exhaled. "Shepard is not that young of a child."

"She’s sixteen, Bene." Aethyta waved a hand. "That’s basically still a baby." Benezia didn’t argue, which was saying something. Aethyta glanced at Zoey again, her grin turning almost mischievous.

"Y’know, kid, if you’re gonna be part of the family, we should probably come up with a cute nickname for ya."

Zoey blinked. Finally, she looked up, confused. "…What?"

Aethyta smirked. "Well, I mean, ‘Shepard’ sounds all official and serious, and ‘Zoey’ feels too normal since it's just ya name. So, what do you think? ‘Lil’ Blondie’? Nah, maybe ‘Tiny Titan’? ‘Firecracker’? Oh! What about ‘Gunny’?"

Zoey just stared. Liara sighed. "Father, please."

"What?" Aethyta grinned. "I’m trying to make her laugh."

Zoey didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smile. But she did let out a tiny, breathy huff through her nose, not much, but enough. Aethyta’s grin widened: "Ah-ha! There it is!"

Zoey shook her head, looking back down, but the tiniest trace of something lighter—something not so crushingly empty—flickered in her expression. Aethyta rolled her shoulders, clearly satisfied. "Don’t worry, kid. I’ll wear you down eventually. We’ll get a real laugh outta you one of these days."

Zoey barely registered the journey—the shining metal pathways, the faint murmur of the Presidium’s artificial rivers below, the towering ships resting in the docking bays.

She just followed.

Benezia led, calm and composed as ever, her stride unhurried. Liara walked beside Zoey, close enough to be present, but not so close that it felt smothering. Aethyta, meanwhile, had spent the entire walk trying to come up with a nickname.

“Alright, kid, hear me out—‘Stray.’” Zoey blinked, thrown off. Was that a joke? Or just… the truth? Aethyta was watching her, waiting.

Liara frowned. “Father, you cannot call her that.”

Aethyta grinned like she’d expected that reaction. “Yeah, yeah. Too on the nose?”

Zoey didn’t answer.

Aethyta immediately found it adorable. She smirked at Benezia and said, "Do you see this? Look at this tiny, angry human face. I love it."

Benezia exhaled through her nose. "Shepard is attempting to intimidate you, Aethyta. Do not undermine her efforts."

Aethyta chuckled. "Oh, I’d never do that. It’s hard to be intimidated when she looks like a pissed-off varren pup." Zoey’s glare intensified, her arms crossing stiffly over her chest. Aethyta only looked more delighted. "See? It’s adorable."

Zoey, somehow, managed to look even more done with life than she already did. Liara sighed. "Father, please refrain from tormenting her before we even board the ship."

Aethyta snickered. "Fine, fine. No ‘Stray.’ But I’m still coming up with something."

Benezia glanced at Zoey thoughtfully. "If you must assign her something, Aethyta, perhaps it should match Liara’s."

Aethyta blinked. "‘Huh. Yeah, alright, that’s got potential." She looked at Zoey again, this time with genuine consideration.

“Alright, kid. How do you feel about ‘Little Bird’?”

Zoey blinked. That… was different. It wasn’t a label. It wasn’t a reminder of what she had been.

It wasn’t ‘orphan,’ ‘soldier,’ or… ‘stray.’

The name lingered, curling in her mind like something weightless. Small. Harmless. “…What?” she muttered.

"C’mon, it fits. You’re basically a baby by asari standards, and you got thrown into the universe like a hatchling tossed out of the nest." Zoey didn’t respond. Didn’t even blink. Just kept staring, Aethyta grinned. "Alright, I’ll workshop it."

Benezia considered it for a moment, her gaze shifting briefly to Zoey. Then, with quiet finality, she said, “It is an improvement over ‘Stray.’”

Zoey didn’t respond. Didn’t even blink. Just kept staring.

Aethyta smirked like she had already won. Zoey blinked. ‘Little Bird.’ It wasn’t a title. It wasn’t a label. It wasn’t a reminder of what she had been. Just… a name.

Aethyta clapped her hands together. “Settled. ‘Little Bird’ it is.” Zoey opened her mouth, hesitated, then shut it again. She didn’t agree. But she didn’t argue either.

The Presidium’s walkways narrowed into a sleek corridor lined with docking bays, the clean, polished aesthetic of the Citadel shifting into something more industrial. The artificial sky overhead gave way to cold metal and bright terminal lights, flashing soft blue against the floor.

Zoey kept her hands in her pockets, eyes flicking to the side as they passed through the port entrance. The further they walked, the quieter the crowds became—civilians thinning out, leaving only crew personnel, dock workers, and security officers.

The checkpoint ahead was a familiar sight.

Not the layout—that was different. Sleeker. Simpler. No towering security turrets, no armed officers in heavy plating.

But the function was the same. A station. A scanner. A line of people waiting to be processed. Zoey’s stomach tightened instinctively. She didn’t like security checkpoints.

Not because she had anything to hide—she didn’t, but because she knew what it felt like to be stopped. To be flagged. To be pulled aside while others walked through cleanly.

The two Asari officers manning the checkpoint were calm and composed. No weapons visible, no harsh commands. Their uniforms weren’t Alliance-style, no rigid armour, no intimidation tactics.

But that didn’t make Zoey relax. Nothing about security ever felt casual. "Standard clearances," one officer said, inclining her head. "Step forward one at a time."

Benezia went first. The scanner hummed softly, sweeping over her and reading biometrics, energy signatures, and identification codes.

No issues. The officer nodded. Aethyta the Liara followed. Same result. Then it was Zoey’s turn.

She hesitated, just for a second. She knew better than to hesitate. She stepped forward. The scanner swept over her. The scanner pulsed. Then—a beep.

Zoey froze.

The officers exchanged a glance. One tapped a control panel, reading the flagged data.

"Your file contains incomplete biometric records," the officer said. Her tone was neutral, not accusing—just stating a fact. "We’ll need to verify your clearance manually."

Zoey’s pulse spiked—incomplete records. Of course. Her file was probably a mess—Alliance military, classified redactions, survivor status flagged, god knows what else buried in there.

"Any known cybernetics, military implants, or biotic markers?" the officer asked.

Zoey shook her head. "No cybernetics." That part she knew, but the biotic marker question? She hesitated just long enough for the officer to notice.

Benezia stepped forward smoothly, her presence commanding without being aggressive. "She was recently cleared by Alliance medical staff," she said. "Any gaps in her records are due to her former status as a displaced minor."

The officer gave a thoughtful hum, then scanned her again, narrowing the parameters. The scanner pulsed once. Then the officer’s brow lifted slightly. "You have… latent biotic potential."

Zoey’s stomach tightened—not a sharp panic, just a slow, creeping unease.

Oh.

She curled her fingers slightly at her sides, feeling a twitch of tension beneath her skin. She knew what that meant. She’d never manifested. Never gone through L2 training, never been fitted for an amp. But the marker was there, in her system. Untrained, unreadable, but still present.

She gritted her teeth. The last thing she wanted was another label.

The officer was still reading the results. "Your file doesn’t list active biotic status, but the genetic markers are strong." She glanced at Zoey. "Any known training?"

Zoey’s fingers twitched at her sides. She hated being asked that. "No," she said flatly.

The officer considered for a moment, then glanced at her partner—brief, but noticeable—a silent exchange. Then, after a final pass over the terminal, she nodded. "You’re cleared."

Zoey exhaled, but it didn’t feel like relief.

She should move. Should step forward. Should put this moment behind her. But for half a second, she just… stood there.

Zoey exhaled, stepping forward quickly, like she could walk away from the conversation.

Her pulse was still too fast.

It wasn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t have bothered her. But the reminder—the fact that something about her had still flagged a system, still marked her as different, incomplete—

Aethyta fell into step beside her, not smirking this time.

"Hey, kid," she said, voice lower, calmer than before. "Don’t let that get to ya." Zoey glanced at her, but Aethyta wasn’t looking at her like she was weird. She wasn’t poking fun. "It doesn’t mean anything," Aethyta continued, hands in her pockets, tone steady. "Lot of people have latent biotics. Hell, half of ‘em never manifest, and the ones who do? Ain’t always by choice."

Zoey stared ahead, jaw tight. She knew that. But knowing it didn’t make it feel any less like a warning label slapped onto her file.

Aethyta let out a slow breath. "You’re not less because of some incomplete file. You’re not more because of some marker in your genes. You’re just… you."

Zoey didn’t respond. But her fingers twitched in her pocket, absently pressing against the smooth plastic of the Rubik’s Cube.

Then—Aethyta’s grin returned, mischievous this time. "That bein’ said," she added, tilting her head toward Zoey, "if you ever do start throwing people across the room, I’ll teach ya how to do it properly."

Zoey blinked. "…What?"

Aethyta grinned wider. "C’mon, you think I don’t know how to use biotics? I’ll show ya the real fun stuff. Bar tricks, power slams—hell, we could see if we can launch Liara into the air—for science."

Zoey blinked. Liara was silent for two full seconds. Then: "What?!"

Aethyta smirked. "Y’know, see how high you can go before you hit terminal velocity. For science."

Liara stared in abject horror. "That is not how science works!"

Aethyta shrugged, completely unfazed. "Fine, fine. We’ll record the results—then it’s science."

Liara let out a long, suffering sigh. "Father, for the last time, I am not a projectile."

Aethyta snorted. "See, that’s what you say, but we’ll never know for sure ‘til we test it."

Liara looked to Benezia like she was begging for divine intervention. Benezia sighed, not even turning around. "Aethyta, kindly refrain from corrupting her too soon."

Liara threw up her hands. "That’s what we’re focusing on?!"

Aethyta cackled. "Aw, don’t be such a nerd, kid. You’d be great at physics demonstrations." Zoey wasn’t sure whether she was horrified or trying not to laugh. Aethyta just snorted. “ I’d make a great teacher."

Benezia’s tone was dry. "I do not doubt that. I simply doubt the wisdom in allowing it."

Aethyta laughed, shaking her head. "Alright, alright, I’ll hold off. But kid, I’m tellin’ ya—if you ever wanna learn how to make people fly, you know where to find me."

Zoey huffed through her nose—almost—not quite—a laugh. Ahead of them, Benezia had already started toward their transport. Zoey followed, her pulse finally slowing. She glanced back to the security station, "I’m used to Alliance security."

Zoey didn’t mean for it to come out so flat. So automatic.

Aethyta snorted. "Yeah, bet that’s real fun. Nothing says ‘welcome aboard’ like a guy with a rifle breathing down your neck."

Zoey didn’t respond. Because—yeah.

The docking bay stretched ahead—sleek, lined with Asari vessels. Their designs were smooth and elegant, unlike Alliance ships' angular, heavy builds. Zoey didn’t know what to make of it.

Their transport was smaller than she expected but streamlined. Its hull was deep blue, reflecting the ambient station lights. The ramp extended smoothly as they approached.

She hesitated at the base. "Something wrong?" Benezia asked.

Zoey shifted her weight, glancing at the ship again. She exhaled, rolling her shoulders slightly.

"It’s just… different."

"From Alliance designs?"

She nodded. Aethyta patted the side of the ship like it was an old friend. "Don’t let the smooth curves fool ya, kid. Thessian ships are tougher than they look."

Zoey raised a sceptical brow. "Doesn’t look like it’s got much armour."

"That’s ‘cause it doesn’t need it," Aethyta said. "This baby’s got kinetic shielding that’d make your standard Alliance frigate jealous. And she can manoeuvre circles around anything short of a fighter craft."

Zoey frowned. "But if the shields drop—"

Aethyta smirked. "Then you’ve already lost the fight."

Zoey blinked. Benezia nodded. "Asari doctrine does not favour brute force engagements. We do not expect to trade blows like a Turian dreadnought. We prioritise evasion, adaptability."

Zoey glanced at the ship again. It made sense. But it also felt… unsettling.

In the Alliance, you expected to take a hit. You trained to endure, fight back, survive. She wasn’t sure how she felt about being on something that relied entirely on not getting shot.

Aethyta clapped her on the back. "Relax, kid. She’s fast, she’s quiet, and she’s got a hell of a pilot. You’ll like her."

Zoey wasn’t convinced. But she didn’t argue. That was when she noticed the docking bay was quiet. A little too quiet. Zoey felt it before she saw him. A presence. Still. Focused. Watching.

Then—movement. A figure stepping forward, peeling away from the shadows near the docking terminal. Turian. Dark armour. Crimson markings.

He didn’t walk like a soldier. He moved like a predator—calm, unhurried, but deliberate.

Benezia turned smoothly, but she didn’t seem surprised. "Spectre Kryik," she said, tone measured.

"Matriarch Benezia," he greeted, inclining his head slightly. "I was wondering when you’d be leaving." His voice was low, composed, carrying that signature Turian rasp.

Zoey had heard of him. Nihlus Kryik. A Spectre. One of the best.

And he was looking at her. His gaze assessed her immediately. Not in the way most people did—not like she was fragile or broken. Like he was sizing her up. "You must be Zoey Shepard," he said, tilting his head. "I’ve heard a lot about you."

Zoey stiffened. She hated that phrase. She met his gaze, keeping her voice even. "I’m sure you have."

A pause. Then—a low, amused chuckle. "Not one for small talk," he observed. "Good."

Aethyta grinned. "Yeah, careful with this one, Kryik. She actually bites."

Zoey felt his eyes on her again. He wasn’t just looking—he was studying. Reading. "Interesting," he murmured. "You’ve been through a lot." Zoey didn’t react. Didn’t rise to the bait. His mandibles shifted slightly—something approaching approval.

Benezia’s voice cut in smoothly. "Zoey is under my care now, Nihlus."

Nihlus exhaled, crossing his arms. "I don’t doubt she’s in good hands. But I have to admit…" His gaze flicked back to Zoey. "I’m curious."

Zoey clenched her jaw. She wasn’t used to being looked at like this. Not pitied. Not dismissed. But evaluated. Considered. It made her skin crawl. "And?" she asked, voice flat.

Nihlus tilted his head slightly. "And I like to keep an eye on promising talent."

A beat of silence. Zoey inhaled slowly. "I’m not a soldier," she said.

Nihlus smiled. "Not yet." She tensed.

Benezia spoke before she could. "I would caution you not to overstep, Nihlus."

Nihlus gave her a knowing look—not challenging, but not apologetic either.

"I wouldn’t dream of it, Matriarch," he said smoothly. "I have no intention of interfering."

Zoey didn’t believe that for a second. Aethyta smirked. "Y’know, Kryik, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were recruiting."

Nihlus chuckled, turning slightly. "No, not recruiting. Just… paying attention." He met Zoey’s gaze again, unreadable. A pause. "I’ll be watching your career with great interest."

Zoey exhaled slowly. "Yeah," she muttered, shoving her hands in her pockets. "That’s not ominous at all." Aethyta cackled.

Benezia exhaled, shaking her head. "Come. We are leaving." She turned, stepping up the ramp without another word. Zoey didn’t hesitate this time. But the feeling of being watched clung to her like a shadow. She followed quickly, resisting the urge to glance back.

Nihlus waited until the ramp was fully sealed before exhaling through his mandibles and turning away, tapping the comm at his ear.

A brief pause. Then, the connection opened. "I met her," he said simply.

A beat of silence. Then the reply came—low, sharp, deliberate. "And?" The voice carried its usual cold precision.

Nihlus started walking, boots clicking lightly against the polished flooring. "She’s… young. Hard to get a read on her." A pause. "But she’s not fragile."

Static crackled faintly through the line before the voice spoke again. "She was on Elysium."

Nihlus’ mandibles twitched slightly. "Yeah. So were a lot of people."

"Most of them died."

Nihlus slowed his pace. "Yeah. That’s what’s interesting."

There was a pause on the line. "You think she shouldn’t have survived."

Nihlus’ eyes flicked toward the docking bay’s exit. His voice was measured, thoughtful. "I don’t know. The attack was chaotic, the kind of fight where someone like her should’ve been dead in the first wave. And yet…" He exhaled through his nose. "She walked away."

The voice’s tone remained unreadable. "Luck?"

"Maybe," Nihlus admitted. But he wasn’t sure. "Or maybe something else."

A brief silence. "The raid on Elysium was… unexpected."

Nihlus’ brow furrowed slightly. "Was it?"

There was a low hum and a pause. "With the level of preparation," the voice said slowly, "one might have expected a cleaner outcome."

Nihlus stopped walking. It was the way they said it, not as an outside observer.

Not ‘they should have been more organised.’ Not ‘it should have gone differently.’

"One might have expected a cleaner outcome."

Like someone had expected a different result. Like someone had been watching.

Nihlus’ mandibles tightened slightly. "You sound disappointed."

The voice let out a slow breath. "I take an interest in anomalies." There it was. That word. Nihlus rolled his shoulders. He didn’t like what they were implying. Didn’t like what he wasn’t saying.

But he wasn’t stupid enough to ask. Instead, he shifted gears. "You think Shepard’s one of those anomalies?"

A pause. Then—they spoke with quiet certainty. "I think she is worth watching."

Nihlus exhaled, running a hand over his jaw. He didn’t answer immediately. He kept walking, his gaze distant and unreadable. Finally, "Yeah, Saren," he muttered. I’m starting to think that too."

A flick of his talons, and the comm clicked off. Nihlus didn’t stop.

Didn’t look back. And just like that, he was gone.

-͟͟͞ ☆

The ship was quiet, and the gentle hum of the engines was the only real background noise. The seating area was comfortable, with plush, blue-tinted cushions, curved walls with smooth lighting, and an undeniable air of luxury.

Zoey was seated on one of the long benches, her back straight, her hands resting in her lap. She hadn’t spoken since they left the docking bay and hadn’t moved much either; she just stared ahead, lost in thought.

Aethyta, ever the chaos bringer, was the first to break the silence, she stretched out lazily in her seat before nudging Liara with her elbow.

"Hey, Little Wing, get your new sister a snack."

Liara froze mid-sip of her tea. "My what?"

Aethyta smirked, clearly enjoying herself. "Sister. You heard me, she's family. We’ve adopted the stray."

Zoey visibly twitched at the word, then stared at Aethyta—expression caught between disbelief and something colder. She hadn’t realised how much she had been bracing herself until the moment it hit.

Family.

The word sat there. Heavy. Foreign.

It twisted something inside her. Her family had always been her squad. Which, had been reduced to a pile of bodies and burning rubble—the smell of gunpowder and blood still etched so deep into her memory that she swore she could taste it in the back of her throat.

She didn’t belong here. She wasn’t Liara’s sister. She wasn’t any… Aethyta snapped her fingers.

For half a second—just a flicker—her grin faltered. Then it was back.

"Sorry, right—Little Bird. That’s what we’re going with, yeah?"

Zoey shot her a tired glare—less sharp than before, but still wary. Across from her, Liara hesitated—just for a second, like she wasn’t sure if she should say something. Aethyta only smirked wider.

Liara sighed, setting down her cup. "Father, I—"

"C’mon, Liara. Be nice." Aethyta winked. "Go get your little sister something to eat."

Liara sighed again but stood because arguing with her father was a losing battle. Zoey, who had remained silent throughout the entire exchange, finally blinked and mumbled, "I’m not hungry."

Aethyta waved that off immediately. "Yeah, well, I don’t trust that. You’re getting food." Zoey looked about two seconds away from sinking into the floor.

Feeling just as exhausted by the conversation, Liara nodded toward the galley. "Come. It will be easier if you just let her have her way.” Zoey hesitated, then, with a slow exhale, she pushed herself up and followed.

Aethyta grinned as they left. "That’s the spirit! Get your sister fed!" Zoey was too tired to glare again, Liara was already regretting everything.

The ship’s small galley was just as pristine as the rest of it, everything was perfectly arranged: Thessian-style food processors, fresh fruit stored in temperature-controlled cabinets, and pre-made nutrient meals stacked neatly in sleek blue packaging.

Zoey hovered awkwardly near the counter as Liara moved with practiced ease, opening one of the cabinets.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, then, without turning around, Liara asked, "Do you have any preferences?"

Zoey blinked. "For what?"

Liara glanced over her shoulder. "For food." Zoey hesitated.

She had spent so much of her life eating whatever was available—military rations, quick protein bars between shifts, the occasional real meal on leave—that she had never really thought about what she liked.

