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The eternal expanse of a still, dark sea. A crystal formed from pure remnant energy, adrift yet unmoving throughout infinity. Before she could even comprehend what nothing was, there was nothing. Forever. Timelessly.
A steady heartbeat drew closer. Power surged within, a wave crashing louder and louder until frequencies hummed together in harmony, and she shattered.
Energy swirled and condensed, an infinite void becoming impossibly filled, and Shorekeeper opened her eyes. Awareness. Sentience. Consciousness snapped into place. She registered golden eyes staring at her, and she spoke.
“I am the Shorekeeper, a tool created for you.” Her voice was steady, zero fluctuations, nothing but a preset speech awaiting a command. “I will do as you ask. I will assist you and Tethys in combating and analyzing the Lament.”
Such was her purpose. Her purpose had been etched into the very fibers of her nonexistent soul before her creation was even an idea in someone’s mind.
She could not understand the look in the other woman’s eyes. Shorekeeper attempted to remedy it by scanning for body language: white-black hair swaying lightly in the breeze, arms that moved upwards to cross against one another, the furrow of brows. Something clicked, then. This was the Astral Modulator.
Shorekeeper frowned inwardly. Such an important detail should not have taken this long to recall. She decided to run a diagnostic on herself in the background.
“Shorekeeper,” the Astral Modulator repeated. It was less her talking and more of her repeating the name under her breath, the sound almost impossible to be heard by any normal person. The Modulator’s eyes ran over Shorekeeper’s body, analytical—no. With curiosity? “Bit on the nose, isn’t it? That’s hardly a name.”
Shorekeeper finally recognized the look in the Modulator’s gaze. Displeasure. Why?
“A tool does not require a name,” Shorekeeper said automatically. “It’s merely a title. It will not affect my performance.”
The Modulator stared at her. A slight exhale from the nose. A subtle pursing of the mouth.
“You’re upset,” Shorekeeper noted quietly.
“Not at you,” the Modulator said immediately, and the lack of change in her frequencies told Shorekeeper she wasn’t lying. “Well. Your name stays for now. We can remedy that later.”
In the brief silence between, Shorekeeper took the time to scan her surroundings.
An island. An archipelago, Shorekeeper corrected. Pitch black stone—no, not stone. The entirety of the land above the sea was Tacetite. The starting foundations of metallic structures dotted the landscape. People and robots milled about, all steadily focused on construction.
She could sense something else in the air, too: a constant data stream, similar to her, yet completely different.
The Modulator spoke again, snagging her attention. “Come with me,” she said, and held her hand out, palm upwards. Shorekeeper stared down at it, unsure. What did this gesture mean? While puzzling over it, she then studied the gloves adorning the Modulator’s palm; what purpose did it serve to only cover three out of five fingers?
“Your hand,” the Modulator said finally, and Shorekeeper slowly placed her hand against the Modulator’s palm. The warmth from her touch seared a path straight to Shorekeeper’s chest, and she blinked at the strange sensation. “We still have yet to pave proper walkways,” the Modulator explained, slowly but steadily descending down the rocks. “I don’t want you to trip.”
That much Shorekeeper could glean by the way the Modulator kept looking back at her as she pulled her along, her eyeline lowered.
“You do not need to worry, for several reasons,” said Shorekeeper softly, moving to hover just a little bit above the land so she didn’t physically touch it. The Modulator’s eyebrows rose. “This body of mine also does not take physical damage that easily. But I understand your concern: a tool must be kept in pristine condition to be used properly.”
The Modulator slowed her pace. Through inertia, Shorekeeper continued hovering towards her, only stopping when the Modulator halted completely and turned to face her. “You’re not a tool.”
Shorekeeper frowned. “I—”
“You’re not,” the Modulator said firmly, golden eyes blazing. “You’re you.”
Shorekeeper locked eyes with her, as if somehow she might understand the Modulator’s words from her gaze alone. Nothing in her database helped resolve her confusion, so she tilted her head slightly, admitting, “I don’t understand.”
In response, the Modulator’s hand tightened briefly against her own; a squeeze that once more shot warmth through her body. Shorekeeper’s eyes drifted to where their hands intertwined.
“You will,” the Modulator promised, “one day.”
———————
Civilization Simulation Sand Table Tethys. Or Tethys, as was its most common moniker.
The pride of modern technology. The pinnacle of Artificial Intelligence. The very foundation of the Black Shores, only able to run thanks to the massive deposits of Tacetite the Black Shores were built on. Such was the identity of the massive data stream Shorekeeper sensed upon her birth.
And aside from the Modulator, the only other voice Shorekeeper listened to, the only other source of knowledge she heeded. Tethys had the entire world, the entirety of human information, past and present and estimated future, at its beck and call. Shorekeeper’s preset data was minimal compared to it. If she was to perform her duties for the Modulator, she needed to learn from her betters.
