Project Prometheus Ch. 67 - Teaser (Patreon)

“I was part of that civilization,” Shazza admitted, her tone carrying both weight and defiance. “I lived in that darkness. Like many, I was bound to it, controlled by it, through the psychic hold of my Prince—my so-called master. But I broke free.”

Qadira’s violet eyes narrowed further, her voice sharp. “How? That kind of control doesn’t simply vanish. Unless you had help.”

“I did,” Shazza said, her gaze shifting to Korsa. “Korsa helped me. She entered my mindscape and severed his hold on me.”

Qadira’s brow furrowed, her expression skeptical. “A noble claim. But words mean little when dealing with the Xuul’khan. How can I trust this isn’t another lie?”

Before Shazza could respond, Korsa stepped forward, her golden eyes fixed on Qadira with quiet intensity. “I can show you,” she said simply.

Qadira blinked, her crystalline eyes widening slightly. “Show me?”

“I will share my memories with you. See for yourself what I saw in Shazza’s mindscape,” Korsa nodded, lifting her hand. Her golden Aetheric power began to glow softly, radiating warmth and strength. Qadira hesitated, her gaze flicking between Korsa’s hand and her face. Finally, she nodded, her voice steady.

“Very well.”

Korsa stepped closer, placing her large hand gently on Qadira’s head. The golden glow of her Aether intensified, and the room seemed to shift, the air thick with a tangible energy. Qadira’s crystalline eyes fluttered closed as Korsa’s memories flowed into her mind.

In her mind’s eye, Qadira saw it all: the dark, twisted corridors of Shazza’s mindscape, a place warped by the psychic domination of her Prince. She saw Korsa, glowing with golden light, cutting through the suffocating shadows with her power. She witnessed the battles within Shazza’s psyche, the fierce struggle as Korsa ended the echo of the dark Prince and helped Shazza become whole again.

She also saw the part of Shazza that no one else but Korsa had seen. The part of her that was uncertain, feared life and desired death for the things she had done. For the innocents she had killed and, most importantly, the remorse she felt for having been part of that. The vision faded, and Qadira’s eyes snapped open, her breath hitching. She looked at Korsa, her expression a mixture of awe and disbelief.

“You... you truly did it. You freed her.”

Korsa nodded, her golden Aether dimming as she withdrew her hand. “Shazza isn’t a sleeper agent,” she said firmly. “She’s a survivor. And she’s proven her loyalty more times than I can count.”

Shazza straightened, her green eyes meeting Qadira’s with quiet defiance. “I don’t expect you to trust me immediately,” she said. “But I’m not the same as them. Not anymore.”

Qadira studied her for a long moment before nodding slowly. “Perhaps,” she said softly. “Perhaps there is hope for redemption after all.”

The room seemed to exhale as the tension eased, though the gravity of the conversation lingered. In that moment, the crew of the Darkstrider felt the fragile threads of trust binding them grow just a little stronger. Qadira’s eyes shimmered with a mix of shock and sorrow as she processed what she had seen in Korsa’s memories. Her breath hitched, and her hands clenched tightly in her lap, as though bracing herself against the weight of the revelation.

“The Xuul’khan,” she said slowly, her voice trembling with disbelief, “have turned the remnants of my people into prisoners... prisoners in their own minds. And they don’t even realize it.” Her tone was laced with anguish, the magnitude of her words heavy in the air.

The crew remained silent, watching as Qadira’s composure cracked further. She shook her head, her voice growing firmer. “This is appalling. To take what was once a people of light and imprison them in darkness, to manipulate their very thoughts and will—it is... monstrous.”

Shazza, standing nearby, remained still, her green eyes meeting Qadira’s without flinching. The tension in her posture spoke of her readiness to defend herself again if needed, but the aggression she expected from Qadira never came. Instead, Qadira’s expression softened, her gaze lingering on the silver-white glow of Shazza’s Aether as it faded around her.

“And yet,” she murmured, “you are not like them.”

“The Saint,” Qadira continued, her voice quieter now, “would never connect with someone consumed by darkness. The Saint’s light is pure. It cannot touch those who dwell in shadow. If the Saint chose you...” She hesitated, her eyes meeting Shazza’s with a newfound respect. “Then you are no longer one of them. You have truly broken free.”