"I don’t know," she admitted quietly.

Liara hummed thoughtfully. "Then we will start simple." She pulled out a small, pre-packaged meal—a cup of nutrient broth and set it on the counter.

Zoey watched her hands move quickly and efficiently, preparing everything without hesitation. It was strange—not the food, not the act itself—but the fact that someone was doing it for her. She had spent so long fending for herself, following orders, taking care of what needed to be done, surviving and now she was… sitting. Watching someone else handle something as simple as a meal.

It felt foreign. She didn’t know how to feel about it.

When Liara finished, she turned, setting the tray down in front of Zoey. "Here." Zoey stared at it. Then at Liara. Then back at the food. Her fingers twitched slightly. Finally, hesitantly, she reached out and picked up the cup of broth. She sipped it slowly, testing the warmth against her throat.

Liara watched her carefully but said nothing. She didn’t try to push the conversation or fill the silence; she just let Zoey exist. Zoey appreciated that more than she could say, she had only managed a few more sips of the broth when the galley doors slid open.

Benezia stepped inside, her presence as composed as ever, moving with effortless grace.

Liara glanced up, straightening slightly. "Mother?" Benezia folded her hands in front of her, offering a slight nod.

"Liara, would you allow me a moment alone with Shepard?" Zoey immediately tensed, fingers tightening around the cup in her hands.

Liara hesitated. Her gaze flicked to Zoey, assessing, unsure. Her fingers twitched slightly—like she wanted to reach out but thought better of it. After a moment, she nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Of course." She pushed herself up from her seat, casting one last glance at Zoey before stepping past Benezia and out of the galley.

The doors hissed shut behind her. And then—silence.

Zoey lowered her gaze, shoulders drawing inward. She had no idea what Benezia wanted from her. No idea what she was supposed to say. She just sat there, waiting.

Benezia moved with unhurried ease, taking the seat across from Zoey.

For a long moment, she didn’t speak. She watched. Zoey felt the weight of that gaze, steady and unreadable. She curled her fingers tighter around the cup, her shoulders curled inward, and she barely seemed present. Then, finally, she spoke. "Do you like the broth?" Zoey blinked, thrown by the question.

She looked down at the cup, her fingers tightening slightly, and then said softly, "It’s warm."

Benezia inclined her head. "It is a Thessian staple, a traditional comfort food. It is made from a blend of root vegetables and nutrient-rich grains, designed to be easy on the stomach and suitable for travel."

Her voice was gentle, steady, not pressing, not demanding. Just…there.

Zoey nodded slowly, unsure what else to say. She took another sip, more for the sake of doing something than because she had an appetite. Benezia watched her, the faintest hint of approval in her expression.

She let the silence linger for a moment before speaking again. "Do you know why Aethyta called you Liara’s sister?"

Zoey stilled, her grip on the cup tightened slightly. "Because she thinks it's funny," she muttered.

Benezia exhaled softly—something close to amusement, but not quite. "That is certainly part of it." She leaned forward slightly, tilting her head. "But it is not the only reason."

Zoey swallowed. She didn’t know how to respond to that, and she didn’t know if she wanted to.

Benezia studied her carefully. Then, quietly—"You are family now, Zoey."

Zoey’s breath hitched. She felt something tighten in her chest—something unfamiliar, something she didn’t know how to deal with. She didn’t deserve that. Didn’t deserve any of this. And yet—Benezia said it with such certainty, as if it were already decided.

She stared down at her cup, her vision slightly blurred. She had no idea what to say or how to process this. And then Benezia smiled—soft, knowing, unshaken.

As if she already understood. As if she already knew Zoey couldn’t say anything and that it was okay. So she reached out, gently, and tapped one finger against the edge of Zoey’s cup.

"Finish your broth, child."

Zoey exhaled shakily, and for the first time—she obeyed, not because it was an order, but because someone was looking out for her.

-͟͟͞ ☆

The ship’s interior was dimly lit in the evening cycle as the journey continued, Zoey wasn’t tired, but she had retreated to one of the lounge areas, sitting on one of the long, cushioned benches by a viewport. She wasn’t staring at the stars or looking at anything in particular.

She just existed in the silence, and then—Aethyta dropped into the seat beside her with a dramatic sigh. "Alright, kid. Spill."

Zoey blinked, startled out of her thoughts. "Spill what?"

Aethyta smirked, leaning back and stretching out like she had all the time in the galaxy. "Bene gave you the talk, didn’t she?"

Zoey frowned. "…What talk?"

Aethyta arched a brow. "You know. The ‘you’re family now, child’ line." Zoey stiffened slightly, which Aethyta noticed immediately. Her grin softened, losing some of its usual teasing edge. "Yeah. Thought so."

Zoey looked away, fingers clasping together in her lap. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to put into words what it felt like to hear something like that after everything.

After losing everyone. After fighting so hard just to be standing at all.

Aethyta let the silence linger for a bit. Then, with a sigh—"Look, kid. I get it."

Zoey glanced at her, sceptical. "Do you?"

Aethyta snorted. "Alright, no, not exactly. But I know what it’s like to wake up one day and realise your whole damn life’s been ripped out from under you." Her voice wasn’t mocking, it wasn’t casual, either. It was just…true.

Zoey hesitated. "What did you do?"

Aethyta shrugged. "I found a new one." Zoey stayed quiet. Aethyta leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, studying her with a sharp but not unkind gaze. "I know this ain’t easy, kid. Hell, it probably doesn’t even feel real yet. But you’re here. That’s gotta count for something."

Zoey swallowed. "I don’t know what I’m supposed to do."

Aethyta nodded like she had expected that. "Yeah. That’s how it starts."

Aethyta exhaled, watching Zoey carefully. Then, before Zoey could react—Aethyta pulled her into a hug. It was brief, firm, solid. Not gentle, not suffocating, just genuine, and Zoey froze.

For a second, she didn’t know what to do with it. She should pull away. That’s what she was used to. That’s what she knew. But for some reason, her body just… let it happen.

She didn’t hug back. Didn’t move at all. But she didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away.

And Aethyta, for her part, didn’t say anything. Just held her there for a second. Then—she let go, pulling back like it was no big deal. She patted Zoey’s shoulder once, light but grounding. "Alright, that’s enough feelings for today. Let’s not get sappy."

Zoey let out a small, barely-there breath that almost sounded like the start of a laugh. Aethyta smirked. "See? Knew I’d wear you down eventually."

Zoey shook her head. "You’re impossible."

"Damn right."

-͟͟͞ ☆

A few hours had passed, and Zoey had been exploring the ship. She had settled in a different lounge area not far from the sleeping quarters. It was cool and quiet, not in the cold, stifling way the Normandy’s medbay had been. It was just… peaceful.

Zoey sat curled into the corner of one of the lounge benches, her legs folded up in front of her. The dim glow of the viewport cast long shadows across the floor. The Rubik’s cube clicked softly in her hands as she turned the sides, shifting colours into place with slow, absentminded movements.

It was strange how calming it was. Maybe it was the focus it required—how the patterns made sense even when nothing else did, or perhaps it was just nice to have something small, something manageable, when the rest of her life felt too vast, too uncertain, too completely out of her control.

She was nearly finished—just a few more moves left—when she heard a quiet voice. "You’ve been staring at that for almost an hour." Zoey startled slightly, looking up to find Liara watching her.

She stood just a few feet away, her head tilted in genuine curiosity, her hands clasped neatly in front of her. Zoey blinked. She hadn’t even heard her come in. She looked back down at the cube. "Wasn’t staring," she muttered. "Was solving it."

Liara’s brow creased slightly. "Solving… what?"

Zoey turned the cube in her hands once more, then the colours aligned with one final click.

A perfect, completed pattern.

Liara frowned. "…And that accomplishes what, exactly?"

Zoey blinked at her. "What?"

Liara took a slow, deliberate step closer, examining the object with an expression of mild academic frustration. "I have been observing your process," she said, voice even. "You appear to be aligning the coloured tiles into a uniform pattern, but… to what end?" Zoey just stared at her. Liara gestured at the cube. "Once you have arranged them, what happens? Does it unlock something? Activate a mechanism?"

Zoey blinked again. Then, confused: "No. It just… stays solved."

Liara’s frown deepened. She looked at Zoey. Then at the cube. Then back at Zoey. "I do not understand."

Zoey sighed. "It’s a puzzle," she explained, turning the cube and scrambling the colours again. "The challenge is figuring out how to solve it. That’s… that’s the whole point."

Liara watched her hands carefully. "But once you solve it, the challenge is… gone?"

"Yeah."

Liara narrowed her eyes slightly. "And then you undo your progress… and solve it again?"

"Yep."

Silence.

After a long moment, Liara sat down across from her, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "I still do not understand," she admitted.

Zoey exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Figured."

Liara hesitated. Then, carefully, "What do you find enjoyable about it?" Zoey frowned, turning the cube over in her hands. She didn’t have a good answer for that. She just… did.

Zoey hesitated. She hadn’t planned on explaining it, she tried anyway. "It’s… something I can control," she muttered, voice quiet. "Something with a clear answer. A pattern. A solution. Even when it’s messed up, I know it can be fixed." Liara watched her, expression unreadable. Zoey turned the cube again, slowly, deliberately, her fingers moving on instinct. "Everything else in my life?" She let out a small, humourless laugh. "Not so much."

Liara was quiet for a long time. Her brow furrowed slightly—just a flicker of thought. Understanding, then, softly—"That makes sense."

Zoey wasn’t sure why those words hit her as hard as they did, maybe because most people would have laughed it off. Maybe because Liara didn’t sound like she was humouring her, she sounded like she was trying to understand.

Zoey cleared her throat, suddenly uncomfortable. "Anyway," she muttered, turning the cube again. "You’re probably overthinking it."

Liara huffed a small, amused breath. "I have been told I do that."

Zoey snorted. "No kidding." A brief pause. Then, after a moment, Zoey tossed the cube at her.

Liara caught it—barely.

Zoey watched as she turned it over in her hands, tilting her head slightly in confusion. Liara frowned, turning it over and examining it like it was some ancient Prothean artifact.

Zoey smirked slightly. "Go on, then. Try it."

Liara looked at her suspiciously. "You know that my expertise is in archaeology, not abstract human logic puzzles."

"Yeah," Zoey shrugged. "That’s why it’s funny."

Liara sighed, but after another long look at the cube, she hesitantly turned one of the rows.

She immediately froze, her entire brow creasing in visible concern. Zoey grinned. "Oh," Liara muttered, mildly horrified. "I don’t think I like this." Zoey laughed.

She had fallen asleep, while Liara focused on the cube. Zoey was curled up on the long cushioned bench, arms folded under her head, breathing deep and even. Even in rest, her body was still tense—shoulders drawn in, posture small, as if part of her still expected to be shaken awake for orders.

Liara sat across from her, the Rubik’s cube in her hands. She had been staring at it for far longer than she cared to admit. It had started as idle curiosity—a passing distraction while Zoey drifted off. But now, twenty minutes later, she was still turning it over in her hands, frowning as the coloured squares refused to align in any meaningful way.

She was not impatient. She had spent years delicately researching Prothean ruins, sifting through sand and debris with careful, methodical precision on volunteer dig sites across the galaxy.

But this? This absurd little human puzzle was infuriating. She turned one row, then another, and another. It got worse. Liara scowled. She glanced at Zoey, who, despite the occasional twitch of her fingers in sleep, seemed completely oblivious to the intellectual struggle occurring mere feet away.

Liara sighed through her nose and turned the cube again. Nothing.

It was as if the harder she tried, the more chaos she created. How did Zoey make this look effortless? Liara muttered something under her breath, adjusting her grip and attempting a different approach.

She turned the top row—wrong.

She tried to reverse it—even worse.

She tested a new pattern entirely—and somehow ended up with a singular, lonely yellow square in the middle of a sea of red.

Her eye twitched. She stared at the cube. It stared back. Mocking her. Finally, she muttered, "This is a defective object." She glared at the offending puzzle. "I am convinced of it."

She was so absorbed in her utter failure that she didn’t hear the footsteps approaching. Then—"…Please tell me you haven’t been staring at that thing for a full damn hour."

Liara startled. She turned sharply to find Aethyta standing in the doorway, arms crossed, her expression of pure, unrestrained amusement. Liara immediately straightened, composing herself with a quick, dignified breath. "That would be an exaggeration," she said smoothly.

Aethyta arched a brow. "Kid, you’re glaring at it like it insulted your mother."

Liara pursed her lips. "It is… illogical."

Aethyta snorted. "That’s what makes it fun."

Liara gestured at the cube with mild exasperation. "It does not do anything! There is no purpose, no function—no end result aside from the pattern itself!"

"Exactly."

"That is ridiculous."

"That’s human."

Liara scowled at the cube again. "It should not be this difficult."

Aethyta grinned. "Well, sweetheart, that’s ‘cause you got a big fancy brain used to solving things, not just fiddling with them until they work. Humans don’t always need a reason—sometimes they just like the challenge."

Liara frowned, not entirely convinced. Aethyta, still amused, stepped further into the room. Then her smirk faded—just a little. Her gaze flicked to Zoey, curled up on the bench, her shoulders drawn in, posture small. Even in sleep, she looked ready to run.

Aethyta exhaled softly through her nose, quiet but thoughtful. Then she plucked the cube from Liara’s hands with zero warning.

Liara blinked. "Hey—"

"Relax, I’m just testing somethin’."

Aethyta crouched beside Zoey, resting her forearm on the bench as she held up the cube near her face. "Hey, kid," she murmured, low and easy. "How fast can you do this thing?"

Aethyta rolled the cube in her fingers once, casually scrambling it further. "Bet you can't solve it half-asleep."

Zoey shifted slightly, barely awake, eyes half-closed. Without a word, she reached out and took the cube, and her fingers moved automatically—clicking softly and instinctively realigning colours into place. Within moments, it was done, the colours neatly arranged once more.

Liara stared, visibly annoyed. "She isn't even awake."

Aethyta grinned, clearly delighted. "That's what's makin' it impressive, kiddo."

Zoey mumbled, already drifting back to sleep, cube slipping from her fingers.

Liara sighed quietly. "I dislike this immensely."

"Aw, don't be a sore loser, Little Wing." Aethyta chuckled softly, but her eyes stayed thoughtful, watching Zoey sleep.

Liara huffed. "I am not—"

"You totally are."

"I am merely frustrated that I cannot comprehend the logic—"

"Sore. Loser." Liara glared. Aethyta grinned wider. Then, shaking her head fondly, she stood up and stretched. "Alright, I’m headin’ to bed before you start drafting a damn thesis on this thing."

She gave Zoey a light pat on the arm as she passed, murmuring, "Night, Little Bird," before heading toward the hall. Zoey—halfway back to unconsciousness—made a noncommittal noise.

Still mildly insulted, Liara picked up the cube again and examined it with narrowed eyes. She turned it once, then twice, and then sighed. She carefully placed it beside Zoey and stood. "Goodnight, Zoey," she murmured. Zoey didn’t answer, already deep in sleep.

Liara hesitated. Then, before leaving, she reached out just briefly, adjusting the blanket that had slipped off Zoey’s shoulder. Then, with a quiet exhale, she turned and left the room.

-͟͟͞ ☆

The room was dim, bathed in the soft glow of Thessian blue lamps, their light casting long shadows across the curved walls. Outside the viewport, stars streaked by, distant and untouchable, as the ship hummed its quiet, constant song.

Benezia was warm beside her, the steady rhythm of her breath a grounding presence. Aethyta lay curled against her, fingers idly tracing patterns over the silk of her nightrobe, but her mind was too restless for sleep.

She had been trying to ignore it. To just let it go. But damn it, she couldn’t. Aethyta exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over her face. "I tried to ignore it, y’know? Let it go." She shifted slightly, restless. Then—"She did it in fifty-six seconds."

Benezia’s eyes remained closed, but Aethyta felt her shift slightly, an acknowledgment. "Did what?"

"The damn cube." Aethyta pulled back just enough to glance up at her. "Kid was barely conscious, and she still solved it like it was nothing. Just—muscle memory. Like breathing. It was freakin’ adorable, but also—" She exhaled, shaking her head. "I dunno, Bene. It shouldn’t be like that."

Benezia opened her eyes now, watching her with quiet patience. "What do you mean?"

Aethyta hesitated. She hadn’t been sure how to put it into words before, but now, with Benezia looking at her like that—calm, steady, expecting an answer—she tried. "I mean…" Aethyta frowned, running a hand over her crest. "It’s like—I don’t know, Bene. Something about it just sits wrong." She exhaled, shaking her head. "Kid’s a damn genius."

Benezia’s brow lifted slightly, genuine intrigue flickering behind her gaze. "That is not an assessment you give lightly."

Aethyta huffed a small, humourless laugh. "Yeah, well. I mean it. She’s got a brilliant mind, but she doesn’t even know it. Doesn’t use it for anything but survival. That’s what gets me."

Benezia was silent for a moment. Then, slowly, she turned her head, watching Aethyta with quiet intrigue. "Explain."

Aethyta sighed, shifting so she was lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling. "Look, I’ve been around. Seen a lotta kids, seen a lotta soldiers. Seen how people tick." She tapped a finger absently against the mattress. "Most people? They need to concentrate to solve something like that. They gotta learn the process, study it. Hell, even Liara, who’s got a brain built for logic, couldn’t figure it out on her first try."

Benezia’s lips twitched slightly. "I imagine that was frustrating for her."

"Oh, painfully. It was hilarious. I’m gonna remind her about it for years."

Benezia’s faint amusement lingered for a second before she turned back to Aethyta. "And Shepard?"

Aethyta exhaled. "She’s different, Nezzie. She doesn’t even have to think about it. She knows how to do it. And the worst part? She doesn’t see it as anything special."

Benezia’s expression shifted. Not much—just the faintest narrowing of her gaze, the subtle crease of her brow. Interest. Aethyta recognised the look immediately.

Benezia was thinking.

Aethyta propped herself up on one elbow, watching her carefully. "You seein’ something I don’t?"

Benezia was silent for a moment. Then—slowly, thoughtfully—"Pattern recognition."

Aethyta blinked. "What?"

"She does not approach the puzzle as a challenge," Benezia said, her voice slow, deliberate. "She sees the answer before she even begins."

Aethyta frowned. "You think it’s some kind of instinct?"

"In a way," Benezia mused. "Maybe not an innate one. Something learned or conditioned." Aethyta’s stomach twisted. She didn’t like where this was going. Benezia continued, her voice gentle, but unwavering. "When you say she does not recognise it as special, I believe you are correct. Because to her, it is not a gift. It is a necessity."

Aethyta scowled. "That’s what pisses me off."

Benezia turned slightly, watching her. "That she had to learn it?"

"That she doesn’t even get to enjoy it," Aethyta muttered. "Kid should be using that brain to be a kid. To figure out what she likes and what she wants to do. Not just—" She made a vague, frustrated gesture. "Reacting. Surviving." She rolled onto her back again, exhaling sharply. "I wanna fix it, Bene. Right now."

Benezia didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she reached out, brushing her fingers along Aethyta’s crest, slow and soothing—a comforting touch. Aethyta leaned into it, almost unconsciously. "You want her to be a child," Benezia said softly.

"She is a child," Aethyta muttered. "She just doesn’t know how to be one."

Benezia hummed in quiet agreement. "And that is something she must rediscover for herself."

Aethyta sighed. "Yeah, yeah. Time, patience, all that good stuff. I get it. But Bene, what if she never does? What if she never gets there?"

Benezia was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally—"She will." Aethyta turned her head to look at her. There was no doubt in Benezia’s expression, no hesitation—just certainty.

"And what makes you so sure?" Aethyta asked, a little more vulnerable than she meant to be.

Benezia smiled faintly. "Because she is already beginning."

Aethyta frowned. "How do you figure?"

Benezia let her hand drift, resting lightly against Aethyta’s arm. "She solved the puzzle, did she not?"

Aethyta exhaled, rolling onto her back again. "Well, yeah—kid likes the thing," she muttered. "Keeps it on her. Plays with it."

Benezia hummed softly. "Yes. And she kept it." That made Aethyta pause, Benezia continued, her voice quiet and knowing. “She did not discard it, she did not return it, she kept it."