“Correct,” Tethys whirred from some speaker, somewhere. “Only this ensures you operate at best efficiency.”
Shorekeeper closed her eyes, refocusing on the hundreds of scenes in front of her. Thanks to Tethys’ suggestions, she was able to split off sections of her remnant energy to form small versions of herself, created to oversee and collect data. More specifically, she was able to create butterflies made of her frequencies to act as several pairs of eyes to ensure final construction of the Black Shores was going smoothly. Normally Tethys’ robots would take care of it, but the Modulator had insisted all robot processing power be funneled into replacing humans as the construction workers.
“There is a 2 millimeter blind spot where the Haven of Sprouts is to be constructed,” Tethys pointed out.
Shorekeeper created another butterfly, wincing when a sharp pain sliced its way across her calf. Tethys, at the risk of humanizing a pure AI, seemed to tut disapprovingly.
“This physical body of yours wears out far too quickly,” it said. “Your computational power pales in comparison to mine.”
“I can handle it,” Shorekeeper insisted, just as one of her butterflies flew near a particular conversation. The Modulator’s voice. She ordered the butterfly to draw closer.
The Modulator stood outside one of the more recently completed buildings—one of the many dormitories for the Black Shores members—with two researchers, a man and a woman. The woman was busy tapping away on her tablet, while the man was engaged in conversation with the Modulator.
“Conversations unrelated to your surveillance should not catch your interest,” Tethys said all of a sudden, briefly interrupting her concentration. Her vision returned to seeing exactly 237 video images. “A tool should not have interests.”
Before Shorekeeper could respond, the Modulator spoke. “Why is she sentient?”
The man leaned over to glance at his colleague’s tablet. “It appears the scientists from that city were correct,” he explained, swiping a finger in the air to create a hologram. “Filling a remnant crystal with data before it is awakened creates a living being.” He paused. “Well, I suppose it’s you that awakened her, Leader. But the preset data gave her sentience.”
“I prefer the Shorekeeper to have a mind of her own, actually,” said the woman, looking up. She placed a hand on her hip and sighed, blowing a stray strand of hair away from her face. “We have enough unfeeling AI around here. I personally don’t want a second Tethys.”
“And yet our actions say otherwise.” The Modulator sounded irritated. “We cannot simply throw her wherever we please and have her work tirelessly on her own.”
“She doesn’t get tired, though,” said the first researcher. “Isn’t that great? It allows us to—”
The Modulator narrowed her eyes, and he stopped mid-sentence, his breath hitching in fear. The female researcher cleared her throat nervously.
“Enough. You two return to your duties.” The Modulator hadn’t even finished her sentence before turning on her heel and setting off elsewhere. Yet Shorekeeper noticed the brief glance the Modulator directed towards one of her butterflies as she turned her head.
Tethys’ Deep was the very heart of the Tethys system itself, an impossible coalition of data mixing with physical space of reality. All construction in this underground space had already been completed, due to the necessity of the system.
As it was the heart of Tethys, so too was it the heart of the Black Shores, and thus the highest ranking members had their own places here: namely the Modulator, the Shorekeeper, and naturally, Tethys itself.
The Eidoscope was Shorekeeper’s own private little section, which was where she spent most of her time, her physical body “asleep” while her consciousness roamed the data streams along with Tethys. It was where she was now, and, as estimated, where the Modulator arrived after approximately 22 minutes.
Shorekeeper released a fraction of her concentration and opened her eyes, coming back to her physical body which lay back against her chair.
Tethys had insisted the chair was a waste of resources, as Shorekeeper could simply use any extra power to hover in the air, or if she was running low on energy, just lay on the ground. The Modulator had ignored it, and commissioned one of the Ku-Bots to build it, claiming a resting place for her physical body was imperative when Shorekeeper split her consciousness across the Black Shores.
The sound of boots against concrete tile shifted to the brushing of soft grass against leather, then back to tile. Shorekeeper shifted her head, sliding her eyes over, where the Modulator stood at her side. She glanced up, violet meeting gold.
Or it should’ve, because the Modulator’s eyeline was somewhere else.
“You’re injured.”
Shorekeeper focused on her bare legs. In some places the faux-skin had fractured, revealing the iridescent blue light beneath, pulsing with energy.
“A side-effect,” said Shorekeeper calmly, pushing herself up to a sitting position. “The computational power of Tethys sometimes demands more than I can give at once. It’s an easy fix—I just repair myself with remnant crystals.”
The Modulator closed her eyes for 2.4 seconds. Longer than a normal blink. Exasperation, Shorekeeper noted. But also concern. “Does it hurt?”
