"It cannot be searched for if you wish it to be found. This is my curse, and my gift, to you. Let it remain here to be forgotten, let the changing tides bury it under the shifting sands for eternity. And grant me my final wish:
Leave it all behind. Nothing but pain awaits at the end of your path, please I beg of you. If not for your sake, then mine.
This is my final message, and I entrust you with what I have attached. S■■do■■k is far too sentimental, Truthseeker sees too much. The others, well, they have their own circumstances. Only you will understand why I did what I did.
May we overcome Calamity."
***
[Outpost 213, Lykans Sector]
"Have you heard of the tale of Nexus Dawn?"
The tavern was rowdy at this time, being only one of two options on the entire outpost, such a thing was a given. Still, the hooded figure's voice was clearly heard by the bartender who replied gruffly.
"Maybe. You tell me your version, stranger. I'll see if it adds up."
The hooded figure took a swig of the glass of namango juice, wiping his mouth before continuing.
"Well, they say that their leader, a slave-miner for a long-dead corporation millennia ago, explored a hidden crypt. Some type of ancient ruin, early Shadowed Aeon stuff. Maybe a tomb, maybe a temple. Who knows and frankly, it matters little. Now, what he found within?"
He paused, a grin barely visible in his hooded visage.
"Well, there's a reason that corporation doesn't exist anymore."
"Sounds like what I heard," the bartender affirmed. "Hardly a unique story though. Why do you mention it?"
"Well that may be so," the hooded figure acquiesced. "Some kind of pitiful figure stumbles upon a treasure to turn around his life, that story has been done to death and beyond. That's not the interesting part though."
He wagged a finger while the bartender raised an eyebrow.
"No, no. It wasn't even what he found, but where he found it."
"The ruin? Why?"
The hooded figure shook his head, tutting disapprovingly.
"No, you're thinking too small. Not the ruin, but the world, the system it lay in, rotting for countless millennia. That corporation, whether in madness or desperation, sent a colony of slave-ships to explore various regions of space. What that unfortunate fellow ran into, well, we have a name for it now."
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He chuckled, continuing in an ominous tone.
"Outspace."
The bartender hissed, drawing back. His fingers drew the symbol of his faith on his scaled palm unconsciously.
"You know, in these parts there is a superstition: if you speak misfortune's name, than it has caught you in its web already. I'd be careful, stranger."
The hooded figure brushed off the bartender's warning. Gulping down the remained of his juice, he slapped a coin on the table.
"Misfortune and I go way back, I wouldn't worry about it too much. Well, it's just an old tale at the end of the day, who knows how much of it is true."
The bartender merely shrugged, returning to washing the dirty mugs with an even dirtier rag.
"Repeat a lie enough times, it becomes indistinguishable from the truth. We'll never know even a fraction of all that's out there, so we may as well let our imaginations run wild. Makes for a better time, I think."
The hooded figure laughed out loud.
"You make a very good point, I will remember that. May as well fill the void with fairy tales, eh?"
As the bartender looked up from his mug, the hooded figure had vanished, leaving behind his empty glass and the coin. Picking up said coin, he examined it with a closer look.
His scaly brows furrowed before his eyes widened. In a rush, he hid the coin, eyes glancing wildly in the direction of where the figure had went, but to no avail.
Muttering to himself, he pocketed the coin nervously.
"Starcrow? Why would one of them come here...unless..."
Putting the cloth down, the bartender roared out over all the noise.
"THAT'S IT, YOU USELESS LUMPS OF MALIGNANT CELLS! TAVERN'S CLOSED FOR THE NIGHT!"
There was a chorus of moans, but the bartender was not having it. His hand hovering on the hidden compartment under his desk, his eyes shining with a mad light.
"I'M NOT TELL YOU LOT TWICE!"
It took a certain amount of savviness for those who made such an outpost there home and, upon noticing the tremor in the bartenders voice, the rowdy crowd quieted down. Eventually only a few figures remained, those of the rest of the staff, cleaning up the dirty plates and glasses left.
"What happened that got you so nervous, boss?"
The bartender bit at his nails, shaking his head.
"Just got a tip, something might be going down here tonight."
Those still working continued, but their ears perked up, their movements slowing.
"Well? You can't leave us in suspense like that!"
One of the dishwasher complained, having peeked his head from around the door of the kitchen. Sighing, the bartender replied grimly.
"Starcrow. I got paid with a coin engraved with a Starcrow. You happy? You made me say it out loud, let the cloudy skies obscure the sight of misfortune."
His fingers habitually made the sign of his faith for the second time that night. A slightly chilling air descended on the room, a cold gust wafting in through the windows.
For a moment, all of them looked outside. There, beyond the transparent dome, the void of space was spread out, barely a metre's width of plexiglass separating them from the vacuum.
"It's fine," the bartenders curt voice interrupted the moment. "You guys can have an early night tonight. Make sure to get home safe, I don't want to have to find a replacement with hand-over day so soon. That's an order, you hear?"
A chorus of well-natured, grumpy replied sounded out. As the last of them left, the bartender was left alone. Retrieving that coin from his pocket, he set it on the bar. Getting a glass, he poured himself a glass of bright, glowing orange namango juice and took a deep swig, his eyes reflecting that coin while the shadows obscured the expression on his face.