Aethyta opened her mouth, but no argument came because Benezia was right. Zoey hadn’t let go of it—not when Aethyta gave it to her, not after she solved it, not even when she fell asleep. It was still there, sitting beside her, within reach. She trusted them to give it back.

That may be the point. Maybe Zoey hadn’t realised it yet. But she was holding on to something. Aethyta exhaled, rolling back onto her side, pulling Benezia closer. "Still wish I could just fix her."

Benezia’s hand drifted to her back, slow, warm. "I know."

Aethyta closed her eyes. "She was so damn cute, though," she muttered.

Benezia chuckled. "Oh?"

Aethyta let out a small, lazy chuckle, pressing her face against Benezia’s shoulder as she settled more comfortably against her. "I told you and Liara I was gonna call the kid ‘Little Bird,’ but honestly? She’s more like… what’s it called? That human thing—the weird little night bird with the big freakin’ eyes."

Benezia tilted her head slightly, considering. "A strange description."

Aethyta waved a vague hand. "Nah, you know the one. All round, feathery, kinda hunched over? Always looks like it’s been awake for three days straight?” Benezia blinked. Aethyta snapped her fingers. "Oh! And it turns its head around like some creepy little demon!"

Benezia turned her head slightly, regarding her bondmate with a mixture of patience and mild concern. "Aethyta… are you sure this is a real animal?"

Aethyta snorted. "Yes, I’m sure! I saw one in some human nature vid a while back—little guy just sittin’ in a tree, lookin’ like it had seen things."

She shifted slightly, brow furrowing. "Damn it, what’s the name… it’s small, it hoots, it stares into your soul…"

Benezia thought momentarily, her fingers brushing along Aethyta’s crest as she sifted through her memory.

A small, nocturnal avian creature…

Large, forward-facing eyes for enhanced vision…

Hoots.

Benezia’s lips parted slightly as realisation dawned. "Ah." She nodded, satisfied. "An owl."

Aethyta snapped her fingers again. "That’s the one! Owl! That’s what she is. A little owl."

Benezia huffed softly, amusement flickering in her expression. "Because she is small and watches everything with tired suspicion?"

"Exactly."

Benezia tilted her head, thoughtful. "It is not an unflattering comparison. Owls are observant, intelligent, highly adaptable hunters—"

Aethyta grinned. "See? That’s why it fits. She’s a tiny, pissed-off owl with trust issues."

Benezia allowed herself the faintest smirk. "An appropriate description."

Aethyta smirked back. "Alright, new plan—She’s ‘Little Owl’."

Benezia exhaled slowly, the closest thing she would allow to an indulgent sigh. "If it amuses you."

"Oh, it does," Aethyta muttered sleepily. "Gonna start callin’ her that when she’s too tired to argue."

Benezia hummed, the warmth of her voice settling low in Aethyta’s chest. "I imagine she will resist."

"Yeah, well," Aethyta yawned, closing her eyes. "I’m stubborn. I’ll win." Benezia smiled—a beat of silence. Then, drowsily—"Hey, Nezzie?"

"Hm?"

"Y’think she’d be weirded out if I got her, like, a stuffed animal owl?"

Benezia’s lips twitched. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you frame it as a sentimental gesture… or a joke at her expense."

Aethyta laughed softly, her breath warm against Benezia’s skin. "Ah, hell. You know me too well."

Benezia reached up, fingers threading lazily through Aethyta’s crest, slow and soothing. "That, my love, is not a difficult feat." Aethyta hummed, half-asleep now, warmth and exhaustion settling into her bones. Benezia let her drift.

As the ship hummed softly around them, she glanced toward the dim viewport, her mind lingering on the girl down the hall—curled up on a lounge bench, quiet, sleeping.

She would not push. She would not rush. But she would be watching.

Benezia looked down at Aethyta, now fully asleep in her arms, muttering something about "grumpy little birds." She did not doubt that Aethyta’s ridiculous nickname would somehow stick.

-͟͟͞ ☆

The ship’s lighting had shifted to morning mode, the dim blue of the night cycle fading into a gentle glow that mimicked natural daylight. The hum of the engines remained steady, a quiet background presence.

Zoey sat at the lounge table, absentmindedly turning the Rubik’s cube in her hands. She wasn’t thinking about it—her fingers moved independently, the cube clicking softly as the colours twisted, mismatched, scrambled into something deliberately unsolved.

Aethyta stepped into the room, stretching with a groan before blinking at what she saw. "Kid," she frowned, "didn’t you just solve that thing last night?"

Zoey barely glanced up. "Yeah."

Aethyta sat across from Zoey, watching her silently scramble the cube yet again.

Zoey wasn’t really thinking about it. Her hands moved automatically, twisting, shifting—her fingers knew the motions before her mind did.

Then—Aethyta plucked it gently from her hands.

Zoey blinked, momentarily startled. Her fingers twitched slightly like they weren’t sure what to do without the weight of the cube in her hands. Then, after half a second, her expression settled into mild irritation. "Hey."

Aethyta twisted the cube thoughtfully, watching Zoey across the table. She waited for a second to see if Zoey would notice on her own. She didn’t. Smirking slightly, Aethyta tilted her head. "You ever realise you don’t even look at this thing when you’re solving it?"

A soft yawn came from the doorway. Aethyta grinned. "Mornin’, Little Wing."

Zoey shrugged, unconcerned and continued as Liara sat down. "I don’t really think about it. It’s just automatic." Her eyes occasionally drifted to the cube.

Aethyta raised an eyebrow, turning the cube slowly. "Always been like that?"

Zoey hesitated. "...Yeah. Just patterns."

Liara tilted her head, intrigued despite herself. "Patterns? How do you mean?"

Zoey nodded slowly, clearly not understanding why this mattered. She blinked, glancing between them. "Everything’s patterns—languages, faces, sounds. Once you know what to look for, it's easy."

Aethyta met Liara's gaze, exchanging something unspoken between them. Zoey didn't notice, just shrugged and took the cube back, absently turning it again, the colours aligning effortlessly.

Aethyta leaned back, voice unusually gentle. "You ever consider that's not ordinary?"

Zoey glanced up, genuinely confused. "…Why wouldn't it be?"

Liara stared, visibly recalibrating something in her mind. Aethyta sighed quietly, handing the cube back, her voice gentler than Zoey had ever heard it. "Never mind, kid. We'll talk about it later."

Zoey stared down at the cube in her hands, turning it absently, the patterns shifting with practiced ease. Liara watched quietly, her expression thoughtful, still clearly processing the conversation.

After a quiet moment, Aethyta tilted her head, curious. "Alright, kid languages. How many you got rattlin' around in there?"

Zoey blinked, momentarily caught off-guard. "Languages?"

Aethyta waved a casual hand. "Yeah. You clearly pick stuff up fast. You fluent in anything other than Standard?"

Zoey hesitated, considering. "Some Trade Cant. Enough Terminus dialects to follow along. And...a bit of Thessian."

Liara visibly straightened, surprise evident. "You speak Thessian?"

Zoey shrugged again, self-conscious. "Some."

Aethyta smiled warmly, intrigued. "Let’s hear it then. Give us your best shot."

Zoey glanced up uncertainly, shifting under their expectant stares. Then, softly but clearly, she spoke:

"Veyon talis nira’teth, anas y’vali thran."

Liara’s eyes widened in quiet astonishment. Aethyta blinked, momentarily speechless. "Damn," she murmured.

Zoey frowned slightly. "Did I get it wrong?"

Liara blinked, her lips parting slightly—surprise flickered across her face, then something closer to admiration. "No, Shepard. That was flawless."

Zoey’s confusion only deepened. "It's just a proverb. Right?"

"It's a well-known Thessian proverb," Liara clarified gently, her voice steady but warm. "But your pronunciation—it is as if you've spoken Thessian for years."

"One of Nezzie's favourites, too," Aethyta added thoughtfully, studying Zoey more closely now.

Zoey looked away, suddenly uncomfortable under their gazes. "I just listened. People... repeat themselves."

Aethyta exhaled softly, leaning back in her seat, clearly seeing Zoey in a new light. "Ever considered bein' a diplomat, Little Owl?"

Zoey gave her a tired, incredulous look. "Hard pass."

Aethyta chuckled quietly, exchanging a glance with Liara, who was still curiously watching Zoey. Zoey looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the attention, her fingers idly twisting the Rubik’s cube again.

Liara glanced thoughtfully at Aethyta, something clearly working behind her eyes. "Shepard," she began carefully, "you mentioned seeing patterns in everything—languages, people...?"

Zoey nodded slowly, cautious. "Yeah. Pretty much."

Liara hesitated briefly, as if not entirely sure how to frame her question. "And what exactly do you see when you observe...us?"

Zoey blinked, suddenly wary. "What do you mean?"

Aethyta leaned forward slightly, intrigued. "She means us, kid. If everything’s a pattern, what’s ours?"

Zoey hesitated, fingers tightening around the cube. She wasn’t sure why this mattered to them. She shifted slightly, glancing between them—measuring, deciding—Liara’s calm curiosity, Aethyta’s playful but sincere interest—and something loosened just a bit inside her.

Finally, quietly, she said, "Aethyta fills silences with jokes, either to distract from something uncomfortable or to steer conversations. Liara..." She paused, glancing briefly at the younger asari. "Liara doesn’t say much unless she’s testing a theory or looking for reactions. She’s careful about when she speaks."

Liara’s eyes widened slightly, and Aethyta let out a low, appreciative whistle. "Shit, kid. You got us down cold."

Zoey shifted awkwardly. Liara exchanged a meaningful glance with Aethyta before leaning forward slightly, her tone softer and gentler. "Shepard, most people do not see things quite so clearly—or quickly."

Zoey didn't answer immediately. Looking down at the cube again, she suddenly focused on realigning its colours. Aethyta watched her, her voice softening into seriousness. "Little Owl, when’s the last time anyone noticed something about you?"

Zoey’s fingers froze briefly. She opened her mouth—just slightly. But no words came.

Instead, she stood, quietly making her way toward the galley. Aethyta studied her quietly, her expression thoughtful but unreadable. When she finally spoke, her voice was steady, unexpectedly gentle.

"You see everything. But nobody ever sees you."

Zoey’s breath hitched slightly, her shoulders tensing as if bracing against something she wasn’t ready to acknowledge. Liara remained silent, her gaze soft but intense, clearly understanding the weight behind those words.

Aethyta didn’t push further. Instead, she gently tapped the Rubik’s cube still held tightly in Zoey’s hands. "Go get yourself something to eat, kid."

Zoey exhaled quietly, not responding as she rose. She silently made her way toward the galley. Liara and Aethyta exchanged a quiet glance, both fully aware they'd uncovered something delicate and important.

-͟͟͞ ☆

Zoey exhaled softly as she stepped into the small galley, rolling the Rubik’s cube between her fingers. The earlier conversation lingered uncomfortably in her chest. She still didn't fully understand why Aethyta and Liara had looked at her that way. Like she'd said something profound. Like they'd noticed something she hadn't meant to show.

It wasn't weird. It wasn't special.

She turned the cube absently again—click, click, click—but paused when she caught the gentle scent of tea.

At the far end of the galley, Benezia stood in quiet serenity, pouring herself a cup of amber-coloured tea, steam rising in gentle curls. Her movements were precise, deliberate, completely composed.

Zoey hesitated, suddenly unsure if she should stay. Before she could decide, Benezia spoke without turning around.

"You are up early."

Zoey shrugged uncomfortably. "It’s not that early."

Benezia glanced over her shoulder, one brow lifting slightly. "For most, it is."

Zoey gave a slight, involuntary smile. "Yeah, well."

Benezia’s gaze drifted to the cube still twisting slowly in Zoey’s hands. "Yet you already find yourself occupied."

Zoey followed her gaze and sighed softly, setting the cube down on the counter. "I guess. Didn’t really notice."

Benezia took a thoughtful sip of tea. "Did something happen this morning?"

Zoey hesitated, remembering the look on Aethyta and Liara’s faces. Remembering Aethyta’s words, heavy in the quiet. She shrugged, trying for casual. "Just…had a weird conversation."

"With whom?"

"Aethyta and Liara."

Benezia exhaled softly, a faint trace of amusement in her eyes. "An interesting pairing."

Zoey let out a brief, breathy laugh. "Yeah. Liara’s still annoyed about the cube."

Benezia hummed thoughtfully, sipping her tea. "A puzzle she could not solve?"

Zoey smiled faintly. "A puzzle she couldn’t solve quickly. And couldn’t understand why it matters."

"And Aethyta?" Benezia asked gently.

Zoey paused, debating briefly how much to say. But the Matriarch’s steady gaze made deflection feel pointless, almost wrong. She sighed. "She said something about how my mind works. That I notice things other people don’t, and…"

Benezia was silent for a beat, watching Zoey carefully. Then, gently—"And that troubled you?"

Zoey frowned. "I mean, it's not really special. It’s just how my brain works. Patterns."

"And yet," Benezia said calmly, "it surprised them."

Zoey shrugged uneasily, shifting her weight. "I don't know why."

Benezia regarded her with quiet curiosity. "Perhaps because what comes naturally to you seems extraordinary to others." She took a slow sip, watching Zoey carefully. "Tell me—these patterns. Can you see them now?"

Zoey hesitated. "What?"

Benezia set her cup down lightly. "Me, for example. What patterns do you see?"

Zoey's fingers tightened slightly around the cube, but she answered instinctively. "You’re making tea, human-style, probably from a colony. You added something sweet, like it’s a habit rather than a preference. You've probably done it for years, only adjusting slightly when circumstances forced you to. Like human tea as it travels well." She paused, then continued softly, "You move deliberately, carefully. You’re someone who controls your environment by controlling yourself. It’s subtle, but it’s always there."

Benezia’s expression remained calm, but approval glinted faintly in her eyes. "Veyon talis nira’teth, anas y’vali thran."

Zoey froze, the proverb landing quietly between them. She swallowed, unsure why hearing it again felt so heavy, especially now. "It is one thing to speak the words," Benezia said, her voice gentle yet steady. “It is another entirely to understand their meaning. Do you understand them, Zoey?"

Zoey hesitated, uncertain. "It’s about a river. About…moving forward."

Benezia studied her, then exhaled, her voice soft but unwavering. "The river does not ask where it flows, only that it moves."

She let the words settle before continuing "But not merely forward motion. It is about adaptability. Rivers shape the lands they pass through, and the lands shape them in return."

Zoey stared at the cube, quietly absorbing that. "Adaptation," she murmured, as if testing the word carefully.

Benezia watched her, voice quiet yet firm. "You have spent much of your life forced into constant motion, Zoey. Perhaps it is time to choose how and where you flow."

Zoey’s breath caught slightly, and she looked up, suddenly vulnerable. She had no idea how to respond.

Benezia met her gaze gently. She waited. She saw the hesitation—the quiet war between instinct and choice. Then, with the same gentle patience, she nodded toward the cupboards. "Perhaps some breakfast first. The rest can wait."

Zoey hesitated. Then, quietly, she gave a slight nod. "Okay."

Zoey lingered near the counter, shifting slightly as Benezia moved with quiet precision, setting aside her tea and reaching for ingredients. The Matriarch’s movements were calm, practiced—each motion deliberate, unhurried. There was something oddly grounding about it.

Zoey wasn’t sure what she had expected. Maybe a fully automated kitchen, sleek and impersonal, churning out carefully calibrated meals. Not this. Not Benezia, standing at the stove, preparing something by hand.

“You cook?” Zoey asked, curiosity slipping into her voice before she could stop it.

Benezia gave a small, knowing smile as she selected a small bowl of delicate, thin-shelled eggs—each a muted shade of blue. She cracked them one by one into a pan, their contents shimmering briefly before settling into a soft, custard-like consistency. “I do. When time permits.”

She reached for a bundle of pale green herbs, expertly plucking and shredding a few leaves with her fingers before sprinkling them over the cooking eggs. A subtle, warm aroma filled the air—something lightly savoury, with just a hint of citrus.

Zoey watched as the mixture firmed slightly around the edges. “Is that…asari food?”

Benezia nodded, stirring gently. “A simple breakfast, common in many Thessian households. These eggs come from a species that thrive in Thessia’s southern forests. They are light, nourishing, and gentle on the stomach.”

Zoey smirked. “That’s reassuring.”

Benezia let out a quiet chuckle, lifting her tea to her lips. “Not everything needs to be complicated to be good, Zoey.”

Benezia lifted a plate and, with practiced ease, folded the softly cooked eggs onto it, layering them lightly before adding a final garnish of finely chopped purple vegetables. The scent drifted toward Zoey—light, warm, subtly savoury with a faint citrus note. It was unfamiliar, but… not unpleasant. She wasn’t sure if she was hungry. But she wasn’t not hungry, either.

“This is a personal favourite,” she admitted. “Simple, yet satisfying.”

Zoey eyed the dish as Benezia slid it in front of her. The texture was softer than she expected, almost like silk, with a light gloss that hinted at moisture. The herbs and sprouts added contrast, bright against the warm creaminess of the eggs.

She picked up her fork and took a cautious bite. It was…good—surprisingly good. Mild but flavourful, the citrusy herb cut through the richness in just the right way. She took another bite, glancing up at Benezia. “Alright. Not bad.”

Benezia smirked slightly, sipping her tea. “I will take that as high praise.”

Zoey shook her head, amused despite herself. Silence settled between them—not awkward, just easy, warm. She wasn’t sure when the tension in her chest had started to ease.

"We should be arriving at the estate soon," Benezia said softly.

Zoey hesitated as she picked at her food. The warmth of the steam curled against her fingers, familiar. She took another slow bite, letting it settle, letting herself be here. "Your estate?"

Benezia paused, her eyes gentle as they met Zoey’s. "Our Estate. Our home, Zoey. Not just mine."

Zoey stared down at her plate, something tightening in her chest. The word sat there, heavy, unfamiliar. She took another slow bite, chewing carefully.

And then—softer, almost testing it—"Home."

Benezia watched her carefully. She saw how Zoey’s fingers curled slightly against the edge of the plate—the way she avoided looking up.

And then—gently, reassuringly—"Yes. Home."

Benezia did not push, simply sipping her tea again, letting the words sit.

After a long pause, Zoey cleared her throat. “Thanks. For breakfast.”

Benezia inclined her head. “You are welcome, Zoey.”

Chapter Text

The docking clamps slammed into place with a metallic shriek, shuddering through the hull as the frigate locked onto the station. The ship’s airlock hissed open, expelling cold mist as Saren stepped onto the grated deck with precise, methodical movements. His boots clanked against the steel floor, the sound sharp, commanding—a predator announcing his presence.

His expression was set in stone, mandibles tight with restrained fury. His cloak billowed behind him as he moved, glaring at anyone foolish enough to step into his path.

The Reapers had failed him. Elysium still stood.

The mercenary station was filthy, a half-functional mess of scavenged bulkheads and jury-rigged power conduits, flickering neon signs casting sickly pale light against rust-stained walls. The Reaper mercs lingered in clusters, their purple armour gleaming dully under the station’s dim lighting, red visors obscuring expressions tightening with tension.

The guards standing at the entrance—Batarians, their red-visored helmets giving them an almost insectile appearance, stiffened at his approach but didn’t move to stop him. They knew better.

The deeper he walked, the more of them he saw—Krogan lounging against a barricade, a Salarian adjusting his rifle, a pair of Turians muttering to one another near the weapons lockers. The air was thick with the smell of burned metal and spilt liquor. None of them looked particularly triumphant.

They glanced his way, but didn’t speak, as if they could smell it on him. The scent of fury. The scent of blood about to be spilt.

Saren didn’t slow. He stalked through the corridor like a spectre of death, his eyes scanning every shadow. A pair of Krogan, their armour etched with the Reapers’ insignia, gripped their weapons reflexively but didn’t dare block his path. They weren’t that stupid.

Beyond the next threshold, a wide chamber opened, its centre occupied by a round table where mercenary leaders had gathered. Holo-displays flickered with incomplete mission reports—footage of Elysium’s defences still intact, Reaper ships burning in atmo, human survivors standing amidst the wreckage—an utter failure.

And at the head of the table sat Elanos Haliat.

