Private Beneath the Endless Constellation

[Malachi Blackwood]

Beneath the Endless Constellation

[]

A Procissão dos Que Não Foram Chorados

Tags --> Liin Terallo​

The night draped itself across Soto'lok Winda'nia like the burial shroud of some forgotten king, every star above seeming less a light than a patient eye fixed upon the Blackwood Estate.

I stood alone upon the balcony, hands folded behind my back as the cold wind carried the scent of ancient forests and older graves, watching the heavens for the vessel that would bear my guest to my threshold. Miss Linn Terallo, a woman whose reputation had reached even these secluded halls through whispers traded by scholars and merchants alike.

There was something hauntingly compelling about her name, as though it had been etched into a page that sensible minds refused to read twice. I did not wonder whether she possessed talent; I already believed she did. What fascinated me was whether her spirit would remain unbroken when confronted with truths that had devoured wiser souls.

The House of Blackwood did not simply exist within the galaxy; it lingered beneath its skin like a dream too dreadful to awaken from.

Bootsteps approached without urgency, their cadence unmistakable. Varkhael Blackwood came to stand beside me, the moonlight catching the dark crimson trim upon the armor of the Captain of the Wardens of the First Hunger. He was one of the precious few permitted to discard ceremony, and with the faintest smirk he murmured, "Nervous, Malachi?"

A quiet chuckle escaped me before my gaze returned to the stars. "Slightly, Varkhael. Not in the manner you or the others might think. I have faith in this Miss Terallo's abilities. I am merely curious how she will perceive us...and how comfortable she will be around us."

His expression shifted with immediate realization. "Wait...you didn't tell her about us? You? What we are? The entirety of House Blackwood?" I answered with a measured grin that carried more shadows than warmth.

"And if I did, do you truly believe a mortal would willingly come here, to this planet of all places? No. It is better she is welcomed as a friend. Let her own judgment decide whether she wishes to aid us... or flee this world screaming 'vampires!' at the top of her lungs."

I rested a reassuring hand upon his shoulder, the gesture shared only between brothers forged by blood and eternity. "Besides...her safety is in your hands, Captain." Varkhael inclined his head without hesitation, and somewhere beyond the black horizon, a lone mechanical star descended toward our world, carrying destiny ever closer to the waiting gates of House Blackwood.​

 

[Liin Terallo]

The stars always looked different when someone invited me somewhere that they refused to properly describe. I had spent the better part of the journey studying the navigational data, comparing it against every chart that I could legally access. Soto'lok Winda'nia. Depending on which archive I consulted, it was either an unremarkable system, a cartographic error, or a name attached to little more than rumor. That alone had been enough to make me suspicious. People rarely summoned scientists to places that officially did not exist. More than once I had entertained the possibility that the invitation itself was some elaborate joke at my expense. A fabricated world. A fabricated estate. A fabricated benefactor waiting to laugh when I inevitably discovered that there was nothing here at all. It would hardly have been the first time that someone had underestimated my curiosity.

Besides, if there truly was someone hidden this far beyond the familiar routes, someone with resources sufficient to remain unnoticed while still managing to find me, then perhaps they possessed knowledge of their own. Knowledge could be exchanged. Favors could be earned. Every new acquaintance was another thread in a web that might one day stretch as far as New Cov. That hope alone justified the journey.

As the shuttle pierced the atmosphere, I leaned slightly toward the viewport to take a look at the landing sight. "...Well." The word escaped me almost involuntarily. The estate was real. It emerged from the darkness not as a beacon; but as though the night itself had chosen to become architecture. Ancient walls, towering silhouettes, and moonlight clinging to stone that seemed to have forgotten what sunlight felt like.

My fingers unconsciously found the satchel resting beside me, reassuring myself that my notebooks remained exactly where I had packed them. Paper was harder to steal than data. It was harder to alter and harder to erase.

A slow breath steadied me. This wasn't the first time that I had walked willingly into uncertainty. Usually uncertainty looked considerably less determined to haunt my dreams.

As the shuttle settled onto the landing platform, I remained seated for one last moment, studying the estate through the glass. Curiosity had brought me here while common sense was beginning to file it's formal objection. Nevertheless, I rose, collected my satchel, and stepped toward the hatch as it cycled open. Whatever waited beyond it had gone to considerable effort to find me. The least that I could do was to hear them out.

Tag: Malachi Blackwood