The dream came again.
Always the same.
A wall of ice, thick as stone and glowing faintly blue.
On the other side, a man—dark, indistinct, his face blurred like breath on glass.
Their hands lifted at the same time. His was broader. Weathered. Scarred.
Almost touching. Never reaching.
Then came the cracking sound. A pulse in the ice.
Arra woke with a jolt.
She stared at the curved metal ceiling above her, heart hammering against the low thrum of the pod's recycled air. It smelled faintly of rust and algae and the sour tinge of old oxygen.
Dreams were forbidden topics. Especially ones like this.
She rubbed the heel of her hand against her eyes and sat up. The floor was cold on her bare feet. Somewhere beyond the pod's door, the colony lights were flickering through their morning cycle. Dim, amber, always flickering. Mars had no sunrise—just schedules.
Sora's bed was empty. Again.
Arra pulled on her jacket, her fingers snagging briefly in the tangle of braids that fell over one shoulder. The rest of her hair—wild, copper-red and half-shaved on one side—brushed against her collar as she stood. Her reflection caught faintly in the pod window: tired eyes, electric blue, and a face sharper than she remembered. Mars had a way of wearing you down in places no one could see.
She reached for the frayed sleeve and tugged it straight. The jacket had belonged to her mother. One of the few things she had left.
---
Out in the corridor, the hall was quiet except for the soft hum of vent systems and the echo of her footsteps. They weren't supposed to be out of their assigned sectors before the daily briefing, but that had never stopped her before.
Sora was usually the one dragging her into trouble. Lately, she had been disappearing first.
Arra found her on the outer platform, crouched near the railing that overlooked the Martian plain. Red dust whipped along the glass shielding, soft and ceaseless.
"Sora," Arra said, breath fogging the glass. "You're going to get flagged again."
Sora turned, eyes bright against the dull glow of the landscape. Her hair was pulled into a loose knot, curls haloing her face, strands of deep violet catching the low light.
"I couldn't sleep," she said.
Arra leaned beside her. "Dreams again?"
Sora hesitated, then shook her head. "No. Just... the usual restlessness."
A lie.
Arra didn't push.
---
"C'mon," Sora exhaled. "Let's get something to eat before we miss breakfast."
They walked along the sterile hall. Everything was either red or white. Red outside from the deep Martian rust, and white inside—blinding and cold.
Arra hated the lack of color. It felt dull. Lifeless.
"What do you think they'll have us do today?" she asked.
"Probably scan Mars for resources. Per usual," Sora replied with a bored yawn.
"Lame."
---
The cafeteria was already buzzing, everyone either in line or seated beneath the wide dome. It was one of the only places with windows. It almost felt like being outside—if not for the windless silence and stale smell of recycled air.
Here, Arra felt the most at peace.
She longed to breathe real air. To step outside without gear and oxygen tanks. But Mars was a brutal place to live. You couldn't just run into the open—not unless you wanted to die. Everything required prep, clearance, and protocol.
But in the cafeteria, it felt open.
When it was Arra's turn, the cafeteria worker slopped something vaguely edible onto her tray. She grimaced and made her way to the table where Sora was already waiting.
"What the hell is this?" Arra asked, poking the food. "It looks... already digested."
"Pretty much," Sora sniffed, equally unenthused.
---
"Are you visiting your sister today?" Arra asked.
"Yeah. Wanna come with? I got something for Zia."
Sora leaned in and let Arra sneak a peek at a small cloth pouch. Inside were tiny wrapped chocolates.
"Where the hell did you find those?" Arra gasped.
"I'm not telling. I don't want you raiding my stash." Sora smirked and nudged her playfully.
Arra smiled.
She loved Sora and Zia. They were the closest thing to family she'd ever had.
Both of their parents had died when they were young. Zia was just a baby. No one ever told them how or why. Those who lost their families ended up in camps like this—trained as soldiers, for reasons that never felt fully explained.
She and Sora had clicked instantly. And through that bond, Arra had gained something she'd never known: a younger sister.
Zia was housed in a different sector. The colony split people by age groups. Since Arra and Sora were both in their twenties, they were in active duty now. But Zia, only fifteen, had a few more years before she'd transfer over.
"Is Zia doing okay?" Arra asked, softening.
Sora's expression faltered—just for a moment.
"Yeah," she said quickly. "She's fine."
But Arra caught the hesitation. The flicker of something darker behind her eyes.
She didn't press.
---
The morning briefing went as usual.
"No activity. Oxygen levels stable," the voice droned over the intercom.
It didn't take long for Sora and Arra to suit up.
They began their usual trek along the narrow, scorched path. Rust-red dust stretched endlessly, a wasteland of dunes and stone. There was nowhere to go but forward. After several hours of hiking, they reached a section of terrain that looked untouched—no footprints, no scanning markers, no signs of past excavation.
This was the goal: to find frozen water reservoirs buried beneath the Martian surface.
Each day, a two-person team was dispatched to scan, dig, and catalog. The base had water filtration systems, of course—recycling every drop of moisture they used. So it never quite made sense to Arra why they were so desperate for more.
It felt like they were searching for something else.
Sora knelt first and began to dig. Arra dropped beside her and joined in. They worked in silence, the dry scrape of their tools the only sound between them. Talking was discouraged on these missions. Technically forbidden.
The worst part? They could listen in.
The radios embedded in their suits were always on. Most people didn't notice—but Arra did. She could feel it when the frequency shifted. A subtle buzzing in her inner ear, like pressure before a storm.
Right now, the line was quiet.
Then—clink.
Sora's eyes snapped to Arra's. "Did you hear that?"
Arra leaned over. "What did you hit?"
"I'm not sure, but—finders keepers," Sora grinned.