The pirate lord looked up as Saren entered, his smug expression barely faltering. He was a tall, lean, wiry man with sharp eyes gleaming in the dim light. Adorned in scarred armour, lounged with his feet propped up on the table, his mandibles pulling back in an easy smirk.

Saren paused just inside the doorway, his gaze sweeping the room. He didn’t need to ask who was responsible. He already knew. The silence was suffocating. Then Haliat smirked. “Ah, Saren. I was wondering when you’d show up. I assume you’re here to congratulate me on—”

The gunshot cut through the air like a thunderclap.

Haliat’s smirk barely had time to fade before the round ripped through his skull. His head snapped back violently, mandibles spasming, a perfect, smoking hole drilled between his eyes. His chair tipped backwards, crashing against the floor as his corpse sprawled, lifeless.

No one moved. No one breathed. Saren lowered his pistol, exhaling sharply. One problem solved.

A thick silence settled over the room. Saren exhaled slowly, mandibles flaring. "Pathetic." Then, predictably, chaos.

The mercenaries erupted. Some lunged for their weapons, others shouted in shock. Saren moved first.

A Krogan roared, drawing his shotgun. Saren turned into the attack like a force of nature. The merc barely had time to pull the trigger before Saren was on him—his claws slicing across the Krogan’s throat, a wet, gurgling sound spilling from the warrior as he collapsed to the floor, clutching his ruined windpipe.

Another merc lunged—a Batarian, reaching for a knife—Saren caught his wrist and twisted violently. The crunch of breaking bone was lost beneath the snarling hiss that tore from Saren’s throat.

The Batarian screamed—a short-lived sound before Saren yanked the mercenary forward and smashed his head against the edge of the table. Blood sprayed across the console, the lights flickering as the screen shorted out.

A Turian—one of Haliat’s lieutenants—tried to raise his rifle. Saren snarled, a deep, feral sound, and ripped the gun from his grip, swinging it like a club. The butt of the rifle caved in the Turian’s visor, sending him sprawling, faceplate shattered, one eye bulging grotesquely through the ruin of his helmet.

The Asari biotic at the far end of the room tried to hurl a shockwave his way, but it was too slow.

Saren was already moving. He sidestepped the biotic flare, closed the distance in a blink, and slammed his talons deep into her abdomen. She gasped, body going rigid, her biotics fizzling out in flickers of helpless blue light.

Saren leaned in, voice low, dripping with venom. “Your leader was a failure.” With a savage jerk, he tore his claws free. The Asari collapsed to the ground, convulsing. She wasn’t dead—not yet.

The remaining mercenaries hesitated, shifting uncertainly. The fight had lasted mere seconds, but the outcome was already clear. Saren was untouchable.

Then, a voice like grinding metal filled the chamber. "Enough." It was a single word. And yet, it carried the weight of a death sentence.  Saren turned, his sharp eyes fixing on the far end of the room.

A lone figure stepped from the shadows. It was a Turian, taller than most, clad in dark armour and in regal posture, suggesting complete dominance. His plates were marked with intricate silver, and his sharp and pronounced mandibles barely moved as he spoke. Unlike the others, his visor was absent—he did not hide behind reflective glass.

Sovereign.

The mercenaries tensed like cornered animals, their eyes flicking between Saren and Sovereign. They feared Saren. But they feared Sovereign more.

Sovereign’s head tilted slightly. "I assume you had your reasons, Saren."

Saren exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders, the scent of blood thick on his armour. He studied Sovereign for a moment before speaking. "Elysium still stands." His tone was flat.

Sovereign exhaled slowly, considering this. Then, with a measured nod, he spoke again. "Then we will rebuild. Stronger. Smarter.” Saren’s mandibles twitched in irritation, but he held his tongue.

Sovereign took another step forward, his presence looming, suffocating. "Haliat was weak," he mused, glancing at the still-bleeding corpse of the former leader.

Saren’s expression remained unreadable. "He was a liability."

Sovereign chuckled. "As are many." His gaze lingered on Saren for a fraction longer than necessary. A silent understanding passed between them. Then, Sovereign turned to the remaining mercenaries. "Clean this up," he ordered, voice low but firm. "And be grateful Saren saw fit to let the rest of you live."

The mercenaries scrambled into action. No one argued. No one dared. Saren watched them move, his expression impassive. He had made his point. Failure was unacceptable.

The metallic scent of blood lingered in the air as medics worked with quiet efficiency, stepping over bodies that still twitched in pain. A battered Krogan groaned as he was lifted onto a stretcher, his throat wrapped in gauze where Saren’s claws had torn into him. The Batarian whimpered, his broken wrist trembling as a field medic injected him with a sedative. The Asari biotic, barely alive, convulsed weakly as neural stimulators were placed against her temples, trying to stabilise her failing vitals.

The room had been a warzone only minutes ago. Now, it was a morgue for the still-breathing.

Saren moved to the far end of the chamber, his back to the carnage he had caused. He had no interest in the weak, the broken, the bleeding. They had no place in the conversation he was about to have.

Across from him, Sovereign stood still, a figure of obsidian and silver. His eyes watched the medics move with something akin to disinterest. He did not acknowledge the wounded or seem particularly invested in what would become of them.

Saren let the silence stretch, the sound of low groans and medical instruments filling the space. Finally, he spoke, his voice edged with curt impatience. "What now?"

Sovereign’s head tilted slightly. "You sound discontent."

Saren’s mandibles twitched. "I am focused. The operation failed. The colony stands. And yet, you seem untroubled."

Sovereign exhaled slowly, turning slightly toward the flickering holo-display in the chamber's centre. Elysium’s battered skyline, the aftermath of fire and war, still stood. "A battle is not the war, Saren."

Saren scoffed. "That line has been repeated throughout history, usually by those on the losing side."

Sovereign’s unshaken gaze flickered toward him. "Only if the battle was the objective." Saren narrowed his eyes, searching Sovereign’s face for any trace of deception. But there was none—only that same distant certainty. "This was a test," Sovereign continued. "A measure of will, of resistance, of weakness. A single human colony. A force that should have collapsed within hours." He let the words hang.

Saren’s mandibles twitched. "And yet, they did not."

Sovereign inclined his head. "Some did. Most did. But not all."

Saren folded his arms. "And what does that tell you?"

Sovereign exhaled. "That they will require a more… refined approach."

Saren’s fingers flexed. He hated vague answers. He hated games. "And what would that entail?"

Sovereign turned back to the holo-display. Images flickered—fires raging, bodies scattered, Alliance soldiers scrambling to evacuate. And then, a girl in bloodstained fatigues, gripping a rifle like it was the only thing holding her together. Sovereign spoke, his voice steady. "This one interests me."

Saren exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing. He didn’t need to ask who.

"She is a soldier," Sovereign continued, almost idly. "An inexperienced one, yet still standing when none remained. I listened to her comms." Saren’s gaze darkened, but he said nothing. "She was given one last order," Sovereign mused. "And she took it to heart."

The holo-display flickered—a barely stable recording picked up from intercepted communications. A voice, broken but determined, rang out. "Elysium doesn’t fall today."

Saren’s claws curled slightly, but his expression remained controlled.

"She fought with the Matriarchs," Sovereign continued. "Benezia. Aethyta. When her entire squad had perished, when she was alone, she still held."

Saren’s mandibles flexed in irritation. "And?"

Sovereign turned slightly, watching him. "And you do not seem surprised."

Saren’s voice was measured. "Because I already have someone keeping an eye on her," Sovereign said, nothing, waiting. Saren exhaled, the slightest smirk curling his mandibles. "Nihlus.”

Sovereign studied him for a long moment. "You trust him to remain… impartial?"

Saren scoffed. "Nihlus believes in the Council. He believes in structure. He believes in the illusion that order will hold the galaxy together. If anything, he is predictable."

Sovereign hummed, a sound of mild consideration. "You think he will not interfere?"

Saren’s mandibles twitched in faint amusement. "Interfere in what? The girl is on her way to Thessia. She is no longer a problem." Sovereign tilted his head slightly, the faintest trace of intrigue passing through his gaze. Saren pressed forward. "She is out of the fight. The Asari will take her in, surround her with their politics, culture, and influence, and she will become one of them."

Sovereign’s expression remained unreadable. "And you believe that will change her?"

Saren exhaled sharply, stepping away from the holo-display. "It will make her irrelevant."

Sovereign did not respond immediately. He turned his gaze back to the flickering holo-recording, watching the girl move through the wreckage of her dead comrades, her hands still shaking, but never dropping her weapon.

For a long time, he simply watched. Saren didn’t care for the silence. He had said all he needed to. The girl was gone. Thessia would consume her. He turned sharply, his boots clanking against the steel floor as he strode toward the exit, leaving the wounded, the medics, and Sovereign behind.

But as he passed through the threshold, Sovereign’s voice followed him, quiet, thoughtful.

"Perhaps."

Saren didn’t stop walking.

-͟͟͞ ☆

The Citadel’s tower loomed above the Presidium, its spires stretching into the artificial sky, a beacon of power and bureaucracy that had governed the galaxy for centuries. Below, the heart of galactic politics moved in its endless rhythm—diplomatic envoys arguing over trade agreements, petitioners pleading for Council intervention, and politicians manoeuvring behind closed doors for the favour of those who truly held power.

Within the tower’s highest levels, where the weight of galactic authority pressed like a silent spectre against the walls, three figures convened in the private chambers of the Council.

The room was pristine, calm, sterile, and untouched by war. Its vast glass windows offered a panoramic view of the Presidium. The faint glow of holo-displays hummed against polished walls, their data feeds casting soft blue light over the chamber. It was a room meant for decisions that shaped the stars, where alliances were made and civilisations abandoned with the flick of a finger.

The Councillors sat in their respective positions, each exuding the quiet authority that had kept them in power.

Tevos, the Asari representative, was poised as ever, her regal presence exuding patience. Sparatus, the Turian Councillor, was less restrained, already weary of whatever had brought them here. Valern, the Salarian, observed with analytical stillness, his large, dark eyes never blinking for long, fingers rhythmically tapping against his wrist—a subtle metronome of thought.

Across from them, standing rigidly at attention, was Nihlus Kryik.

His armour gleamed, polished to perfection, his Spectre insignia catching the chamber’s cold lighting. His stance was impeccable—military discipline woven into every fibre of his being. But for all the control he projected, there was something sharp in his gaze. A flicker of doubt. A weight behind his carefully measured expression.

Sparatus was the first to break the silence. His tone was clipped, authoritative. "You requested this meeting, Spectre Kryik. I assume you have something worthwhile to report?" Nihlus hesitated—only a fraction of a second long enough for Valern’s gaze to sharpen.

Then, with a slight incline of his head, he spoke. "I do."

Tevos folded her hands neatly, creating a picture of composed interest. "Proceed."

Nihlus exhaled slowly, collecting his thoughts. Then: "It’s about Saren Arterius."

That caught their attention. Sparatus’ mandibles flared slightly, but his expression remained neutral. "Saren is one of our most capable agents. You will have to be very specific, Kryik."

Nihlus didn’t flinch. "I believe his actions in the Terminus Systems warrant closer scrutiny."

Valern tilted his head slightly, his fingers pausing their rhythmic tapping. "Clarify."

Nihlus remained still, but his voice sharpened. "The attack on Elysium was not just another skirmish. It was coordinated. The mercenary force that struck the colony was organised far beyond its usual capabilities. And Saren was there." The reaction was immediate.

Sparatus exhaled sharply, a sound that carried equal parts impatience and warning. "Saren was not leading the attack. The Reapers are a rogue mercenary faction—violent, yes, but hardly an existential threat to Council Space."

Nihlus twitched slightly. "No, he was not leading them. But he was among them. And if you believe Saren was there merely as an observer, I suggest we reevaluate what it means to be a Spectre."

Tevos arched a brow, her voice calm but laced with interest. "Are you implying that Saren had a role in the attack?"

Nihlus’ jaw tightened. "I am implying that he stood among them, watched them fail, and walked away without consequence." A tense silence stretched between them.

Sparatus leaned forward, his hands gripping the edges of the table. "Spectres operate outside the usual constraints, Nihlus. You, of all people, should understand this. He was gathering intelligence, assessing threats—"

"Then why did he not stop them?" The words hung in the air like a blade.

Tevos’ expression remained unreadable, Valern’s fingers resumed tapping, but Sparatus’ mandibles clenched tightly.

Nihlus pressed on. "He watched an entire mercenary force break itself against Elysium’s defences. And when it was clear they had failed, he simply… left. No effort to dismantle them. No report to the Council warning of their movements. Nothing."

Valern exhaled quietly, his voice slow, measured. "This is speculation."

Nihlus inhaled through his nose, keeping his voice even. "Perhaps. But I trust my instincts, and something about this is wrong."

Sparatus’ eyes narrowed. "And yet, you followed his lead for years without issue."

Nihlus’s posture remained rigid, but a flicker of something darker passed through his gaze. "Saren has always been ruthless. That much was expected. But I no longer believe he is merely ruthless."

Tevos studied him for a long moment. "Then what do you believe?"

Nihlus’ gaze hardened. "That he is dangerous."

Sparatus scoffed, shaking his head. "Saren is dangerous because we need him to be."

"That’s not what I meant."

Sparatus’ mandibles flared slightly. "Then speak plainly, Kryik."

Nihlus straightened. "I believe Saren is working toward an agenda beyond the interests of the Council. And I intend to find out what it is."

A weight settled over the room. Tevos exchanged a glance with Valern, something silent passing between them—a consideration. Valern’s fingers tapped again, his tone thoughtful. "What do you propose?"

Nihlus took a slow breath before responding. "Permission to run surveillance on Saren. Unrestricted. If I am wrong, then I will concede my concerns. But if I am right…" His voice dropped slightly. "Then we will have far bigger problems than just one rogue mercenary faction."

The chamber was silent.

Tevos leaned forward, her hands resting lightly against the barrier, her gaze cool but calculating. "You understand that Spectres do not spy on other Spectres lightly, Nihlus. The Council cannot sanction this formally."

Nihlus nodded once, his voice steady. "Understood. But I do not need your sanction. I only need your silence."

Another moment of consideration. Then, Tevos leaned back, "Very well. Proceed with discretion."

Valern simply nodded, his expression unreadable.

Sparatus exhaled sharply, his tone clipped with reluctance. "You’re playing a dangerous game, Nihlus."

Nihlus allowed himself a small, tight smile. "Then it’s a good thing I’m good at it."

The meeting adjourned. As Nihlus stepped out of the chamber, his expression remained unreadable. Saren had always been a mystery. But now?

Now Nihlus was sure of one thing. He would find out exactly what his old mentor was up to.

-͟͟͞ ☆

The bass reverberated through the walls of Chora’s Den, pulsing with the low, throaty beat of some off-world synth track. The air was thick with the scent of cheap drinks and expensive mistakes. Dim neon lights flickered against the haze of smoke curling from the darker booths, where business was conducted far from the eyes of C-Sec.

Nihlus sat at the bar, nursing a drink he had no intention of finishing. His Spectre credentials got him into places like this without hassle, but he had the kind of presence that made people rethink their life choices. Even the bouncers pretended not to see him.

For once, he wasn’t here to chase down a bounty or put a gun to someone’s head. He exhaled, activated his Omni-tool, and made the call. It was answered on the third chime.

"Nihlus." The word was clipped, professional—until she tacked on, "Did you kill someone important again?"

Vice Admiral Nylae. Still blunt. Still unimpressed with him. His mandibles twitched. “I feel like I should be offended that that’s your first assumption.”

“You have a history.”

Nihlus smirked, shifting in his seat. “Some things never change, huh? You’re still acting like I only ever bring bad news.”

There was a pause, then a dry chuckle. "Kryik, I used to have a full night’s sleep before you existed in my life." She sighed, the sound of a datapad being set down in the background. “Alright, tell me what’s on fire this time.”

He shook his head in amusement, but the moment passed quickly. “It’s about Saren.”

The silence on the other end was brief but telling.

“…Go on.”

"He was in the Terminus Systems during the attack on Elysium. Even on world, he as much as admitted it to me."

“That’s the rumour.”

Nihlus leaned against the bar, lowering his voice slightly. “He danced around it, but the way he talked about the mercs and dismissed the entire thing… he knew something. Maybe even had a hand in it.”

Nylae sighed, but it wasn’t one of defeat—it was one of frustration. "And you went to the Council."

“I did.”

"And?"

“They told me to proceed—unofficially.”

Nylae made a thoughtful noise. "Which means you’re now a useful tool if you're right and an easy scapegoat if you're wrong."

"That’s the gist of it."

A brief silence. Then—"Damn, Kryik. How do you keep falling for this?"

Nihlus smirked. "You always did say I was too trusting."

"I also said you should take a desk job before someone with more ambition than brains gets you killed. And yet, here we are."

Nihlus exhaled slowly. "I need access, Nylae. You may be Alliance now, but you still have friends in the Hierarchy. I need to know where Saren has been operating and who he’s been pulling into his orbit. I need more than a gut feeling."

He expected a sharper refusal, but instead, there was only hesitation. “Nihlus… you know this puts me in a difficult position.”

“Does it?” He leaned forward, resting an elbow on the bar. “Or is it just inconvenient?”

“You are such a pain in the ass.”

He smiled. “That’s more like it.”

There was a long pause. Then a very unimpressed sigh. “Nihlus, let me make something clear.” There was a creek as she leaned back in her chair, voice flat, unamused, and not eager to be dragged into Spectre business. “I am an admiral now. I have responsibilities. Reports. Meetings. I drink expensive wine and make small talk with people I hate. Do you know how much effort it would take for me to even think about digging into Saren’s records?”

He smirked. “That almost sounded like a no.”

She made an unimpressed noise. “It was. Almost.”

Another pause. Then, casually, “There is one problem I wouldn’t mind solving…” Nihlus waited. She was leading him somewhere, and Nylae never did anything without purpose. “The SSV Normandy.”

His mandibles twitched in thought. “Hackett’s little experiment?”

“That’s one way to put it. Right now, it’s collecting dust in drydock. The Alliance is barely letting it stretch its legs.”

“It is their project”

“It’s a collaboration, but so far it’s only been doing glorified test runs and pirate hunting. Nothing that truly pushes it. I want to see it in action.”

Nihlus ran his fingers along the rim of his glass. “And you think I can help with that?”

“You’re a Spectre, Kryik.” She spoke as if stating the obvious. “Spectres can requisition ships for special operations. If you took command of the Normandy for this investigation, the Alliance wouldn’t be able to refuse. It would get you a stealth frigate—the perfect tool for what you’re doing.”

Nihlus hummed. “And you would get to see how well it actually performs outside of its scripted runs.”

“Exactly.” A long pause stretched between them.

Finally, Nihlus chuckled. “You always were good at making deals.”

“And you always knew how to make yourself a problem, Kryik.”

He grinned. “It’s one of my better qualities.”

Nylae sighed again. "You have a week. If you’re going to seize it, do it soon. I can’t keep things quiet forever."

“I’ll take care of it.”

“…Be careful, Nihlus.”

For a second, something in his chest tightened. But the moment passed.

“I always am.”

The call ended. Nihlus downed the rest of his drink in one go, letting the burn settle in his throat. Then he stood, and stepped out of Chora’s Den.

He had work to do.

-͟͟͞ ☆

He had been watching for a few days and decided to make a move. The Alliance drydock hummed with quiet efficiency, bathed in the sterile glow of overhead lighting. Engineers bustled between terminals, monitoring the Normandy SR-1 as it sat docked in its berth, its stealth systems undergoing another round of tests.

Nihlus watched from the shadows, perched along the grated walkway above, observing. His Spectre credentials had already bypassed every security measure in the facility, but human intuition was a harder system to fool.

Especially with this one. A woman, mid-conversation with an engineer, leaned lazily against a console. She wore cargo pants and a standard-issue tank top, dog tags resting against her collarbone, but her posture was anything but relaxed.

She was assessing everything around her even while talking. She wasn’t just standing. She was watching. Nihlus narrowed his eyes. The older engineer beside her—sighed, shaking his head at something she’d said as Nihlus got closer.

“Adams, don’t give me that look,” she said, her voice laced with dry sarcasm. “It’s not my fault your precious ship is grounded while command figures out whether it should keep babysitting pirates or start doing actual work.”