“...yes,” Shorekeeper answered, and the Modulator’s expression flickered.
The Modulator’s tone softened, her voice a whisper. “How much?”
Shorekeeper opened her mouth and found she couldn’t answer. Human pain simply did not translate for her. What did that even mean, for a being of pure energy? It would be like trying to explain the taste of food to Tethys.
“I…do not know,” Shorekeeper admitted. “I apologize.”
“You don’t need to apologize for anything,” the Modulator said gently. She turned her head, eyes darting around the surrounding garden. Shorekeeper stared at her face. There was always a sort of curiosity when it came to studying the Modulator. The way her eyelashes fluttered, the intensity of her eyes… “Where do you keep your remnant crystals?”
“Keep?” Shorekeeper echoed. “I don’t have any here. I will procure some if you wish. I mainly return to the surface and use any extras the researchers have in their storage.”
Shorekeeper accurately predicted the incoming sigh—the slight rise and fall of the Modulator’s chest, the way her mouth pinched just before doing so.
“Keep some in here if you get injured frequently,” said the Modulator firmly. “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”
Shorekeeper lowered her eyes. “I understand.” No doubt the Modulator was upset, or perhaps worried, that she would be working at less than optimal durability. Nothing good would come out of a tool that did its job while under the threat of breaking. “I will be more careful in the future with what I can and cannot handle.”
The Modulator nodded in approval and turned towards the nearest Ku-Bot. “Have someone deliver four boxes of remnant crystals to the Eidoscope, please.” The Ku-Bot beeped its assent and began gliding off.
“The Shorekeeper’s body has only sustained 7% of physical damage,” said Tethys all of a sudden. “It is more efficient to save such materials for Lament research, and only repair her when her breaking leads to suboptimal—”
“Be quiet,” the Modulator snapped, purposely facing the Data Torrent in the far distance. That was as close as one could get to ‘seeing’ Tethys. “I refuse to hear anything more from you that isn’t related to Lament calculations.”
“...as you command.”
The Modulator returned her focus to Shorekeeper. “I’ve been seeing your butterflies everywhere. I appreciate your concern for everyone’s well-being, but if it drains you this much, I’ll shift some of the overseeing responsibilities to Tethys.”
“I am currently running simulations—”
“And you can spare a measly percentage of your computational power to watch the people of this small archipelago,” the Modulator interrupted smoothly. The screens and displays all around them flickered a few times.
Shorekeeper stood up in alarm, an uncomfortable, unnamed feeling nagging somewhere deep in her chest. If Tethys did everything, what use was she? A tool that couldn’t do its job was nothing more than scrap, chunks of material to be thrown or melted down. “No. Please. Let me—”
She ceased talking. How dare she go against the Modulator’s orders? If the Modulator wanted Tethys to do something, then that was that. Who was she to suggest something else? The gesture did not suit her—it was too human, not meant for a being of energy, but she lowered her head, aimlessly caressing her arm for comfort.
The Modulator’s gaze softened. She stepped closer, resting a gentle hand on Shorekeeper’s shoulder. The touch sent warmth scattering all over, as usual. “You may have one—one—of your butterflies follow me. If Tethys or you senses anything awry, you have a way to directly communicate with me. In addition,” the Modulator continued, “I’m told you have the ability to heal others, is that correct?”
Shorekeeper nodded. “I can speed up the healing process for both individuals and large groups, with the latter at a slightly slower speed.”
“Then those will be your duties,” the Modulator said, nodding decisively. She glanced towards the Data Torrent in the distance, and for a brief moment Shorekeeper saw a whirl of emotions pass through her face; too many and too complicated for her to understand and pinpoint. “...and you are to take duties from me only,” she added. “If Tethys wants you to do something else, run it by me first.”
“As you wish. I am here to serve your will.”
That sorrowful look made an appearance again, but the Modulator simply patted her on the shoulder and declared she was heading to the Modulation Hall. Shorekeeper watched her go, still feeling the ghost of her touch on her skin.
———————
Rain smattered against the concrete. Shorekeeper held her hand out, droplets hitting her skin in the same chaotic rhythm as the flickering streetlights. All around, members of the Black Shores raced towards shelter, some holding their coats over their heads in a futile attempt to stay dry.
The Modulator had made a mistake. Which sounded like an impossible sentence, but there was no other way to put it.
She’d attempted to use Tethys to simulate the future of the entirety of civilization—which, perhaps unsurprisingly, used so much of the system’s resources it almost led to a complete shutdown. As it was, the Black Shores was currently running on the minimum power necessary to rejuvenate the Sand Table. And to top it all off, a record storm had blown in.
Quite a few members were displeased about everything, understandably.
