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He had a love-hate relationship with them, for their wisdom and concern carried him through some of his darkest days.

Yet they were an anomaly that his cold logic refused to accept.

‘I’ve had it of your whispers, your laughter, your unsolicited advice. Stay away from me. From her.’

The wraiths chortled, their amusement a ripple through the fabric of the dream.

‘We have always been waiting,’ the tallest one murmured, stepping forward, its form warping, shifting, expanding. ‘For her.’

‘Now she has appeared so that we may help her and indeed this universe at such a time as this.’

His vision fractured. Reality twisted.

The rainforest, the mountain, and the illusion shattered like brittle glass.

Ki’Remi woke with a gasped inhale, his chest heaving, skin damp with cold sweat.

The dim glow of his quarters on Perseus Prime greeted him, the familiar thrum of the ship grounding him.

Still, the hypnotic reverie he’d just experienced pressed on his mind and soul.

He swung his legs over the edge of his bed, running a hand over his face, willing his breath to steady.

His eyes flicked to the chrono, sighing.

He still had hours before his shift.

He fell back to his bedhead, staring at the ceiling, jaw tight, his psyche whirling with thoughts of Issa, his three unwanted acolytes, and their prophecies about her.

Trying his hardest not to decipher what he already grasped was indecipherable.

4

Reckless Peril

Ki’REMI

‘My father was a healer. My grandfather was a famed physician. His father was a doctor of biological diseases: my ancestors, witchmen.’

The Rider paused momentarily before continuing, ‘So it was natural that everyone thought I’d be a medic. At first, I rejected my calling. War opened my eyes to the suffering and the need to save lives. I took up my purpose, eyes wide open, which ledme to join the military as an Eden Guard physician. That same ambition drives me today. My DNA and impetus are undeniable. They give me a reason to get up, be methodical, and push through long, arduous surgeries and shifts. If you desire a career like mine, count the cost and find the drive and aspiration to determine whether this path is for you.’

A round of murmurs, a smattering of applause, and a few stricken faces stared down at the speaker from the gallery as the timbred rasp faded.

Ki’Remi turned away from the tiered observation level and to his patient.

She lay unconscious and under anesthesia in a hover bed at the center of Theater One.

Around her thrummed the murmur of life-support systems, the hiss of oxygen regulators, and the subtle whir of precision robotics in standby mode.

The frail young woman’s skin was almost translucent under the bioluminescent lighting, her vitals steady but precarious.

An advanced bio-stasis gel surrounding her chest sustained her failing ventricular system. Along with an artificial pump fed oxygenated blood through her system, buying time. But not much.

Ki’Remi kept speaking, addressing the throng.

Most were students keen to learn the delicate intricacies of cardiac reconstruction from a famed surgeon who wielded control with an unshakable, uncompromising, and exacting command.

‘This is a class-seven myocardial reconstruction for a young Allorian woman, Miss Zera Okaban,’ he stated. ‘The patient’s heart walls are compromised due to genetic degradation. We’ll be utilizing the P-98 synthesis graft to reinforce ventricular function. Incision and stabilizer activation will commence—’