Adams grumbled. “You have an incredible talent for making me regret talking to you.”

She smirked. “That’s what they tell me.”

Nihlus moved again. Just a slight shift, but she caught it immediately.

Her head snapped in his direction, sharp and precise, and before he could take another step, her voice cut through the hum, "Hey!"

The conversation around them died instantly. Nihlus exhaled through his nose. Damn.

He turned just as she stepped into his path, standing squarely between him and the Normandy’s ramp. Her eyes raked him up and down. Not cautious, calculating. Then she sighed, crossing her arms.

"Let me guess. You’re lost."

Nihlus tilted his head slightly. "Not at all."

Her lips pressed into a flat line, unimpressed. "Really? Because you look lost. Or maybe you just like sneaking around restricted areas for fun."

Nihlus chuckled, shaking his head. "I wouldn’t call it sneaking."

"Right. You just happen to be lurking in a high-security bay without clearance. Totally normal." Adams muttered under his breath and turned toward a nearby console, clearly deciding this wasn’t his problem. The officer, however, didn’t budge. "You planning to tell me who you are, or do I have to start making guesses?"

Nihlus watched her for a beat. Then, deliberately, he took a step forward. She shifted, not backing down, perfectly adjusting her stance to counter his movement.

He smiled. "Move aside."

She blinked. Then let out a short laugh. "Oh, I love that. No name, no explanation, just ‘move aside.’ Yeah, sure. I’ll just let the mysterious armoured guy waltz onto my ship."

Nihlus sighed, hands resting on his hips. "You’re making this unnecessarily difficult."

"No, I think I’m making it exactly as difficult as it should be." She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "See, I don’t know who you are. And when unknown people bypass security and start walking toward a multi-billion-credit warship, my first instinct is to assume they shouldn’t be here."

Nihlus let the smirk return to his face. "Trust me, I should be here."

"Right. And I should be enjoying shore leave instead of dealing with this." He took another step forward. This time, she moved first. Her foot shifted subtly, weight adjusting, preparing for a fight. "Last chance," she said smoothly. "Tell me what the hell you're doing here, or I'll start calling security."

Nihlus exhaled sharply. "You don’t want to do that."

"Why? Because you’ll run away?"

"No," Nihlus said, stepping in fast. "Because it won’t help you."

Her reaction was instant. She moved like someone who had trained for this exact scenario. No hesitation, just instinct. She stepped inside his guard, trying to use his momentum against him, but Nihlus was already countering before she could shift his weight.

She pivoted, blocking his attempt to lock her down. Smart. But not enough. Nihlus twisted—a sharp motion, shifting into a more aggressive stance—and in the next breath, his arm snapped around her throat in a controlled chokehold.

Not crushing, just controlling. She didn’t panic. She shifted, weight shifting to counter, and her knee came up fast. She nearly clipped him. He adjusted just before impact, twisting to throw her off balance rather than outright subduing her.

She caught herself mid-stumble, still fighting his grip, when a sharp, unimpressed voice rang out, neither of them had quite regained full control.

"Enough." Nihlus immediately released her as Anderson strode toward them. The officer shoved his arm off and stepped back, jaw tight, but not shaken. Anderson’s face was a perfect mix of exasperation and tired patience. "You always have to make an entrance, Kryik?"

Nihlus straightened his armour, mandibles twitching in amusement. "She was in my way."

Anderson raised a brow. "You could have led with your damn name instead of throwing her into a fight."

The officer's brows lifted slightly. "Wait. You know this guy?"

"Commander Wolff, meet Nihlus Kryik. Spectre." Anderson sighed. “Nihlus, the Commander is my XO”

A pause. Then, slowly, Wolff turned to look at Nihlus. Her expression? Unimpressed. "Oh." A slow nod. "So that’s why you think you can act like a smug bastard."

Nihlus grinned. "I don’t think. I know."

She scoffed. "Yeah, that tracks."

Anderson rubbed his temples, already regretting this conversation. "Alright, let’s skip the part where you two antagonise each other and move to the part where you tell me what you want."

Nihlus turned, eyes drifting toward the Normandy. "Your ship. Your crew. I need them for an operation."

Anderson’s expression tightened slightly, his arms crossing over his chest. “And I suppose this request comes with official backing?”

Nihlus smirked, his mandibles flicking in amusement. “Not exactly.”

"Come on, Captain. You know how this works," Nihlus said, mandibles twitching in amusement. "I say I need the Normandy. The Alliance can’t refuse. It’s not personal—just galactic bureaucracy at its finest."

Anderson gave him a long, flat stare, then rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I know exactly how this works," he muttered. Then, without another word, he turned toward the nearest comm station. "I need to make a call."

Nihlus watched him go, then exhaled, letting the moment settle. That was easy. Which meant things were about to get annoying. Because the moment Anderson stepped away, Commander Wolff shifted forward, stepping back into Nihlus' direct line of sight.

Her arms were still folded, her expression unreadable—until she stuck out a hand. "Sierra Wolff," she said simply. "Executive Officer of the Normandy. Since you apparently have no introduction skills, I figured I’d handle it myself."

"Right." Nihlus clasped her hand firmly but not aggressively. "You expect me to believe someone with that kind of bite is named ‘Sierra’?"

Her grip tightened slightly. "I'm surprised someone with your ego lived this long," she countered. Nihlus smirked. He liked her. Wolff withdrew her hand, rolling her shoulder slightly, like she was making a mental note of the earlier fight.

"Now that we’re properly introduced," she said, still laced with amusement, "let’s go over something important." She tilted her head, fixing him with a measured stare. "Chokeholds illegal, asshole”

Nihlus exhaled sharply through his nose, the Turian equivalent of a chuckle. "Mm. Cocky."

She shrugged. "Confident. And you’re still in my drydock."

Nihlus smirked. "Technically, it’s mine now."

"Right, because you invoked your ‘I do what I want’ Spectre status," she deadpanned. "So tell me, Kryik, did you have a plan when you took over my ship, or were you just making it up as you went?"

"Why not both?"

Wolff scoffed, shaking her head. "So the galaxy’s top assassins and spies just... wing it? That’s reassuring."

"Not winging it," Nihlus corrected. "Improvising. It’s a skill."

She smirked. "So is planning. You should try it sometime."

Nihlus tilted his head, eyeing her with new interest. "You’re not just a tactician," he observed. "You’re a control freak."

Wolff shrugged, unbothered. "And you’re a pain in the ass. Look at us, already bonding."

He chuckled. "You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?"

"A little." She tilted her head slightly. "You’re still an arrogant bastard, though."

"That’s what they tell me."

Wolff sighed dramatically, rubbing the back of her neck. "I can already tell working with you is going to be a nightmare."

Nihlus grinned. "Only if you’re lucky." She rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath. Anderson returned before Nihlus could fire back, slightly less annoyed than before.

"Alright," he said. "Command has cleared it. The Normandy is yours—for now."

Nihlus nodded. "Good choice."

Anderson ignored him. Instead, he turned to Wolff. "You’re staying on as XO."

Wolff quirked a brow. "And here I was hoping for a transfer." Anderson gave her a pointed look. She sighed. "Fine. But if I throw him out the airlock, you’re writing the report."

Anderson smirked. "Noted."

Wolff exhaled and leaned back slightly against a crate. “So, Nihlus Kryik, Spectre. How long are you planning on making my life difficult?”

“Depends,” he replied, flicking his mandibles in amusement. “How much do you enjoy a challenge?”

She huffed out a laugh. “I make engineers cry for sport.” She shrugged, “Eight years on dreadnoughts. You get bored.”

Nihlus chuckled. “You might actually survive this mission.”

Wolff smirked.

-͟͟͞ ☆

The door hissed open, and Miranda’s breath hitched. She had known this day would come. A decade had passed, yet he was striding into her office like nothing had changed. Like he owned her.

A thin curl of smoke drifted ahead of him, curling through the dim light before the figure himself stepped into view. The glow of his cigarette pulsed, illuminating sharp angles and colder eyes—eyes that saw everything and cared for nothing. The Illusive Man exhaled, his cybernetic stare locking onto her.

"You hid it well," he said, voice smooth but heavy. "Even I began to wonder if I had miscalculated."

Miranda refused to flinch. She folded her arms across her chest, keeping her expression neutral and professional. "You did."

A slow smirk played at his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Perhaps." He took a drag, letting the silence linger before exhaling, watching the smoke dissipate between them. "But mistakes tend to correct themselves."

Miranda’s stomach tightened. There it was—the shift. The doors closed shut with a hiss, locking the two Cerberus operatives in place behind him. They were silent sentinels, a reminder.

"You should be furious," Miranda stated flatly. "It took you ten years to find. A decade without control over your creation."

His brow quirked slightly. "On the contrary," he murmured, stepping closer, "I’m proud."

Miranda’s breath caught. "Proud?" she echoed, disbelief curling around the word like venom.

"You disappoint me, Miranda," he said, shaking his head slightly. "I thought you understood the importance of what we built, what you built. But instead, you let yourself believe in something fragile." His cigarette flared as he took another slow drag. "And fragile things break."

Miranda’s jaw clenched. "She isn’t fragile."

A soft, knowing chuckle. "No. No, it isn’t. But that’s not because of you. It’s because of me."

Miranda’s throat tightened. "You don’t get to take credit for her."

He exhaled slowly, flicking his cigarette against the ashtray without looking. "Of course I do." His tone was so casual. So utterly devoid of the horror that clawed at Miranda’s ribs.

"You took two species with nothing in common and forced them together," she snapped, voice shaking with barely contained fury. "You violated every fundamental law of genetic integrity, of ethics—"

"Ethics," he scoffed, finally cutting her off. "What a quaint thing to worry about now."

Miranda’s stomach twisted violently. "You spliced Asari DNA into a human embryo like it was some petri dish experiment—"

"It was an experiment," he said smoothly. "And it succeeded."

She inhaled sharply, barely holding herself together. "At what cost?"

He arched a brow. "At what cost?" he repeated, tone carrying a disgusted sort of amusement. "Tell me, Miranda, what did we lose? Did we sacrifice a child? A family?" His eyes glowed, burning into her. "It was engineered, Miranda. Designed. Every strand of its DNA, every sequence, every potential. We built it. And now, it’s proving that we were right."

Miranda shook her head, voice sharp, cutting. "You don’t get to be proud of this."

But the Illusive Man only smirked. "Look at it," he murmured. The lights dimmed. At his gesture, a holo-display flickered to life between them, illuminating the room in cold blue.

Miranda froze. She knew what this was before she even saw it. Elysium.

The skyline burned, smoke curling into the heavens. Mercenaries flooded the streets, slaughtering everything in their path. And then, Revenant.

Miranda’s breath caught. Revenant stood in the wreckage, a battered rifle clenched in her hands, her posture stiff with exhaustion. Her fatigues were torn and bloodied.

The footage jumps fast and chaotically. Revenant ducks sniper fire, reacting faster than human reflexes should allow. Moving with the Matriarchs, shifting instinctively in sync with biotic barriers. A roaring Krogan lunged at her. Revenant sidestepped just enough, firing point-blank into its skull. Her entire frame was trembling from exertion, but never falling.

Miranda’s throat tightened. TIM watched, exhaling smoke, his expression unreadable. "Even in a weakened state," he mused, tilting his head slightly, "it holds them off." His fingers tapped idly against his cigarette. "It was operating at bare potential."

Miranda felt the words hit her. The pride in his voice was sickening. He saw this as proof of his success. "You don’t get to be proud of this," she snapped.

But he only exhaled again, shaking his head. "I can be proud of the results, Miranda," he said smoothly. "Even if I disapprove of the process."

Miranda swallowed down the bile rising in her throat. "She survived because she was free."

TIM’s smile faltered slightly, just enough for her to notice. "Free," he echoed. A slow, disappointed shake of the head. "You still don’t understand, do you?" The cigarette burned between his fingers as he stepped closer, looming. "Freedom isn’t real, Miranda."

His voice lowered, cold and sharp like a scalpel slicing through bone. "Revenant wasn’t raised into greatness. It wasn’t forged through discipline or tradition. It wasn’t some accident that turned into something extraordinary." He gestured toward the holo-display, where Revenant stood amidst the wreckage. "We made it. And no matter where it runs—no matter what it thinks it…" His gaze flickered toward Miranda, and the weight of his disappointment settled in full force. "It will always be mine."

Miranda’s blood ran cold. A long, tense silence stretched between them. Then, he sighed, shaking his head. "And I expected better from you." The words hit hard.

The Illusive Man turned away, his movements slow and deliberate. The two operatives flanking him moved in tandem, a silent reminder that this was his domain. Miranda stood frozen, fists clenched, rage burning behind her ribs. But she didn’t speak.

Because she knew—if she did—he would not tolerate it. The doors hissed open, and then he was gone. The holo-display flickered. The footage of Elysium continued, Revenant still fighting, standing. Miranda exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of her desk so tightly that her knuckles ached.

She had tried to keep her safe, but the Illusive Man would not stop watching. Cerberus was not done with Revenant, which terrified her more than anything else. "Fuck."

Miranda’s hands trembled as she pulled up her terminal, her breath sharp and uneven. Her fingers flew across the console, overriding security locks, bypassing firewalls she had designed. Line after line, classified data scrolled down the screen. She had spent years accumulating files: her research, modifications to Revenant’s genetic stability, and contingency plans.

And she wiped them all. The system hesitated briefly before confirming:

PURGING FILES – 5%... 12%... 23%…

She didn’t watch. She didn’t have time. Moving quickly, she stepped toward the far wall of her office, pressing her palm flat against an unmarked panel. A low chime sounded, and the panel slid open, revealing a hidden compartment.

Inside, a sleek black duffel bag sat waiting. It had been there for years. A precaution. A promise to herself. She unzipped it, quickly checking the contents: A change of clothes—civilian gear, nondescript, a stack of untraceable credits—Cerberus’ funds, reallocated long ago, a forged identity chip—nothing perfect, but good enough to get past standard scans and a gun.

She picked up the pistol, weighing it in her grip. A Tempest model—lightweight, reliable. She holstered it without a second thought.

A sharp ping drew her attention back to the terminal. She hurried over, but the moment her eyes hit the screen, her stomach dropped.

PURGE HALTED – 87% COMPLETED.

ACCESS REVOKED – SYSTEM LOCKDOWN ENGAGED.

"Shit." The security override kicked in faster than she had expected. Too fast. TIM had anticipated this.

Then, heavy footsteps. Fast. Close. Miranda turned just as the door to her office slammed open.

Two black-armoured Cerberus operatives stormed in, weapons raised. No hesitation. They fired.

Miranda barely had time to move. The first round shattered a holo-panel behind her, sparks showering across the room. She dove, rolling behind her desk as a second burst of gunfire tore through the space where she had just been standing.

They weren’t here to arrest her. They were here to execute her. Her breath came fast as she pressed against the polished metal of her desk, gripping her pistol tightly.

The clink of boots shifting position followed a second of silence. She pivoted sharply, rising just high enough to get a clean shot. Two precise pulls of the trigger. The first soldier jerked back,  rounds tearing through his visor. He crumpled before he could fire again.

The second reacted fast, snapping his rifle toward her. Miranda lunged forward, throwing her weight into the desk, shoving it hard into him. He stumbled, knocked off balance, just long enough for her to fire two more rounds into his chest.

He dropped. The silence left behind was deafening. Miranda exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the desk to steady herself. She had no time. No time. She grabbed the duffel, slinging it over her shoulder as she moved for the exit.

She had one destination. One chance to get to Revenant before TIM’s hands closed around her again.

Next stop—Arcturus Station.

-͟͟͞ ☆

The night cycle had just begun aboard Arcturus Station, but Steven Hackett was still at his desk, rubbing tired fingers over his eyes. Reports. Always more reports. The Reapers were already a growing nightmare, their presence still confined to whispers and classified intel. However, he knew the storm was coming; their group was getting bigger with every successful attack.

And now the Alliance was stretched too thin, chasing ghosts and political fires while real threats loomed in the dark. Hackett exhaled slowly, his chair creaking as he leaned back. He should have turned in hours ago, but a soft chime sounded just as he was about to power down for the evening.

His terminal flickered, pulling him back to the present. He frowned. No incoming transmissions were scheduled this late. Then he saw the security flag attached to the message:

UNAUTHORIZED DATA TRANSFER – SOURCE: CERBERUS.

STATUS: INCOMPLETE.

Hackett sat up straight.

His fingers moved fast, isolating the file before it could be traced. He rerouted it to an encrypted black server a few keystrokes later, shielding it from prying eyes. He ran the file through a deep scan—what had come through was fragmented. Something must have triggered the transfer before it finished compiling.

Hackett’s expression hardened. A red pulse. A warning that something had bypassed standard encryption protocols and tunnelled straight into his private server.

Then he saw the source marked: Dr. Miranda Lawson.

His stomach dropped. This wasn't an accident or a leak. This was deliberate. It had been years since she’d last sent something, leaking intel through cracks—carefully timed, always subtle, consistently just enough to keep Zoey safe without tipping her hand, and now, after a decade of silence, she had dumped a failsafe into his lap.

Hackett’s jaw clenched as he scanned the file directory:

PARTIAL PURGE RECOVERY.

PROJECT REVENANT: PHASE 3 GENETIC STABILITY TRIALS

HUMAN/ASARI SYNTHESIS—VIABILITY REPORTS

His throat went dry. He leaned forward, fingers moving fast to recover whatever he could. The purge had cut off mid-transfer. That meant Cerberus knew. They knew Miranda had betrayed them.

Hackett’s fingers curled into fists, knuckles white against the desk. Miranda had planned for this. She had always intended for this. A chill crept through him, realisation dawning.

Cerberus wouldn't just go after Miranda. TIM wouldn't stop now, not after he'd seen Zoey survive Elysium. Zoey Shepard may no longer be safe on Thessia, even under Benezia's protection.

He pressed his palms flat against his desk, breathing deep to steady his nerves. This changed everything. Hackett’s pulse quickened as he considered his options, his mind racing. Thessia was too politically charged to bring into this—not yet. Anderson was good, reliable, but on the Citadel, too distant, too embedded in C-Sec politics. Alliance Intelligence? No chance. Too compromised.

"Dammit," he muttered quietly, frustration boiling beneath the surface. Then, an unsettling thought gripped him.

How did Miranda know precisely where and how to send this? Encryption changes every seven hours. His heart stalled. With rapid keystrokes, Hackett pulled up the security logs. The breach hadn’t come from the outside. It had come from within. Miranda had already been embedded in his system, waiting for this moment.

"Son of a bitch."

How long had she been watching? Had she seen the relocation orders and monitored the Alliance’s data on Zoey? Had she known exactly where the girl was before Hackett himself had? A cold dread settled in his chest. Miranda had always been thorough. Ruthlessly so.

She knew exactly what was coming next; she was running out of time. Hackett closed his eyes for a second, forcing himself to steady his breathing, pushing down the rising tide of alarm, forcing calm over panic.

Right now, he couldn't afford panic. He needed a clear head. Miranda would arrive on Arcturus soon.

Hackett opened a new secure comm channel and quickly prepared a call he'd hoped he wouldn't have to make. He hesitated for only a heartbeat, then tapped the command.

The only viable option. But it meant playing a dangerous game.

-͟͟͞ ☆

Tevos glanced up from her datapad as the comm buzzed insistently again. Her assistant, Amira, appeared in the doorway, a delicate frown marring her usually composed expression.

“Councillor, Ambassador Udina is demanding a meeting.”

Tevos’s lips twitched subtly in amusement. She’d been waiting for this call. Humanity’s newest ambassador had already proven prone to indignation at the slightest perceived insult.

“Put him through, Amira.” She nodded and returned to her desk.

The comm chimed moments later, and Ambassador Udina’s familiar scowl filled her projector. He wasted no time on pleasantries.

“Councillor,” he began sharply. “I demand an explanation for this situation with Matriarch Benezia. The Alliance wasn’t informed.”

Tevos raised an eyebrow, voice calm, perfectly controlled. “Good evening to you as well, Ambassador. And exactly which situation would you be referring to?”

Udina bristled, his irritation palpable. “The situation where one of your Matriarchs decided to appropriate a human survivor from Elysium without informing the Alliance.”