As an apology, the Modulator had taken it upon herself to make piping hot chowder for everyone. No easy feat, considering most of the Ku-Bots that usually helped with cooking were in rest mode. Still, she wasn’t completely alone. Many of the members (that weren’t whining from being wet and cold) helped in preparing the ingredients and cooking.
Even Lady Flora helped by using her vines to distribute the bowls more efficiently—much to the distress of the infirmary staff.
Everyone became a lot more amiable once they had bowls in their hands, blankets around their bodies, and a roof over their heads. With nearly all the food distributed, everyone retreated to eat with their own little groups.
The Modulator was the last to get food, Shorekeeper noticed. Which was why she stared blankly at the bowl the Modulator offered her.
“I don’t need to eat, unlike you,” Shorekeeper tried reminding her.
“You can still taste, and I want an unbiased opinion on my cooking,” said the Modulator with a lighthearted shrug. She waved the bowl in front of Shorekeeper back and forth, like the way a parent might do to a stubborn child. Shorekeeper frowned, which just made the edge of the Modulator’s mouth tick up. She finally took the bowl from her.
“The content faces of everyone here should tell you how good it tastes.”
“I want to hear your thoughts on my food, though.” The Modulator started towards the many flights of stairs that led to the top of the Haven of Sprouts. It seemed the Modulator wished to eat alone—or with less company, considering how all the other members had withdrawn elsewhere. It was a good thing the rain had briefly slowed to a sprinkle. After a moment’s debate, Shorekeeper followed.
Shorekeeper commanded the glass doors to slide open as they approached the glass garden. The Modulator smiled a thank-you. “Why do you seek my input?”
Sliding onto a bench that faced the giant tree in the middle of the room, the Modulator took a bite of chowder as she patted the empty space next to her. Shorekeeper sat down next to her, the fabric of her clothing gracefully settling over the bench.
“Why not?” the Modulator said. “You and Lady Flora are the closest to my heart; you both have been with me the longest.”
“That’s because we both don’t age like normal humans,” Shorekeeper said matter-of-factly.
“Well, yes.” A brief sadness passed through the Modulator’s face, and then it was gone, like a shadow’s flicker. “But all the more reason.” She turned and nodded at the bowl in Shorekeeper’s hands, which she had been cradling carefully like an egg. “Try it.”
Slowly, unsurely, Shorekeeper brought her spoon up to her lips. She winced as she registered its searing temperature upon her tongue, but that eventually gave way to the flavors: milk, seafood, various vegetables. Shorekeeper’s eyebrows rose to her hairline.
“It’s good.”
“...why do you say that with such surprise?”
“I apologize. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know. Relax.”
“...it’s good,” Shorekeeper found herself saying again, taking another spoonful.
The Modulator watched her. “You like it.” It was said as a statement, not a question.
“It’s—the flavor is pleasing to me. Unlike those preserved plums you had me try a while back.”
“What, these?” The Modulator rooted around in her pockets before pulling out a small container. She opened the lid, and a distinct, sharp scent reached Shorekeeper. She must’ve made some sort of expression, because when the Modulator slid her eyes back over, she laughed.
The Modulator brought the jar closer, and Shorekeeper allowed herself the audacity to lean away from it. The last time the Modulator had made her try it, the flavor had been so overwhelming, Shorekeeper briefly shut off her taste receptors. She considered the ability to preserve something for so long an impressive feat, but she did not like the scent or taste of eternity.
“Please remove that from my vicinity,” said the Shorekeeper, using one hand to lightly push the jar back. The edge of her pinky brushed against the back of the Modulator’s hand.
“Alright, I’ll stop teasing you.” The Modulator was still grinning when she finally put the wretched jar away, and as she returned to eating, her lips were still upturned in amusement.
In that instant, the Shorekeeper unabashedly used quite a bit of her computational power to analyze every single detail of the Modulator’s current mood, posture, expression, breathing, and frequencies. It was easy enough to deduce that the Modulator was pleased, happy, but these: the Modulator’s upturned lips, lightness of her eyes, the calm buzzing of her frequencies, those spoke to Shorekeeper’s wish to understand the Modulator more than anyone could ever know.
———————
The moon had been destroyed by the Lament long ago, but the echoes of it still hung in the night sky. Shorekeeper wondered if she was allowed to be grateful for the residual moonlight shining upon the scene in front of her.
The Modulator had duties to attend to non-stop, which naturally meant any time she got to herself was precious, and few and far between. Shorekeeper noticed the Modulator enjoyed taking walks along the shores in the dead of night, when many of the members had retreated to bed, and the Modulator’s only companions were the lulling sound of the sea and the celestial bodies above.
The edges of the lapping waves glowed as they brushed against the sand, and the Modulator switched her attention from watching them to smiling at an approaching Shorekeeper.
Shorekeeper hesitated, even as the Modulator beckoned her closer. “May I join you?”