They dug faster, dust flying in all directions. Slowly, a small metal box emerged. Weathered, dented, and sealed with a latch.
Sora popped it open. Inside was something delicate and strange—something that didn't belong. A round object, small enough to fit in a palm. At first glance, it looked like a watch. But it wasn't. It had no screen, no buttons.
The casing was bone-white. Not metal. Bone.
Etched carvings lined the rim—symbols Arra didn't recognize.
"Is it… a necklace?" she asked, her voice hushed.
Sora lifted it by the thin chain. "I don't know. It looks cool, though."
Suddenly, Arra's ear twitched.
The frequency changed.
They were listening.
She didn't speak. Neither did Sora. But the silence didn't help.
A voice crackled through the comm.
> "Team Seven—report your find to Commander Viren. Immediately."
Arra's stomach dropped.
They saw it. Somehow, they always saw.
They walked back in silence, Sora clutching the box tightly under her arm. It looked so harmless. Insignificant.
They wouldn't let them keep it. Of course not.
They reached Commander Viren's office in under three hours. He sat behind a metal desk, scribbling notes.
He looked up and nodded once. "Sit."
Sora placed the box on the table. Viren opened it, peered inside, and shut it without a word. His face remained unreadable.
"I trust you both know to stay silent?" he said.
They nodded.
"Good. Arra—you're dismissed. I need a word with Sora."
Arra stiffened. Her eyes darted to Sora's, questioning.
Sora gave her a small nod, but her lips were tight.
Arra left the office, confused and uneasy.
She decided to head toward Zia's quadrant. It would take time—Sora could meet her there.
About thirty minutes later, Sora arrived. Her face was pale, lips drawn, but the moment she saw Arra, she forced a mask into place.
"Everything okay?" Arra asked.
"Yeah. Why?"
"You looked upset."
"Oh—no. I was just worried I'd miss my visit with Zia. Let's go."
They entered the youth sector.
Almost immediately, the sound of screaming echoed down the hall.
"You can't do this! This isn't right!"
Zia.
Sora and Arra bolted toward the sound.
A superior officer stood red-faced, looming over Zia.
"Stand down, Cadet," he barked. "Before you lose your tongue."
Sora froze. Her face turned ghostly white.
Arra stepped between Zia and the officer, glaring up at him.
He pointed a thick finger in Arra's face.
"If you can't control this little bitch, then I will."
He stepped closer, jabbing a finger toward Sora. "And you won't like what I do to your precious little sister."
Mia flinched, her shoulders curling in instinctively, eyes darting to the floor.
Sora's hands clenched at her sides, knuckles whitening, jaw twitching like she was fighting every urge in her body not to retaliate.
The silence that followed crackled, brittle and thick. The officer turned on his heel and disappeared down the corridor, boots echoing like gunshots.
He turned and walked off. The few others who had witnessed the scene quickly scattered.
Arra and Sora rushed Zia to her room. They shut the door behind them, locking it.
"What the hell, Zia? What happened?" Sora shouted.
Zia burst into tears, sobbing so hard she could barely speak.
"I'm sorry," Sora whispered, softening instantly. She pulled Zia into a hug, brushing hair from her tear-streaked cheeks.
"It's not right," Zia choked. "It's not fair."
"What isn't?"
"They took Ash! They didn't say why. He's just… gone. Like he never existed."
"What do you mean?" Arra asked.
"I asked where he went, and the instructor said, 'Who's Ash?' They said he was never here."
Sora's arms tightened around her.
They were used to this.
People disappearing. Names being erased. Memories overwritten.
But this was different. This was Zia's Ash.
"It'll be okay," Sora said gently. "I'll ask around, see if he was reassigned. Maybe it's a secret mission."
It was a lie.
But one Arra didn't correct.
When people disappeared…
It usually meant one thing.
Zia eventually cried herself to sleep, curled against Sora's side like she used to when she was little. Her breaths came out in uneven hitches, even in sleep.
Arra sat on the edge of the narrow bed, staring at the wall. Her hands were still clenched in her lap.
Sora gently eased out from under her sister's weight, tucking a blanket around her with more care than Arra had ever seen from her. She brushed Zia's damp hair from her cheeks and kissed her forehead.
When they stepped out into the corridor, the door sliding shut behind them, the silence was deafening.
They walked back to their pod without a word.
Inside, the air felt thinner. Heavier.
Sora kicked off her boots and collapsed onto her bed with a groan. Arra sat across from her, elbows on her knees.
"She's stronger than they think," Sora muttered finally, staring up at the ceiling.
"Yeah," Arra said, her voice flat. "But she shouldn't have to be."
Sora didn't respond.
The quiet stretched.
Arra picked at the seam of her sleeve. "You didn't tell me what Viren said."
Sora's jaw tightened. She rolled onto her side, facing the wall. "Does it matter?"
"It might."
A long pause.
"He told me to forget about the artifact. Said it was nothing. That we were never out there."
Arra looked up sharply. "But they told us to bring it in."
Sora shrugged, still facing the wall. "Not anymore."
Arra wanted to push—wanted to ask why her voice was shaking, why she hadn't met her eyes since the meeting, why she had that bruised look around the edges. But she didn't.
Instead, she said, "I think Zia knew Ash was already gone."
Sora turned then, slowly, propping herself up on her elbow. Her eyes were bloodshot, unreadable.
"She just didn't want to believe it," Arra continued. "Until they made it undeniable."
Sora didn't speak. Her knuckles were white in the bedsheet.
The hum of the vents filled the silence again. Arra leaned back against the wall, exhaling through her nose.
Finally, Sora whispered, "I hate this place."
Arra didn't say it, but she did too.