Tevos kept her expression mild, the faintest hint of amusement flickering across her eyes. “You must be referring to Matriarch Benezia T’Soni exercising her right of wardship over Zoey Shepard. Allow me to clarify, Ambassador—no one was ‘appropriated.’ The Republics are not in the habit of abducting orphans.”

Udina narrowed his eyes. “You know exactly what I mean. Zoey Shepard is an Alliance citizen. She should be returned immediately.”

Tevos allowed a carefully calculated pause, one brow arching elegantly. “Ambassador, perhaps you misunderstand the nature of our laws.” Udina’s jaw clenched visibly, but Tevos smoothly continued before he could interrupt. “Allow me to clarify. Matriarch Benezia invoked the Matron’s Right of Wardship, a tradition deeply rooted in Asari law predating humanity’s entry into the galactic community by millennia.”

Udina’s scowl deepened. “And exactly what does that entail?”

Tevos leaned back comfortably in her chair, fingers steepling beneath her chin. She allowed herself a hint of pride in her tone as she began. “The Matron’s right to wardship is a protective statute, Ambassador. It allows a Matriarch to adopt and protect an orphaned or vulnerable minor legally, regardless of their species, should the Matriarch feel the child's safety, well-being, or future is otherwise compromised. It was invoked, perfectly legally, in response to Zoey Shepard’s extraordinary circumstances following the pirate raid on Elysium.”

Udina’s eyes narrowed. “Extraordinary or not, she’s human, Councillor. Humanity has jurisdiction.”

“No,” Tevos interrupted gently but firmly, voice unyielding. “You do not. According to Thessian and Citadel law, once the Right to Wardship has been invoked, full legal guardianship immediately transfers to the Matriarch who invoked it. The minor in question becomes fully integrated into the adopting household.”

Udina straightened sharply. “You can’t be serious.”

Tevos allowed her gaze to harden ever so slightly, all amusement fading as she fixed Udina with a measured stare. “I assure you, Ambassador, I am entirely serious. Humanity forfeited jurisdiction when it neglected to provide adequate immediate care to Cadet Shepard following her survival. Matriarch Benezia stepped in precisely because the Alliance did not.”

Udina’s eyes flashed angrily. “Shepard was receiving medical care from Alliance personnel.”

“Receiving medical care is not equivalent to guardianship, Ambassador,” Tevos said evenly. “Nor is it emotional support, family stability, or security, each of which the Republic’s law explicitly prioritises.”

Udina’s scowl deepened, his voice lowering dangerously. “So that gives this asari the right—”

“Matriarch Benezia,” Tevos corrected smoothly, her voice cool. “Ambassador, I suggest you show appropriate respect. She is not merely an ‘asari’—she is Matriarch Benezia T’Soni, head of one of Thessia’s most respected houses, and her decision is supported fully by the Republics and, consequently, by this Council.”

Udina visibly faltered, clearly unused to being reprimanded so directly. “Councillor…”

“Furthermore,” Tevos continued calmly, ignoring his growing discomfort, “Zoey Shepard is no longer under Alliance jurisdiction. She is now legally Zoey T’Soni, a citizen of Thessia, and thus subject to our laws and protections. Humanity no longer has claim over her, Ambassador.”

Udina leaned forward, visibly frustrated but attempting to maintain some dignity. “This sets a troubling precedent, Councillor. Taking human children.”

Tevos raised a single, authoritative finger, silencing him once more. “This is not ‘taking,’ Ambassador. It is compassion, protection, and diplomacy—something humanity claims to value deeply. Zoey T’Soni was traumatised, vulnerable, and alone. Matriarch Benezia provided shelter, family, and support when your Alliance hesitated. If the Alliance wishes to question this arrangement, I invite you to speak directly with Matriarch Benezia.”

Tevos let the implication linger, watching the brief but unmistakable flicker of wariness in Udina’s expression. After a tense pause, Udina straightened stiffly, his expression sour but conceding defeat. “Fine. But if Shepard wishes to return to the Alliance?”

“T’Soni,” Tevos corrected serenely. “And should Zoey T’Soni wish to speak on this matter, she is more than welcome. Until then, however, this matter is closed.”

Udina scowled, but nodded curtly. “Understood, Councillor.”

Tevos inclined her head gracefully, already reaching to close the comm. “Good Night, Ambassador.”

As Udina’s image vanished, Amira appeared at the door again, carefully neutral. “Is there anything else you require, Councillor?”

Tevos allowed herself a faint, satisfied smile, leaning back comfortably in her chair. “No, Amira. But please forward a recording of that conversation to Matriarch Benezia. I suspect she will find it... entertaining.”

Amira chuckled softly. “Right away, Councillor.”

Tevos exhaled quietly, the smallest smile playing at her lips. There were days when being a councillor carried unexpected satisfaction—and this had certainly been one of them.

When the comm pinged again, Tevos had barely turned her attention back to her workload. “Yes, Amira?”

"Admiral Hackett is requesting a direct line from the SSV Everest," Amira informed her, voice carefully neutral, though Tevos detected a hint of concern.

She paused briefly, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Udina was predictable, dramatic, and easy to handle, but Hackett was different. The Fleet Admiral never reached out without reason, and certainly never without carefully weighing his options.

“Put him through, please.”

A moment later, the secure connection was activated. Hackett’s hologram flickered to life above her desk, his weathered features as composed as ever, though there was undeniable fatigue beneath the calm. Tevos inclined her head slightly in respectful greeting.

“Admiral Hackett. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

Hackett’s expression barely shifted, but Tevos knew enough to recognise subtle signs of tension—his jaw tight, eyes shadowed by weariness. “Councillor Tevos. I assume the reason Ambassador Udina has already contacted you regarding Matriarch Benezia’s adoption of Zoey Shepard.”

“Indeed, not minutes ago” Tevos replied mildly, carefully neutral. “He was quite vocal.”

Hackett grimaced subtly, clearly having anticipated Udina’s theatrics. “You’ll have to forgive the Ambassador’s... enthusiasm. He isn’t used to navigating delicate diplomatic matters.”

Tevos inclined her head slightly, a faint smile pulling at her lips. “I noticed. But I assume you have something more substantial to discuss, Admiral?”

Hackett nodded once, his expression serious, thoughtful, and direct. “Yes. Udina contacted the Everest this morning, demanding Alliance Command take action over Matriarch Benezia’s wardship of Shepard. He’s treating it as a diplomatic crisis.”

“And you?” Tevos asked carefully, studying his reaction. “Do you see it as such?”

Hackett hesitated briefly, then exhaled heavily, frustration flickering across his features. “Officially, no. Shepard is—” He paused, clearly weighing his words carefully, “—a special case. Which is why I am calling this late instead of as planned in the morning.”

Tevos arched a brow, intrigued. “Special in what way?”

Hackett chose his next words carefully, clearly aware of the diplomatic sensitivities. “Shepard has had a complicated past. What happened on Elysium was extraordinary—but it also placed her in a difficult political position. The Alliance is split between viewing her as a hero and seeing her as a... liability.”

Tevos tilted her head slightly, sensing the deeper currents running beneath his carefully chosen words. “And which position do you hold, Admiral?”

Hackett’s expression softened subtly, a rare show of quiet empathy. “I see her as a child who survived something she never should have endured. But politics rarely allow room for compassion.”

“Yet compassion is precisely what Benezia offered,” Tevos reminded him quietly, her voice firm but gentle. “And precisely why Thessian law supports her claim.”

Hackett exhaled slowly, clearly weighing his words. “I’m aware of the Matron’s Right of Wardship. But Udina—and others in the Alliance brass—feel it infringes on humanity’s authority. Shepard was a member of the Alliance Navy.”

Tevos raised a brow, unyielding. “She was a sixteen-year-old recruit who nearly died in combat that wiped out an entire Alliance battalion, Admiral. A minor by human standards, and barely more than a baby by ours. Do you truly believe returning her to active service or turning her into political propaganda serves anyone’s best interests?”

Hackett’s jaw tightened, but his eyes held a subtle agreement. “No, I don’t. But the Alliance may not see it that way. Udina certainly doesn’t. Neither will others.”

Tevos regarded him carefully. “And your position?”

Hackett hesitated only briefly. “Off the record?”

Tevos inclined her head slightly. “Of course.”

Hackett leaned forward slightly, voice lowered. “The Alliance officially won’t contest the adoption. But Benezia will start looking into Shepard’s past, which raises concerns.”

Tevos straightened, eyes narrowing slightly. “Concerns—or Alliance secrets, Admiral?”

Hackett grimaced subtly. “Both.”

Tevos considered that carefully. “You believe Benezia’s interest goes beyond diplomatic compassion?”

“I do,” Hackett replied firmly. “But I also know she’s not reckless. My main concern is that Shepard’s past must remain buried—especially if the Republics intend to protect her.”

Tevos tilted her head slightly, curious. “Is there something specific the Alliance wishes to remain hidden, Admiral?”

Hackett’s eyes hardened slightly, but after a thoughtful pause, he exhaled softly. “I trust you to understand discretion, Councillor. All I ask is that Shepard’s past remain exactly that—past. Her adoption into House T’Soni might be beneficial, even preferable—but her history must remain undisclosed.”

Tevos studied him thoughtfully. There was something deeper, something he clearly wasn’t saying—yet he’d chosen his words carefully enough to convey their seriousness.

Finally, she nodded slightly. “Admiral, I assure you—Matriarch Benezia’s primary intention is Zoey T’Soni’s safety and well-being. Any... complications will be handled discreetly.”

Hackett visibly relaxed, exhaling softly. “Good. I’ll manage Udina and Alliance brass. If Benezia genuinely has Shepard’s best interests in mind, the Alliance won’t interfere.”

Tevos allowed herself a subtle smile. “Matriarch Benezia never acts without reason, Admiral.”

Hackett’s mouth twitched briefly in what might have been a dry smile. “Believe me, Councillor, I’m counting on it.”

Tevos nodded slightly. “Then we have an understanding?”

Hackett inclined his head once, expression firm but respectful. “We do.”

“Good.” Tevos leaned back in her chair. “If there are further issues, Admiral, please contact me directly. Ambassador Udina tends to be... overly enthusiastic.”

Hackett let out a quiet, wry chuckle. “You have a talent for understatement, Councillor.”

Tevos allowed her smile to widen slightly, amusement genuine. “Diplomacy requires it.”

With a respectful nod, Hackett cut the transmission. Tevos sighed softly, sitting back thoughtfully. A moment later, Amira’s voice chimed through the comm. “Do you require anything further, Councillor?”

“No,” Tevos replied gently. “But note this conversation as confidential. It appears we have a clearer understanding with the Alliance now.”

“Yes, Councillor.”

Tevos let out a slow breath, carefully dissecting everything Hackett had not quite said aloud.

Matriarch Benezia, Zoey T’Soni, and Alliance secrets. This was becoming far more interesting—and far more complicated—than Tevos had anticipated.

Chapter Text

The ship descended smoothly, the hum of the engines shifting to a low, thrumming vibration beneath Zoey’s feet as they approached their landing zone. She pressed her forehead against the cool viewport, watching as the estate came into view below.

It was massive.

A sprawling structure built into the hillside, almost as if the land itself had grown around it. The architecture was unlike anything she’d ever seen. It was almost organic in a way that made it seem less like a building and more like a natural extension of the terrain. The walls curved gently, blending warm stone and sleek white metals with panels of deep blue that shimmered in the afternoon light.

A private landing pad jutted out from the estate grounds, a seamless extension of the property rather than some separate, industrialised space. It was well-maintained but discreet, with subtle guiding lights, and it was small, only for personal shuttles. No security teams waiting in stiff formation. No glaring spotlights or military formality.

The ship’s landing gear extended, a soft hiss escaping as they made contact with the platform. A moment later, the engines powered down, leaving behind an eerie sort of stillness that made Zoey’s stomach twist. She wasn’t used to this kind of arrival. No clamour of personnel rushing in to secure the area. No commanding officers barking orders. Just…quiet.

The airlock cycled open with a soft chime, no automated voice declaring the XO. Warm, unfamiliar air swept inside, carrying a scent that was both floral and earthy, like rain-soaked blossoms and sun-warmed stone. Zoey hesitated at the threshold, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. She wasn’t sure why, but stepping out onto the platform felt strangely final.

Still, she forced herself forward, boots clicking against the smooth surface as she descended the ramp.

The estate loomed ahead, its entrance a grand yet understated archway flanked by intricate carvings and recessed lighting that cast a soft glow over the path. Zoey had known it would be large, Matriarch Benezia was not a woman of modest means, but she had not been prepared for this. It wasn’t just a house. It was something else entirely, something so far removed from anything she had ever known that she barely had the words for it.

The entrance hall alone was larger than any space she had ever called home. Polished wood and delicate blue accents lined the corridors, the air subtly perfumed with a floral scent and something unfamiliar. Sunlight filtered through open skylights, the breeze carrying the distant sounds of a cascading fountain.

She had expected opulence, expected the kind of sterile, imposing wealth that felt untouchable.

Instead, it was comfortable. Which, somehow, made it worse.

Her feet carried her forward before she even registered that she was moving; her mind was too caught up in taking everything in. She had spent her life in bunkrooms, military dorms, spaces built for efficiency, not beauty. She had no idea what to do with all this space—where to stand, how to breathe in a place that didn’t feel designed to contain her.

Somewhere between following the Matriarchs and trying to process the sheer size of it all, she lost them.

It wasn’t immediate. It wasn’t even noticeable at first. One turn, then another, and suddenly, the quiet murmur of voices was gone. The corridors stretched endlessly in every direction, too similar to tell apart. Zoey turned in a slow circle, trying to retrace her steps, but all she saw were more softly lit halls, more polished wood, more delicate silver fixtures catching the afternoon light.

Her fingers curled around the strap of her bag. ‘Great. First day here, and I’ve already lost myself in a mansion.’

A sound. Soft, measured footsteps. Zoey stilled, listening. Then she moved toward them, quickening her pace as the muffled sounds grew clearer. If there was a way out of this maze, she’d find it by following someone.

When she rounded the next corner, she nearly collided with Liara and the Matriarchs. Relief rushed through her before she registered that they weren’t alone.

Three asari stood before them, waiting with the poised stillness of those accustomed to patience.

The one at the front was unreadable, her deep blue gaze sweeping over them before settling on Benezia. The others flanked her on either side, their postures precise, their presence defined by their roles before a word had even been spoken.

The lead asari inclined her head. "Matriarch," she greeted, her voice smooth and measured. "It is good to have you home."

Benezia returned the nod, warmth laced through her words. "Shiala. It is good to see you again."

Zoey recognised the name. She had heard it before, but seeing the woman in person was something else entirely. She was tall, her presence as solid as carved stone, her deep violet skin bearing faint traces of old scars, nothing obvious, nothing disfiguring. Just subtle reminders of a life lived in service to something greater. Her armour was sleek and reinforced, designed for movement without sacrificing protection.

"This is Shiala," Benezia said, turning slightly toward Zoey. "She has been my personal commando and most trusted advisor for many years. A steady hand in matters of war and peace alike."

Shiala inclined her head but did not speak. She didn’t need to. There was a quiet confidence about her, a sense of purpose. Zoey got the distinct impression that Shiala could kill someone in the space of a breath and then return to quiet contemplation without missing a beat.

The asari beside her shifted slightly, sharp silver eyes sweeping over the group before she smirked.

"And this," Benezia continued, "is Vasira, the head of House T’Soni’s commandos and security. She ensures that our home remains safe from any who would wish us harm."

Vasira’s smirk widened slightly. "A position I take very seriously."

Aethyta scoffed. "Right, you still bruising recruits' egos, or have they started fighting back yet?"

Vasira chuckled, arms crossed. "They fight back plenty. Doesn't mean they win."

Aethyta grinned. "One of these days, someone’s gonna wipe the floor with you."

Vasira’s silver eyes glinted with amusement. "Maybe. But it won’t be today. Unless you want to try, the grounds are prepared for evening sparing."

Aethyta snorted. "Don’t tempt me. I still owe you for that stunt you pulled on Omega."

Vasira tilted her head. "Which one?" Aethyta squared up to Vasira and smirked; it almost looked as if they were going to come to blows right there.

Benezia sighed, shaking her head. "Aethyta, Vasira, not here."

Vasira smirked. "The ring then?"

Aethyta grinned. "Count on it."

Benezia simply exhaled, choosing to move on rather than engage in whatever trouble those two had left in their wake. Instead, she turned to the final asari in the group, her expression softening.

"And Nisira," she said. "She is the head attendant of House T’Soni and oversees the estate’s operations. It is under her guidance that the house runs as seamlessly as it does."

Nisira gave a small, graceful bow. "Matriarch."

Her tone was formal, though not stiff; it was more a mark of deep-seated respect than duty. Her robes were a rich midnight blue, embroidered with delicate silver filigree at the edges. Where Vasira was steel and Shiala was quiet force, Nisira was elegance, the kind of presence that could make an estate like this function without ever seeming as if she had lifted a hand.

Benezia smiled. "I am pleased to see you all well."

"Welcome home, Matriarch," Nisira replied smoothly. Then, after the briefest pause, her gaze flicked to Zoey—and lingered.

Zoey froze. It wasn’t scrutiny. Not exactly. There was no hostility in her stare. No judgment. Just an interest.

Nisira’s head tilted slightly, her eyes trailing over Zoey in a way that felt less like an evaluation and more like an assessment. Not of her worthiness, but of her existence—of the way she carried herself, the way she held tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers curled slightly at her sides.

Then, gently, "So this is her."

Benezia nodded. "Yes. This is Zoey."

Something about the way she said it made Zoey’s stomach twist. The quiet certainty of it. The weight of her name spoken like a fact, not an obligation, not a burden, but something firmly rooted.

Benezia turned then, placing a hand against Zoey’s shoulder, not forceful or guiding. Just there.

"She is family now," Benezia continued, her voice calm and unwavering. "And she will be treated as such."

Aethyta clapped Zoey lightly on the back, ignoring the way she nearly jumped out of her skin at the contact. "Damn right. Welcome home, Little Owl."

Zoey frowned. "…What?"

Liara turned, brow creasing. "I thought it was ‘Little Bird.’"

Aethyta grinned. "Eh. This fits better. Bird, owl, whatever, she’s small, broody, and stares like she’s plotting my murder."

Zoey scowled. "I do not."

Vasira raised a brow. "You kind of do."

Shiala, who had been silently observing, finally spoke, her tone level. "It is not an unflattering comparison. From what I understand, Owls are intelligent, perceptive hunters."

Zoey crossed her arms. "And yet, I feel zero respect in the way Aethyta says it."

Aethyta smirked. "Aw, c’mon, you’re adorable. Like a little predator that doesn’t know it’s dangerous yet."

Zoey glared.

Nisira, watching with open amusement, turned to Benezia. "She is settling in quickly."

Benezia exhaled, the closest thing she would allow to an indulgent sigh. "It seems my bondmate has decided to accelerate the process."

Aethyta grinned, clearly pleased with herself. "It’s called tough love, Bene. It builds character."

Zoey muttered, "I think it builds a migraine."

Benezia’s expression softened as she glanced down at Zoey, fingers pressing lightly against her shoulder, grounding her. "You will get used to it."

Zoey wasn’t sure about that. Aethyta, meanwhile, had already turned back to Vasira, crossing her arms. "Anyway, enough about the kid—are we brawling or what?"

Vasira smirked. "I suppose I should let you tire yourself out before dinner."

Shiala sighed quietly, already resigned. "At least try not to break the something this time."

Vasira tilted her head. "That sounds like a challenge."

Zoey watched the exchange, brows raising slightly. "Is this… normal?"

Liara sighed. "You have no idea."

And somehow, someway, Zoey felt just a little less lost.

- ͟͟͞  ☆

Zoey had never seen a kitchen this big.

The room stretched wide, the ceiling arched with smooth Thessian stone, its warm hues casting a soft glow over the polished surfaces. Unlike the cold, sterile galleys she was used to, where food was rationed, efficient, and functional, this place felt alive.