“Always.”
Shorekeeper was unsure about the odd feeling that surged in her chest then, much like the waves building in the distance, so she filed it away for study later.
They stood together in silence for awhile, staring out at the seemingly endless horizon. Shorekeeper dared to instead stare at the Modulator’s side profile, illuminated silver by the moonlight. Her eyes slid down, where the Modulator had her arms crossed.
“Are you cold?” Shorekeeper asked softly, voice just barely able to be heard over the sea.
The Modulator waved a hand in a so-so motion. “But I’m used to it. When the wind dies down, it’s not so—” She cut herself off as Shorekeeper drew close enough to brush their shoulders together. “You’re warm.” Her voice carried a hint of surprise.
As a being of pure energy, Shorekeeper had no body heat to speak of. Her physical body wasn’t exactly cold, but to humans, who thrived off of warmth, the absence of it would feel as such.
However, she recently discovered she could swirl her internal energy rapidly, leading to a non-harmful method of “overheating,” as it were, thus giving the illusion of body heat.
“Is this enough?” Shorekeeper asked.
“You didn’t need to. But yes, thank you.”
She shouldn’t be out here with the Modulator, technically. The Modulator went on these little walks for an hour or so on average, time that could be spent analyzing Tethys’ most recently collected data, or ensuring the system’s processes were running as smoothly as they should be. Spending time with the Modulator, like an equal, like a person, was an inefficient use of her time. That’s what Tethys would say; would most likely say once she returned.
But the fond smile the Modulator gave her quieted such thoughts.
It was rare to catch the Modulator alone for a long period of time, Shorekeeper realized. At the very least, alone and not while the Modulator was in the middle of something important. Shorekeeper had the sudden urge to relish in it, to use this time as efficiently as possible, to uncover everything she could about the Modulator. She knew so much about her, yet so little.
A tool does not need to know the intricacies of its master, a voice whispered in her head that sounded exactly like Tethys.
Shorekeeper ignored it.
“What is it about the color black that endears you to it?”
The Modulator stilled against her.
It was nearly unsettling—Shorekeeper heard her heartbeat stutter, her frequencies briefly interrupt—until she faced her with wide eyes, eyes that sparkled gold.
“Why do you ask?”
Shorekeeper found she couldn’t answer. Above, the night sky twinkled in the light of thousands of stars—real stars, not the data streams of Tethys—and she raked her eyes across them as if one would give her the answer. Finding no solace from them, she shook her head slightly.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I find myself wanting to know more about you, but I am unsure as to why.”
The Modulator hummed, the tune emanating a feeling of interest, curiosity. “I also don’t know.”
Shorekeeper faced her, only noticing her eyebrows creasing together after she had done it. “What do you mean?”
The Modulator lifted her shoulders in a shrug, her mouth curved in a playful little line. “As the leader of the Black Shores, I should have some poetic answer. Like how the color black symbolizes all light absorbing into one, or something to that effect. But I don’t. I just like it.”
Enjoying something without valid reason was a common trend among humans. It baffled Shorekeeper endlessly, but while Tethys left it at that, Shorekeeper’s interest in why only grew. Even if it was a pointless endeavor.
Shorekeeper glanced down at herself, noting the nearly sheer white of her fabric, the bright blue edges that seemed to glow into a blinding azure. There was hardly any black coloring on her.
As if reading her thoughts, the Modulator rapidly shook her head. “You don’t need to change how you look.”
“If a different color is more pleasing to your eyes, though…”
“No. This is you.” The Modulator gestured at Shorekeeper’s body, lightly grazed a finger over the fabric adorning her shoulders, nodded at the hood resting over her hair. “When I see a whisper of blue and white in my vision, see your violet eyes, I know it’s you.” The Modulator paused, studying her intently. “…do you have a color you enjoy?”
Shorekeeper frowned. “How could I? I’m not meant to have desires, likes or dislikes.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“It’s impossible.”
“Just think,” the Modulator urged.
Shorekeeper made a point to do a full sweep of their surrounding area: the charcoal hues of the sand, the glittering azure of the sea, the shining silver of the metal of the buildings, the reflective surfaces of the glass, the inky midnight of the night sky.
None felt any different.
As she faced the Modulator again, she meant to say as such, but the words faltered, disappearing from her tongue. How could she decline such a question, when the Modulator gazed upon her with such anticipation, such excitement? When those golden eyes of hers, always studying, analyzing, focusing on things that would alter the fate of the world, were now directed upon her?
In an instant, Shorekeeper had her answer.
“Gold.”
The Modulator smiled. If such an action could be attributed to a color as well, Shorekeeper thought it would be a fierce contender.
———————
Shorekeeper had no personal concept of time.
It made sense, really. As an eternal being, the passage of time had no effect on her. Any indicators, such as the changing of the seasons, did not affect the archipelago much, and when it did, she was usually in the digital underground and didn’t see it.
Thus, there was always a…disconnect, between her and humanity. Along with everything else, of course, but time felt like the biggest obstacle, the impossible wall she would never hurdle.
For the Modulator didn’t age much either, but she was still able to interact with the members of the Black Shores, to rejoice in annual festivities, to look upon winter’s snows in awe, to feel saddened by someone’s passing, whether from old age or otherwise.
Shorekeeper understood death; she had prevented it several times with her Stellarealm, and had been too late to stave off its arrival an equal amount. She recalled a time when she and the Modulator stumbled upon a dying bird, one of its wings broken. By the time she reached her hands out to flood it with healing energy, the bird was already gone.
She had thought a TD attacked her, as the crystallized fissure over her chest ached suddenly with a dull pain. She’d look to the Modulator for an explanation, who only rested a hand on her shoulder before carefully scooping up the bird for burial.
All this to say, while Shorekeeper couldn’t quite put a solid grasp on the concept of finality, she tried. Tethys considered it a waste of time.
Which was why, now, there was no better way to put it: Tethys and the Modulator were arguing.
“Chief Steward—”
“No.”
Approximately 2,237.68 meters away in the Eidoscope, Shorekeeper listened, tense, to the heated conversation happening all the way in the Modulation Hall. She was currently helping Tethys analyze the most recent Lament data, though she couldn’t help but also hear through the butterfly that hovered around the Modulator at all times.
“Events destined to happen are futile to try and change. It is an inefficient use of your time—”
“If the future requires me to turn my back on those dying, I question whether such a future is worth it,” the Modulator interjected.
Tethys paused. Shorekeeper sensed its coding whirring, much like a human humming in thought. She also sensed no intention to listen to the Modulator’s words—it was like it was trying to find a loophole around them.
“The sacrifices of the many are meaningless when it comes to the saving of the world,” said Tethys finally. It almost sounded triumphant when the Modulator didn’t respond right away, as if it had succeeded in some invisible game.
“Wrong. Their sacrifices are not meaningless. You said it yourself: they help save the world. But that doesn’t mean we can’t try and limit more deaths whenever possible.”
In response, Tethys immediately started on a new simulation, effectively cutting off the conversation. And cutting Shorekeeper out of it, as she was forcibly brought back into her physical body.
Shorekeeper blinked upwards, seeking out the new data-star being created in the virtual night sky. It twinkled faintly, duller and smaller than its older brethren.
Just less than three days ago, the Black Shores had provided aid to those hit by the most recent Lament disaster. Despite their efforts, the damage done to both the surrounding area and its people had been worse than expected. The Modulator had personally stepped in to fight off the nearly endless waves of TDs, and took charge in leading the recovery and rebuilding efforts.
It was then that she decided to adjust the Black Shores method of assistance, and requested Tethys start finding ways to stop Laments before they occurred, not just passively stepping in to aid afterwards.
Tethys had considered that idea a waste of its computational power. Allowing Laments to happen was what led to the collection of data, it argued. The whole point of the collected data was to stop Laments eventually, yes, but one had to happen first.
They’d been debating the subject back and forth ever since. Shorekeeper wondered how Tethys was even allowed to disagree with the Modulator, but given her own unique inclinations, perhaps the Modulator had purposefully chosen AIs that had a mind of their own.
Shorekeeper sat up and began strolling aimlessly around the plantlife in the Eidoscope, feeling the petals and grasses brush against her skin. She knelt near a drooping flower, one of its petals having already fallen off, and gently trailed a finger against it. Slowly but surely, it returned upright.
In truth, she didn’t understand the Modulator’s insistence. She didn’t understand why so many of the Black Shores tried their hardest for a future they would never see; why the Modulator insisted on honesty while simultaneously lying to those on their deathbed; why her and Tethys had conflicting viewpoints, yet both spent eternity trying to solve the same problem.
She startled when a hand waved in front of her face.
“Sorry,” said the Modulator, eyebrows raised slightly. “You seemed lost in thought.”
“...yes.” Shorekeeper quickly stood up, unable to meet the Modulator’s eyes for a few moments. How had she not noticed her walk up? At least the Modulator didn’t look irritated; in fact she almost seemed pleasantly surprised. “Did you need something?”
Shaking her head, the Modulator motioned for Shorekeeper to hold her hands out. “Close your eyes.”
She did so, and soon felt the weight of something small and heavy on her palms.
“...you can open your eyes now.”
A little abashed, Shorekeeper examined the object, rotating it around. It was beautiful: sharply angled crystal clear glass, containing a mysterious energy fluid that sparkled like the waves of the Black Shores at midnight. It buzzed against her skin, humming with a subtle, soothing frequency.