The air was thick with the scents of simmering broths, roasting vegetables, and something lightly spiced that she couldn’t quite place. Counters lined the walls, stocked with ingredients stored in sleek, climate-controlled drawers, while an open hearth in the far corner flickered gently, which Liara had explained as a nod to old traditions, but also seemed remarkably human at the same time.

Several asari moved gracefully through the space, each clad in deep midnight-blue tunics and trousers of a similar shade to Nisira’s, their attire marked with subtle silver filigree along the hems, which must be the house colours, Zoey realised.

They worked in a quiet rhythm, chopping, stirring, kneading. Each task was performed with an almost meditative ease. The air hummed with soft conversation, laughter rippling through as they spoke to one another in the relaxed Thessian dialect that Zoeys translator had not yet picked up.

Her focus was not on the asari's graceful movement, but on the room itself, which lacked the high-pressure, militarised precision of a mess hall. It was homey.

Zoey shifted slightly, feeling awkwardly out of place in all of it. She wasn’t used to being anywhere that felt warm. Liara stepped forward, clearly familiar with the space, her posture relaxing ever so slightly as she scanned the room.

Before Zoey could even process what was happening, an asari came flying toward them. Well, not literally, but her pace was terrifyingly fast. Zoey barely had time to flinch before the woman skidded to a halt in front of them, eyes wide, grin even wider.

" Oh-oh!" She clasped her hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. "The human!"

Zoey blinked as Liara sighed. "Felina, please do not startle her-"

Too late. The asari, Felina, was already bouncing on her heels, her eyes gleaming like a child seeing a varren pup for the first time. "This is so exciting," she gushed, hands flying as she spoke. "Do you have any idea how long I have been waiting for this day?!"

Zoey had absolutely no idea.  "Uh," she managed.

Felina beamed. "A human! In my kitchen! That means I finally get to cook human food!"

Zoey frowned. "I feel like humans have been to Thessia before?" she offered weakly.

"Yes, yes," Felina waved a hand. "But not here often! And certainly not one staying in the house! That means I get to experiment!"

Zoey wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. Liara, meanwhile, exhaled quietly. "Felina, please do not use her as a culinary experiment."

Felina gasped. "I would never!" Then she immediately turned back to Zoey, her eyes wide with excitement. "Okay, but what do you like? What do humans actually eat? I have recipes, of course, but you must tell me if they’re wrong."

Zoey hesitated. This was a lot; she wasn’t used to being asked what she wanted. Felina waited, practically buzzing with energy. "Uh," Zoey said finally. "Something… simple?"

Felina narrowed her eyes. "Simple. Simple.” She tapped her chin, nodding to herself. Then she clapped her hands together. "Right! Pancakes."

Zoey blinked. "What?"

Felina spun on her heel, already barking orders at the nearest kitchen staff. "I need flour! Eggs! Sugar, no, wait, do they use sugar? Yes, get sugar. Syrup! What’s the human preference? We have fruit syrups, but do humans use something else?"

One of the other asari, who had been casually slicing vegetables, sighed and looked toward Zoey. "She’s going to be like this for hours," she said, voice dry.

Zoey felt immensely unprepared for this situation, and Liara gently placed a hand on her arm. "It is easier if you just let her have her way."

Felina whirled back around. " Oh-oh! And do you like spices? Thessian blends might be too strong, or not strong enough! I must know your tolerance!"

Zoey opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "I usually just eat whatever’s put in front of me," she admitted.

Felina gasped like she had just witnessed a crime. "No, no, no, no, no. That will not do."

Liara sighed, rubbing her temples. "Felina, please, do not overwhelm her."

Felina immediately softened, stepping back slightly, hands loosely raised. "Right, yes. Of course. Apologies, little human. I will contain myself."

There was a beat of silence. Then Felina snapped her fingers. "But you are still getting pancakes."

Zoey blinked. "I… don’t think I agreed to that."

Felina winked. "You didn’t have to."

Zoey exhaled sharply through her nose, but—somehow—she wasn’t actually annoyed.

Felina turned back toward her workstation, already humming to herself, and the rest of the kitchen returned to its natural rhythm, as if this was all just another day.

Zoey glanced sideways at Liara, arms crossed. "Is she always like this?"

Liara sighed. "Unfortunately, yes."

Zoey let out a low huff, shaking her head. The estate was still strange to her. Unfamiliar.

But this? This was the first place in it that didn’t feel impossibly big.

It felt lived in. It felt real, and as the scent of warm batter and fruit syrup filled the air, Zoey wasn’t sure she minded that.

Once Felina had been sufficiently distracted with her pancake mission, Liara gently nudged Zoey toward the corridor leading out of the kitchens.

"You should become familiar with the layout of the estate," Liara said. "It is extensive."

Zoey snorted. "That’s one way to put it."

Liara ignored the comment and led her forward. The hallway was wide and open, the ceilings arched just enough to avoid feeling imposing. Subtle sconces lined the walls, casting a soft, ambient glow, but what immediately caught Zoey’s attention was the way the colour shifted as Liara stepped ahead.

One moment, the lights glowed in a cool blue, then, as Liara turned a corner, they faded into a warm, golden orange.

Zoey slowed, frowning, glancing up at the ceiling. "Did the lights just change?"

Liara nodded, seeming pleased that Zoey had noticed. "Yes. House T’Soni’s corridors have a guidance system built into the lighting."

She gestured upward. "All corridors that lead toward the Atrium are marked with blue lighting," Liara explained, tilting her head toward the cooler-toned pathway. "If you continue in that direction, you will always find your way back to the central hall."

Then she turned, facing the golden-hued hallway. "Corridors that lead deeper into the estate are marked with orange lighting. These paths lead toward private chambers, study halls, and other residence wings."

Zoey studied the transitions as she turned, watching the subtle gradient shift as Liara turned between them. "So… it’s a built-in wayfinder?" Zoey asked.

Liara nodded. "Essentially, yes. It ensures that guests do not become lost."

Zoey narrowed her eyes. "That would’ve been useful to know earlier."

Liara exhaled, the closest thing to an apologetic sigh she would allow. "Yes. Perhaps I should have mentioned it before you wandered off."

Zoey folded her arms. "Yeah. Maybe."

Liara smirked slightly before continuing down the corridor, motioning for Zoey to follow. "As long as you remember this system, navigating will be far easier," Liara said. "Blue takes you back to the atrium. Orange leads you further in."

Zoey huffed but nodded. "Alright. That’s actually smart."

Liara gave her an almost smug glance. "The Republics are nothing if not efficient."

Zoey rolled her eyes but had to admit, it was helpful.

As they continued walking, Zoey glanced back one more time, watching the light shift between blue and orange as they moved. Maybe she wouldn’t get lost again, or at least, not as fast. Zoey followed Liara through the winding halls, keeping an eye on the shifting glow of the guidance lights. Blue for the atrium. Orange for deeper in. Simple enough.

Until they weren’t.

As they turned another corner, the warm orange tones faded, not back to blue, but to something else entirely.

A soft violet glow bathed the corridor ahead, casting muted lilac hues along the walls and polished flooring. It was more subtle than the other colours, less about direction and more about designation.

Zoey slowed. She frowned up at the lighting. Then at Liara. "Okay. What’s this one?"

Liara stopped just ahead of her, glancing up at the purple glow with an expression of quiet familiarity. "This is the family wing," she explained simply.

Zoey tilted her head, her gaze flicking toward the hallway that stretched ahead. The architecture was subtly different here, softer, with curved doorframes and intricate detailing along the walls. There was something comfortable about it, though she couldn’t say why.

"But… why purple?"

Liara turned toward her, arms folding neatly. "The guidance system extends here as well, but these corridors are not meant for guests. The violet hue indicates restricted access."

Zoey blinked. "Restricted how?"

Liara stepped toward one of the doors, a sleek but unassuming panel marked with an intricate filigree design at the edges. With a simple motion, she placed her hand against the scanner beside it.

The panel lit up instantly, scanning over her palm before the door slid open with a smooth, barely audible hiss.

"This wing is private," Liara continued, stepping aside so Zoey could see into the space beyond. "Only immediate family and trusted members of House T’Soni may enter. That includes myself, Mother and Father."

Zoey hesitated. "And, I assume, the estate’s security?" she asked.

Liara nodded. "Yes. Nisira, Shiala, and Vasira also have unrestricted access. Additionally, staff assigned to family services on a given day may also enter. That includes attendants, medical personnel if needed, and designated meal staff, such as breakfast service from the kitchens."

Zoey glanced toward the soft violet glow, her fingers curling slightly at her sides.

The implication was clear. It wasn’t just restricted—it was theirs. A part of the house that didn’t belong to diplomats, guests, or visiting officials.

Just them.

"How does it work?" Zoey asked after a moment. "The access, I mean."

Liara gestured toward the panel beside the doorway. "Biometric scanning. It recognises those permitted entry and restricts all others. Guests may approach, but the doors will not open for them without an escort or authorisation." She turned slightly, nodding toward the scanner. "Try it."

Zoey hesitated, then, carefully, she lifted her hand and pressed her palm against the sleek glass.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then—a quiet pulse of light.

The system registered her signature, scanning from wrist to fingertips. A faint chime echoed through the quiet corridor as the panel’s edges lit with a cool indigo hue.

A moment later, the door slid open. Zoey stared at it.

There was no dramatic fanfare, no overwhelming shift, just a quiet, matter-of-fact confirmation that she belonged. That this place, whether she was ready for it or not, was now hers. She wasn’t sure what unsettled her more—the fact that she was included in that group now, or the fact that some part of her liked the idea.

She swallowed, nodding once. "Alright," she muttered. "Got it. Purple means private."

Liara regarded her for a long moment, then gave a satisfied nod. "Correct." She gestured toward the open door. "Come. I will show you your room."

Zoey hesitated just long enough to steel herself, then stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the family wing.

The hallway beyond the secured doors was quieter than the rest of the estate—not empty, but intentionally subdued. The lighting was softer here, the architecture less grand and more personal, with small alcoves housing delicate Thessian sculptures and faintly glowing crystal fixtures along the walls.

It wasn’t the pristine elegance of the embassy halls or the structured formality of the main wings.

It felt lived in.

And then, just a few steps in, Liara stopped. "This is your room," she said simply, gesturing toward a door.

Zoey blinked. Liara’s expression barely shifted, but Zoey could see the faint trace of satisfaction beneath the carefully composed exterior. "Directly across from my own."

Zoey hesitated, glancing between the two doors, then back at Liara. "You seem… happy about that," she noted.

Liara inclined her head. "Of course. It is practical."

Zoey raised a brow. "Uh-huh."

Liara’s lips twitched, but she simply gestured toward the panel beside the door. "It is already programmed to your biometrics so that you may enter at any time."

Zoey didn’t need to be told twice. She pressed her hand against the scanner, and the door slid open, revealing the space beyond. The first thing she noticed was how distinctly Asari it was.

The architecture followed the same sweeping, curved lines she had seen throughout the estate, with walls in a muted shade of deep blue, accented by subtle silver details in the framework. A large, circular window overlooked one of the private garden courtyards, casting soft natural light across the room.

It was bigger than she expected, larger than any quarters she had ever been assigned before. There was a built-in seating area along the far wall, a sleek desk with a holo-interface, and a neatly arranged wardrobe compartment.

But what caught her attention was the bed. Not for its size, or for the way it blended seamlessly with the rest of the décor, but because of what was on it.

Zoey’s duffel bag sat neatly on the bed, the same Alliance-issued gear she had carried from one station to the next for years. And beside it, A change of clothes.

Not the sleek Asari robes or the formal attire she had seen on officials.

Something simpler. Familiar.

A well-fitted tunic, sturdy pants, soft-woven material designed for comfort and function, in the same deep blue and silver tones of the house colours. Not unlike the clothes Aethyta wore. Zoey stepped forward, fingers brushing over the fabric before she could stop herself.

Liara, still standing near the doorway, observed her reaction. "The clothes were prepared for you this morning," she explained. "They are similar to what my father wears and should be comfortable enough for daily use."

Zoey nodded slowly, running a thumb along the stitching. "They’re… nice."

"They are yours," Liara corrected, tone matter-of-fact.

Zoey glanced at her. Liara’s expression remained composed, but there was an undeniable sense of certainty behind her words, like this was not up for debate.

Zoey swallowed. It was a small thing, really. Just clothes. A change of outfit. But the meaning behind it felt heavier than she knew what to do with.

She exhaled sharply, dropping her hand and turning away before the moment could linger too long. "Well," she muttered. "At least I won’t stick out as much now."

Liara tilted her head. "You will still be the only human in the estate."

Zoey shot her a look. "Yeah, thanks..."

Liara gave a small, almost imperceptible smirk before stepping aside, motioning toward the room. "I will give you some time to settle in," she said. "If you require anything, my door is directly across from yours."

Zoey hesitated, glancing back toward the matching door on the opposite side of the corridor, her fingers twitched slightly at her sides. It was strange being placed so close to someone who wasn’t a superior officer or a bunkmate.

Not for function. Not for oversight. Just because. She exhaled through her nose and nodded once. "Yeah. Alright."

Liara lingered just long enough to ensure she was comfortable before turning toward the door. "I will return when dinner is ready," she said. Then, after a pause, "Welcome home, Zoey."

Zoey stilled. She didn’t turn around. Didn’t respond. Just stood there, staring at her duffel bag, the last piece of her old life, sitting beside something new. By the time she finally glanced toward the doorway again, Liara was already gone.

Zoey sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her duffel bag like it was a problem she hadn’t quite figured out how to solve yet. She had lived out of this bag for years. Ships, stations, barracks, wherever she ended up, it always had a place beside her bunk.

Now, it sat on a bed that wasn’t military-issued in a room that wasn’t temporary.

It felt weird.

But she wasn’t going to just leave it sitting there, either. With a quiet exhale, she unzipped the bag and started pulling out the first things that mattered.

Her worn datapad came first, its casing scuffed and marked from years of use. She didn’t need to turn it on to know what it contained. Her notes, schematics, and encrypted scripts she’d written herself. It had seen more than its fair share of questionable activity.

Next, she pulled out the Rubik’s cube, turning it once, listening to the now familiar click as the tiles shifted beneath her fingers. It was old, with colours slightly faded, and the edges worn smooth from constant handling, but it was solid and familiar.

It had been a gift from Aethyta. She hadn’t expected to like it, but it had become something of a habit—something to do when her thoughts got too fast, too loud. It was a simple thing, really. Just a cube. But it was hers.

She set it carefully beside her datapad and moved to the next important thing. Her external storage device. It was unassuming at first glance, just another drive, standard military issue. But inside? Inside were files that the Alliance would probably rather she didn’t have.

Mars Archives research, Prothean data. Things she had pulled from encrypted channels, copied when no one was watching. Officially, she shouldn’t have it. Unofficially? She had worked too hard to get it to let it go.

Beside it, she placed something even more valuable, her personal hacking algorithm. She had built it from scratch, refining it over the years. It was fast, efficient, and designed to adapt in real time to whatever security system it encountered. It was elegant, precise, and dangerous, if it ever fell into the wrong hands.

Not that the Alliance knew she had it.

Satisfied with her small workstation setup, she moved on to the wardrobe, unceremoniously shoving open the sleek, polished doors. Inside, a full range of Asari-style clothing hung neatly in organised rows, every piece cut in flowing, elegant fabrics.

All in her size. Zoey stared. Then let out a quiet, incredulous breath. "Seriously?" she muttered to herself.

She reached out, running her fingers along the smooth material of one of the robes, feeling the fine threading woven into it, thessian silk. Yeah. Not exactly her usual style. She pulled back and turned to her clothes instead, the same ones she had been carrying for years.

Cargo pants. T-shirts. Hoodies. And, of course, her leather jacket—the only piece of clothing she actually felt attached to. It was worn in, the stitching a little rougher in places where she had patched it up herself, but it was comfortable. Familiar.

She stacked the shirts neatly onto the lower shelf, hanging up the jacket with a little more care than the rest.

When she finally stepped back, the contrast was stark: one side filled with flowing, perfectly arranged Asari fabrics, the other with her own messy, practical, and stubbornly familiar Alliance issue clothes.

It wasn’t hard to see which part belonged to her. Zoey huffed, crossing her arms.

"This is gonna take some getting used to," she muttered.

But for now, at least, she had somewhere to put her things.

And that was a start.

- ͟͟͞  ☆

Zoey had barely finished organising her things when a soft chime sounded at her door.

She turned, blinking before the realisation hit. Liara.

Right. Dinner.

Zoey sighed, brushing a hand through her hair before moving to the door, palming it open. Liara stood on the other side, her expression as composed as ever, though there was something slightly expectant in her gaze.

"Dinner is ready," she stated simply. "Come."

Zoey followed without argument, stepping into the corridor as Liara turned toward the violet-lit halls leading them back toward the estate’s main wing.

They moved in silence at first, their footsteps muffled by the smooth stone flooring. The quiet was comfortable, though Zoey still wasn’t sure what to say about the entire situation.

"You are settling in well?" Liara finally asked, glancing at her as they walked.

Zoey let out a huff, shoving her hands into her pockets. "As well as I can in a place with a wardrobe full of robes I’ll probably never wear." Liara’s lips twitched, but she didn’t comment.

Instead, she led them through a set of tall, ornately detailed doors that slid open at their approach, revealing a sprawling dining hall.

The room was large, but intimate, nothing like the grand banquet halls Zoey had imagined would come with a place like this. The ceilings arched high, the walls lined with soft-lit sconces that cast a warm glow over the polished dining table stretching through the centre of the space.

House staff stood at various nooks around the room, dressed in the usual dark blue attire with silver accents, waiting patiently, but attentively.

Zoey tried not to stare, but it was weird. She wasn’t used to this level of formality. Disciplined meals, sure, but not this.

At the head of the table, Benezia was already seated, her presence as effortless as ever, posture perfectly poised.

Aethyta, by contrast, was lounging back, one arm resting along the side of her chair, her posture far more relaxed as she tapped her fingers against the table. The moment Zoey and Liara entered, Aethyta smirked.

"There you are, Little Owl."

Zoey groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "Not this again."

Benezia merely exhaled, though Zoey swore she saw the faintest hint of amusement behind her gaze. "Come, sit," Benezia gestured toward an empty seat near her, positioned close enough to Aethyta that she could already feel a new wave of teasing incoming.

Zoey sighed, stepping forward and lowering herself into the chair, trying not to feel out of place as a few of the house staff moved forward to serve.

A soft ceramic plate was set before her, followed shortly by a delicate bowl of steaming soup, the scent rising subtly into the air, warm, earthy, but surprisingly familiar.

Benezia’s voice was even as she spoke, offering a slight nod toward the dish. "Felina prepared a soft Thessian soup for you—something mild to ease the transition into new flavours."

Zoey frowned slightly, glancing at the light golden broth, the way the subtle steam curled off the surface. It didn’t smell overpowering, which was already a good sign. She took the spoon, hesitating only a moment before taking a small sip.

Her brows lifted slightly. "...It’s like potato and leek."

Benezia inclined her head. "A common comparison. It is made from root vegetables and light herbs, meant to be easily digestible while still providing proper nutrition."

Zoey took another careful sip, and okay. Yeah, it was actually good.

Aethyta, however, grinned. "Don’t get used to it, kid. This is the easy stuff. Felina’s easing you in before we break out the real Thessian food."

Zoey raised a brow. "You’re saying this isn’t real?"

Aethyta waved a hand. "It’s Thessian, sure, but it’s the starter pack. The real stuff’s got flavour, heat, spice, complexity."

Zoey smirked slightly, setting the spoon down. "Sounds like you’re saying human food is bland."

Aethyta grinned. "Kid, compared to what you’re in for? It is."

Zoey huffed, shaking her head as she took another slow sip of the soup. Maybe she’d regret that challenge later. But for now? She wasn’t complaining.

Aethyta was already halfway through her meal by the time she started ranting.

"See, the problem with human food is that it’s all just variations of the same thing," she said, gesturing with her fork before taking another bite. "You got bread, you got meat, you got some kinda mild-ass seasoning, and that’s it. Just mix and match until it looks like something different."

Zoey raised an eyebrow, spoon pausing in her bowl. "That’s literally how most food works, though."

Aethyta snorted. "Yeah, but at least Asari food has some damn range."