“Is this an hourglass?” Shorekeeper asked.
What next came out of the Modulator’s lips was a sentence she didn’t expect. “It’s a gift for you.”
“What?”
The Modulator drew near to tap her fingernail atop the hourglass pointedly. Shorekeeper unconsciously shifted her body a few millimeters closer.
“Each cycle runs for 42 days, or the next time Tethys will deign to talk to me,” the Modulator explained, smirking a little at the end of her sentence. The whirr of the surrounding electronics grew louder for but a fraction, like Tethys had huffed in anger.
42 days. The exact amount of time it took for a Lament simulation to run, be analyzed, and output learned information.
“It’s easy to lose track of time here.” The Modulator tilted her head up towards the digital sky, where data transformed into stars twinkled and swirled and formed faux-constellations with each other. “Or remember that time exists at all. With this,” she said, gesturing towards the hourglass, “you can keep track of time’s passage in your own way.”
Shorekeeper stared at the hourglass. Its internal fluid was already cascading drop by drop, despite Shorekeeper having kept it upright. It was self-propelling, it seemed.
How had the Modulator known? This was the perfect gift; an easy method for her to feel the flow of time like everyone else, even if in minor increments. Shorekeeper frowned at the Modulator, whose smile wobbled slightly.
“You don’t like it?”
“I didn’t say that,” said Shorekeeper, wondering why the Modulator looked so unsure all of a sudden. “It’s—thank you. But I don’t have anything for you in return.”
“That’s the point of a gift. It doesn’t ask anything from the recipient.”
The Modulator had returned to her normal composured ease, which made Shorekeeper frown all the more. Had she been worried that she wouldn’t like it? If so, Shorekeeper had failed along the way to properly show her appreciation.
“I want to make it clear to you that I like your gift.”
“You don’t need to give a gift to do that. Your thanks were enough.” The Modulator lifted her hands in a shrug. “But if you’re determined to give me something, I’m sure you’ll think of something in time.” Playfully, carefully, she lightly tugged on the edge of Shorekeeper’s hood, causing the fabric to fall over her eyes. “Don’t stress about it; I can already see a crease forming between your brows.”
Shorekeeper was only half-listening, she swore there was something in her memory on what people did when they loved a gift. What was it…?
The Modulator startled this time when Shorekeeper abruptly whirled around—fixing her hood in the interim—and carefully deposited the hourglass on the base of her chair before returning to her side.
Then, with equal gentleness, Shorekeeper wrapped her arms around the Modulator to embrace her in a hug. The Modulator reciprocated nearly immediately, her hands settling somewhere against the fabric at her lower back.
…she was so warm. Shorekeeper found herself loosening, tilting her head down to rest against the Modulator’s shoulder with a quiet sigh. A subtle fragrance reached her nose: a curious mix of flowers and sea air. The Modulator's grip tightened briefly around her waist, and Shorekeeper felt her body loosen, tension slipping away. Faintly, she could hear the steady beat of the Modulator's heart. It was a comforting sound.
How odd. Shorekeeper knew with 100% certainty she had no heart, and yet something deep in her chest thumped, a rapid fluttering, the hurried excitement of a butterfly’s wings.
———————
Shorekeeper had no nerves to speak of, yet couldn’t help but fidget as the Modulator stepped into their private digital realm, eyes widening in awe.
The Modulator had become significantly more busy, and had less time to take a relaxing nighttime stroll along the shores. To remedy this, Shorekeeper had created her own private shores deep within the Tethys system.
It was well-coded, Shorekeeper thought to herself with a bit of pride: Gently swaying blue-white grasses, an infinitely swirling spiral of Blake Blooms, glowing turquoise waves rhythmically lapping against black sands, and a still dawning sun set against the far horizon. Everything the Modulator enjoyed, set in her own personal space.
“I made this for you,” said Shorekeeper eventually. The Modulator still had yet to say anything, and was slowly turning in circles to take everything in. “I…hope it is to your liking.”
When the Modulator turned to face her, the sunrise was at her back, and Shorekeeper unnecessarily held in a breath at the ethereal sight in front of her. Shining golden eyes set against a shining golden sun, a smile warmer than both.
“I love it.”
It was meant for the Modulator alone, but once, Shorekeeper dared to enter it as well, and the Modulator insisted Shorekeeper join her more frequently. So she did.
During one such time, Shorekeeper entered to find the Modulator sitting at a piano on the edge of the sands. She must’ve coded it herself; it looked exactly the same as the piano sitting in the garden atop the Tethys Hub.
Shorekeeper drew closer to her, tempted to close her eyes and let the soft music wash over her, to dissipate into the frequencies emanating from the vibrating strings. They struck a chord within her, sending something in her chest humming pleasurably.