She pointed the fork at Zoey, her other hand reaching for a side dish of something rich and spiced. "Take your steak, for example. What do you do? Grill it, sear it, slap some salt on it, call it a day."

Zoey blinked. "I mean, some people season it?"

Aethyta rolled her eyes. "Pfft. Yeah, barely. Now, take Thessian flame-roasted varca. That stuff is coated in a marinade for days, then it’s cooked slowly, letting the flavours sink in until you get something that actually tastes like it was meant to be eaten."

Zoey frowned slightly. "That. Sounds pretty good, actually."

"Damn right, it does." Aethyta took another enthusiastic bite, talking through it. "Then you got your pasta, basic as hell."

Benezia’s gaze flicked up sharply. "Aethyta."

Aethyta didn’t look up, still chewing. "What?"

Benezia’s voice remained perfectly composed. "Do not speak with your mouth full."

Aethyta waved her hand dismissively before swallowing. "Yeah, yeah."

Benezia exhaled. Liara, meanwhile, was entirely unbothered, calmly watching Zoey’s reactions as if she were studying an experiment in real time.

Zoey felt the scrutiny but didn’t comment on it. Instead, she gestured slightly with her spoon. "So what, all human food is bland garbage to you?"

Aethyta smirked, picking up another bite. "Eh, not all. You’ve got a few good ones."

Zoey leaned forward slightly, curious despite herself. "Like what?"

Aethyta tapped her fork against the plate, thinking. "...Burgers are alright. It could use better seasoning, but the concept? Solid."

Zoey huffed. "Oh, well, glad we got your seal of approval."

"Hey, I give credit where it’s due." Aethyta took another bite. "Some of your spicy foods aren’t bad either, still weak compared to Thessian heat, but it’s a start. And, gotta admit, coffee’s a damn good invention."

Zoey gave a mock gasp. "You actually like something?"

Aethyta grinned. "Hey, I didn’t say humans got it all wrong, just most of it."

Benezia pinched the bridge of her nose lightly, as if willing herself to tune this out. Liara, meanwhile, continued to simply observe Zoey, as if waiting to see how much of this she would tolerate before breaking.

Zoey? She just picked up her spoon again, smirking slightly. "Alright. Well, when Felina eventually drags me into trying the real stuff, I’ll let you know if you’re full of shit."

Aethyta grinned wider. "Now that’s the spirit."

Benezia took a measured sip from her drink before glancing toward Liara. "Did you ever figure out Zoey’s puzzle box?" she asked, tone perfectly neutral.

Zoey blinked, lowering her spoon. "Wait, you told her?"

Liara’s entire expression flattened as she turned her head slowly toward Aethyta, who was grinning. "Don’t look at me like that, kid," she said, shrugging. "Bene and I share everything."

Liara’s eye twitched. "Mother," she said, voice tight with irritation, "you are aware that I was not hiding that."

Benezia tilted her head slightly. "And yet, you also did not mention it."

Liara’s expression darkened. "Because it was not relevant."

Aethyta smirked, leaning back in her chair. "C’mon, Little Wing. You know what they say, honest communication is the foundation of a strong relationship."

Liara stiffened immediately, her posture going rigid as a deep blush spread across her cheeks. "That is not the same thing."

Benezia set her glass down with the faintest hint of amusement in her eyes. "Is it not?"

Liara glared at both of them in betrayal. Zoey, who had just been trying to enjoy her soup, was now fighting very hard not to laugh. Instead, she leaned on the table, glancing at Liara. "So. I’m guessing that’s a no on solving the cube?"

Liara huffed sharply, as if personally offended by the question. "I fail to see the point of the object. There is no function, no purpose, only a pattern that is undone the moment it is completed."

Zoey smirked. "Yeah. That’s kinda the fun part." Liara stared at her.

Aethyta chuckled. "Kid, I think you might actually kill her with this thing."

Liara, still blushing but too stubborn to acknowledge it, crossed her arms. "I will never understand humans," she muttered.

Zoey grinned. "That makes two of us."

- ͟͟͞  ☆

The room was too quiet.

Zoey had spent most of her life in places that never truly slept: barracks filled with restless breathing, the distant hum of a ship’s engines, the occasional crackle of comm chatter at odd hours.

Here, there was nothing.

No murmur of voices. No background noise to settle into. Just the still, open silence of a room too large, a bed too soft, and a life that didn’t feel like hers. She lay staring at the ceiling, arms folded over her stomach, waiting for sleep to take hold.

It didn’t.

Her mind wouldn’t shut off—every slight shift in the covers, every flicker of light from the window, every slow inhale and exhale felt too noticeable.

A deep breath. Relax.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

You’re safe. It’s fine. You’re fine.

Then, a sound. Soft. A knock, not urgent, but deliberate.

Her heart jumped before she could stop it, her body tensing before her brain caught up.

For a second, just a second, she was back in barracks, back in a ship’s cold sleeping quarters, back where a sound at her door meant orders, a mission, a call to action.

Her fingers curled into the sheets. She exhaled, forcing herself to sit up, pushing the unnecessary tension from her limbs as she walked. This isn’t a battlefield. It’s just someone at the door.

Still, she hesitated before pressing the panel, letting the door slide open. Benezia stood there, bathed in the soft glow of the corridor’s violet lights.

Zoey had only ever seen her in formal robes, commanding presence wrapped in layers of authority and elegance. But tonight, she wore something softer—deep blue, simple, her posture more at ease.

She looked less like a Matriarch and more like a person who had simply lived a long life. "You are awake," Benezia said, not unkindly.

Zoey huffed, rubbing a hand down her face. "Guess so."

Benezia studied her for a moment, something thoughtful behind her expression. "I had a feeling you would be."

Zoey blinked. "A feeling?"

Benezia didn’t elaborate. She simply tilted her head. "May I come in?"

Zoey hesitated, but only for a second before stepping aside. Benezia entered with the same quiet grace she carried everywhere, her gaze moving slowly over the room, taking in the details.

The bed, the unpacked bag, the neatly placed datapad and storage device on the desk. The Rubik’s cube sitting beside them, colours jumbled.

She said nothing about them. Instead, she turned back to Zoey. "You are uncomfortable."

It wasn’t a question. Zoey sighed, shifting her weight from foot to foot, arms crossing loosely over her chest.

"It’s not—" She stopped, shaking her head. "I don’t know." She exhaled, gaze flickering over the room before gesturing vaguely. "This place, it’s not like anywhere I’ve been before. I’ve never had—" She hesitated, searching for the right words. "Something that’s just mine."

Benezia nodded slightly, as if she had already expected that answer. "And yet, it is yours." Zoey frowned. Benezia gestured around them, slow and deliberate. "This room. The space, the bed, the clothes, they belong to you. Not because you have earned it, not because you have fought for it, but because it was given freely. That is difficult for you, isn’t it?"

Zoey’s fingers twitched slightly. "...Yeah."

Benezia’s voice was calm and patient. "Because it feels undeserved?"

Zoey exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through her hair. "I don’t know what it feels like," she admitted. "It just doesn’t feel like mine."

Benezia stepped toward the wardrobe, trailing her fingers along the smooth panel. "And yet, it is." She glanced back, the soft glow of the bedside lights casting shadows along her face. "These clothes as well. They were selected for you."

Zoey scoffed, half-smirking. "You mean the asari robes I’ll never wear?"

Benezia wasn’t offended. She simply nodded. "It is proper that you have them, as you are now part of this household. But there will also be human designs arriving soon, ones that suit your needs better."

Zoey blinked. "You already ordered human clothes for me?"

Benezia arched a brow, as if the question itself was strange. "Did you think I would not?"

Zoey hadn’t thought about it at all. The fact that Benezia had planned this far ahead. The fact that she had prepared for Zoey to stay. That she was treating this like a permanent part of her life.

Something about that sent a tight, unfamiliar knot into Zoey’s chest. Her gaze dropped, fingers clenching slightly. "I don’t know what I’m doing here."

Benezia was silent for a long moment. Then, softly: "That is understandable." Zoey looked up. Benezia was watching her without expectation, without judgment. Just the kind of patient certainty that felt too steady, too real. "You do not need to know everything at once," Benezia continued. "You do not need to feel at home immediately. But you must allow yourself the space to try."

She stepped closer, her presence warm but not overbearing. "You have spent much of your life surviving, Zoey. I can see that." Zoey swallowed, something twisting beneath her ribs. Benezia’s voice remained gentle but unwavering. "This is not survival. This is living. Adjustment will take time."

Zoey had no response. She just stood there, weight shifting from foot to foot, unsure what to do with the sudden, heavy vulnerability settling in her chest. Benezia must have seen it, because she inclined her head slightly, as if giving her a moment to process.

Then, she turned toward the door. Before she stepped out, she glanced back one last time. Her voice was softer now, but still steady. "You are not alone, child."

Zoey’s breath hitched. She had spent so long telling herself she was okay with that. Being alone. Maintaining a distance was just how things had to be.

But here, now, Benezia had said it like a fact. She wasn’t alone, like it was something that was already decided.

Zoey stood there, staring at the door. Her arms hung loosely at her sides, fingers twitching, her breathing uneven in the silence. The room still felt too big, too open, too much. Her chest was tight, like something inside had curled in on itself, pressing against her ribs, clawing up her throat.

She lifted a hand to her face and, damn it, her fingers came away wet. She hadn’t even realised she’d been crying. She sucked in a slow, sharp breath and wiped at her eyes, pressing her palms into them like she could just shove the feeling away. But it didn’t go.

It just sat there, heavy and raw and aching. She exhaled shakily, trying to will herself to let it go.

She couldn’t. Her feet were moving before she fully realised what she was doing, pushing her toward the door, pressing her hand against the panel.

The hallway was still dim, bathed in soft violet light, stretching out in either direction. Benezia had only just reached the far end, moving with that same measured, effortless grace.

Zoey swallowed hard. Then, before she could talk herself out of it, "Wait."

Benezia stopped. Turned back to her, expression calm, unreadable.

Zoey hesitated. She should go back. She should just deal with it like she always did, shove it down, breathe through it, pretend she was fine, but she wasn’t fine.

Her throat felt tight, her chest too full, and suddenly, the words were just there, spilling out before she could stop them. "Can I—" she started, voice rough, unsteady.

She swallowed, barely able to get the rest out. "Can I… have a hug?"

Her pulse hammered. She half expected Benezia to hesitate. Maybe even to refuse.

She hadn’t exactly been welcoming since she got here, had barely let anyone get close, and now, here she was, falling apart in the hallway in the middle of the damn night, asking for something she wasn’t even sure she knew how to take.

Benezia didn’t hesitate. She simply opened her arms. No expectation. No judgment. Just patience.

Zoey stepped forward before she could think better of it. Her body tensed automatically, stiff, uncertain. She hadn’t done this in years, hadn’t let herself.

But Benezia was warm. She smelled like something soft, faintly floral, like the kind of expensive perfume that clung to silk, delicate and constant. And when Zoey finally let herself lean into it, when her forehead pressed against Benezia’s shoulder and she felt that steady hand rest against her back, something cracked.

Her breath hitched, a sharp, broken sound, and then, she was crying.

Not a few silent tears. Not something she could just wipe away and pretend didn’t happen. She was crying, shaking, fists clenching at her sides because she didn’t know what else to do with them.

"I’m sorry," she choked out, voice muffled against Benezia’s shoulder. "I-I don’t know why, I just—" Her fingers curled tighter, gripping the soft fabric of Benezia’s sleeve like she was afraid she’d be pushed away for it. "I’m sorry."

Benezia didn’t pull back. Didn’t shush her. Didn’t try to tell her she was fine or that she didn’t have to cry. She just held her steady, warm, unmoving. And when she finally spoke, her voice was soft, but unwavering. "There is nothing to apologise for, child."

Zoey squeezed her eyes shut, breath shuddering. She had never had this before, not like this. Not from someone who wasn’t a squadmate, or a commanding officer, or someone who needed something from her.

Not from someone who expected nothing at all.

She didn’t know how long she stayed like that, how long she let herself fall apart in Benezia’s arms, shoulders shaking, breath hitching.

But Benezia didn’t move. Didn’t let go. Didn’t even seem surprised.

Eventually, Zoey managed to pull back, scrubbing a hand roughly over her face, wiping at the dampness on her cheeks. Benezia didn’t say anything about it. Didn’t acknowledge it out loud, she simply lifted a hand, brushing a stray strand of Zoey’s hair back behind her ear with the same careful ease she did everything else.

"Rest, Zoey," she said softly.

Zoey exhaled, voice still hoarse. "I’ll try."

Benezia gave a slight, approving nod. "That is enough."

Zoey lingered for a second, her fingers still curled slightly, as if part of her wasn’t ready to fully let go yet. But then she nodded, stepping back, breathing just a little steadier.

Benezia gave her one last knowing look, then turned, heading down the corridor. Zoey watched until she disappeared around the corner.

Then, slowly, she turned back to her room, but it was still too big.

Still too much.

But as she crawled back into bed, pulling the covers over her, eyes still stinging, for the first time, it didn’t feel quite so empty.

- ͟͟͞  ☆

Zoey hesitated just outside the dining hall.

The doors had already opened, revealing the warm glow of the room beyond, the murmur of voices inside. She could see the long dining table stretching through the space, house staff stationed discreetly along the walls, watchful but unobtrusive.

And at the far end of the table, Benezia and Aethyta were already seated.

Zoey felt a familiar flicker of discomfort, not quite belonging, not quite knowing where to go, until a voice cut through her thoughts.

"This way, Miss Shepard." She turned. Nisira stood just to her right, waiting with the same composed elegance she carried everywhere.

For a second, Zoey just blinked at her. She had expected an attendant to guide her, but not this one. Not Nisira. Still, she didn’t question it. Just gave a slight nod and stepped forward as Nisira smoothly gestured to a seat. When Zoey settled into the chair, her eyes immediately landed on the plate in front of her. She blinked.

Pancakes.

Not some unfamiliar alien dish, not something that looked like it was going to burn the inside of her skull, just simple, golden-brown pancakes, stacked neatly on a blue ceramic plate.

A second later, a grinning Felina peeked her head in from the kitchen doors, beaming at her.  "Told you I’d get it right."

Zoey let out a short, half-exasperated breath, shaking her head as she picked up her fork.

Across from her, Aethyta grinned. "You got the kid hooked on sugar cakes already?"

Felina just winked before disappearing back into the kitchens, clearly pleased with herself.

Zoey sighed, slicing off a bite, popping it into her mouth. She wasn’t sure how Felina had nailed this, but she had. It was perfect, down to the slight crispness at the edges and the warm sweetness of the syrup.

She didn’t realise how long she had been chewing until she looked up, only to find Benezia already watching her.

For a second, Zoey thought she was about to say something about the food, about Felina’s antics, but then, without a word, Benezia reached for a delicate porcelain teapot.

And poured Zoey’s tea herself.

Not an attendant. Not an aide.

Her.

Zoey froze. Liara, seated just to the side, also noticed immediately. Her mother rarely served anyone personally. It wasn’t out of arrogance or detachment; it was just something that didn’t happen. And yet, here she was, calmly pouring Zoey’s tea, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The subtle clink of porcelain filled the space as Benezia set the teapot back in place, her gaze never leaving Zoey’s. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t acknowledge the act.

But she didn’t need to.

Zoey swallowed, her throat suddenly tight, fingers twitching slightly as she reached for the cup. Before she could touch it, another hand moved smoothly into place.

Nisira.

Zoey blinked as the asari wordlessly turned the cup just slightly, aligning the handle with careful precision, just enough to make it easier for her to lift.

Then, just as smoothly, Nisira stepped back. "It is hot," she said, voice even. "Be mindful." Zoey frowned slightly. Not out of irritation, but puzzlement. She wasn’t sure why Nisira had done that. Or why it felt so… pointed.

It wasn’t overly formal, but it wasn’t casual either. There was a deliberateness to it, a subtle watchfulness in the way she moved as if she were evaluating something, making a decision.

Zoey shook it off, lifting the cup to take a slow sip. She didn’t see the look that passed across the table. Didn’t see the way Nisira turned toward Benezia, meeting her gaze with quiet intent.

Didn’t see the slight, knowing incline of Benezia’s head. Or the short, approving nod Nisira gave in return.

She didn’t see any of it because, for the first time, she wasn’t watching everything around her; she was just here. Eating. Drinking. Existing.

Aethyta smirked. "Huh. You actually look like you belong at the table now."

Zoey huffed through her nose, setting her cup down. "I’m literally just eating pancakes."

Aethyta grinned. "Yeah. And yet, first time you’re sittin’ here like you don’t wanna bolt the second we look at you. Progress."

Zoey stabbed her pancakes a little harder than necessary. Not because she was actually annoyed, just because Aethyta had to say something. She had barely taken another bite before she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye.

A fork. Heading toward her plate.

Zoey reacted on instinct. She yanked the plate back, narrowing her eyes at Aethyta, who had leaned across the table, fork poised in an attempted theft.

Aethyta smirked. "Relax, kid. Just tryin’ to see if human food actually holds up."

Zoey raised a brow. "Didn’t you spend half of last night telling me how bland human food is?"

Aethyta shrugged. "Yeah, and I stand by that. But if Felina made it, it might actually be worth stealing."

Zoey scowled. "It’s mine." Aethyta chuckled, feigning another attempt. Zoey blocked it.  "Seriously?"

Aethyta grinned. "What? I steal from Liara’s plate all the time. It’s called bonding."

Zoey glanced at Liara, expecting some kind of protest, but she just sighed and kept drinking her tea, clearly having long since accepted this battle as a lost cause.

Zoey narrowed her eyes, gripping her fork tightly. "You have your own food."

"Yeah, but yours is new."

"It’s literally pancakes."

"Exactly! Exotic."

Zoey scoffed. "You’re gonna call pancakes exotic after roasting human food last night?"

Aethyta smirked. "Hey, I said most human food was boring. This doesn’t look boring."

Zoey narrowed her eyes further. "Uh-huh. And what happens if you like it? What, you’re gonna start preaching the gospel of human breakfast?"

Aethyta stroked her chin, mock thoughtful. "Dunno. Could be a great bit. Spend my whole life bashing human food, then suddenly declare that pancakes are the only thing holding your entire species' tastes together."

Zoey snorted. "Right. The one redeeming dish."

Aethyta grinned. "Exactly. ‘Human food? Garbage. But those little flat sugar cakes? Could be peak culinary achievement."

Zoey shook her head, exasperated. "You are not making pancakes the saviour of humanity."

Aethyta gave a lazy grin, casually twirling her fork. "Too late. You shoulda have just let me have a bite. Now it’s a thing."

Zoey sighed. "You’re the worst."

"Kid, I haven’t even started."

Zoey groaned, pushing her plate slightly away from her. "Fine. One bite. So that you shut up about it."

Aethyta raised a brow. "You mean it?"

"One."

Aethyta immediately speared a chunk, popping it into her mouth like she had just won a war.

Zoey watched as she chewed, paused, then blinked. "…Huh."

Zoey squinted. "Huh, what?"

Aethyta licked her lips, looking entirely too amused. "I mean… It’s pretty good."

Zoey folded her arms. "Wow. High praise."

Aethyta shrugged. "I expected worse."

"Gee. Thanks."

Aethyta leaned back, crossing her arms. "Alright. Fine. I’ll give humans this one. Pancakes are decent."

Zoey rolled her eyes, pulling her plate back. "Don’t get all sentimental on me now."

"Too late, kid." Aethyta gestured at her with her fork. "This moment? Bonding. Cherish it."

Zoey scoffed, cutting off another bite. "I hate you."

Aethyta smirked. "You love me." Zoey shoved a bite of pancake in her mouth, pointedly ignoring her.

Benezia, who had been quietly observing, set down her cup. "Aethyta, please do not harass Zoey for her food every morning."

Aethyta grinned. "Can’t promise that, Bene."

Liara sighed, finally breaking her silence. "She won’t stop until Zoey learns to defend her plate properly."

Zoey glanced at Liara. "What, like combat training?"

Liara sipped her tea. "Precisely."

Zoey turned back to Aethyta, suspicious. Aethyta just waggled her brows.

Zoey huffed. "This family is insane."

Aethyta grinned. "Welcome to breakfast, Little Owl."