Still playing with one hand, the Modulator patted the space on the bench next to her. “Give it a try.”
“I don’t know how to play,” Shorekeeper said quietly, sitting next to her regardless.
“I would say it’s as simple as hitting the keys, but no. It’s about feeling the notes too. And having proper finger posture, of course.”
The Modulator played a couple notes, then gestured for Shorekeeper to follow along. At one point she slid her hand over Shorekeeper’s, the touch scattering tingles over her skin, and demonstrated the right way to arch one’s hands when playing.
Soon enough, Shorekeeper began playing with ease, yet she couldn’t ever manage to play something herself, only ever dueting with the Modulator by her side. She expressed this frustration to the Modulator, who only shook her head.
“Don’t force it. Inspiration rarely arrives when you want it to,” said the Modulator, laughing a little.
Shorekeeper thought that no song could compare to such a sound.
“What do you think of when you play this tune?” Shorekeeper asked, softly tapping a finger against a key, yet not hard enough to make a sound.
The Modulator paused. Then, “You.”
Shorekeeper blinked, taken aback. “Me?”
“It sounds like you,” she said, playing the first few measures. “It starts off calm, gentle, beautiful—” the Modulator continued playing, now closing her eyes— “Then arcs up into a melody of its own, confident in its change, yet still with that soothing undercurrent.”
The rest of the song continued, with only the caresses of the breeze and the crashing waves partners to the silence. Shorekeeper listened, taking in every note, the way the Modulator’s hands smoothly moved against the keys, the way her hair fluttered in the wind, the easy rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, the gentle curve of her eyelashes as her eyes reopened, the tug of a sudden shy smile when the Modulator rubbed the back of her head.
Overcome by a sudden feeling she couldn’t pinpoint, Shorekeeper rested her hands against the keys. She thought of every second she’d spent with the Modulator, the bed of flowers the Modulator took her to see in Rinascita, the years they’d spent together running the Black Shores, the look on the Modulator’s face when she’d discovered a Black Shores member had eaten the last of her favorite food, the—
“See?” The Modulator said suddenly, a note of fondness in her voice. Shorekeeper stared down at the piano, where her hands glided from note to note seemingly without her instruction. “Just let it flow out of you.”
The Modulator soon joined her, and the song conjoined into a beautiful harmony, individually different, yet together as one.
I’ll think of you when I play too.
———————
Something was wrong.
The Modulator had emerged from Tethys’ Deep recently, and her frequencies had been…off. Not the erratic, untamed spikes of Overclocking, but unkempt, a harsh buzzing, waves that peaked and dipped uncomfortably without warning. Ever since, the Modulator had been working double-time. Spending nearly every waking hour with Black Shores members, Tethys, and entire nights in the Modulation Hall. It’d been exactly eleven days since the Modulator had stepped into their own private shores, or even been seen on the actual shores elsewhere in the archipelago.
“You’re not allowed in here,” said Tethys as Shorekeeper stepped into the Modulation Hall. The Modulator was fast asleep, dozing over the edge of her desk, the computer in front of her still on, a pen still loosely held in her grip.
“Yes, I am,” Shorekeeper said, gently pulling the Modulator into her arms.
“Leave the Chief Steward to her duties, and go back to yours.”
“I am performing my duties,” said Shorekeeper, and opened up a portal beneath her.
The Modulator enjoyed physical contact. Shorekeeper could tell, from Lady Flora clinging onto her arm like a vine, to the Black Shores members patting her on the back or shoulder, to the Modulator herself giving reassuring squeezes to nervous novice researchers.
Shorekeeper had considered her own body with a frown. Her physical body was naught but solidified energy; there was little to no comfort to be found from her, she had thought.
Her portal opened into the Modulator’s quarters, where Shorekeeper realized she miscalculated the coordinates only slightly. Instead of dropping them onto the Modulator’s bed, Shorekeeper instead found herself leaning against the footboard, sitting on the plush rug beneath.
The Modulator awakened only briefly, glanced up at Shorekeeper, then shifted to rest her head against her lap.
Alone together, Shorekeeper dared to address her by her true name. “...You should move up to your bed,” she whispered, combing her fingers through her hair to take out the golden hair clasp so it wouldn’t press uncomfortably into the nape of her neck. She began carefully removing her earring as well.
The Modulator shook her head, subtle enough to hardly be noticeable, and her breathing began to even out again. Shorekeeper sighed. She gently shifted her body to prop the Modulator’s neck up in a way that wouldn’t cause her to be sore later, and waited.
The Modulator’s face was peaceful as she slept, though Shorekeeper could see the slightest furrow in her brows—a dream, perhaps. Shorekeeper allowed herself to run her hands through the Modulator’s hair with the intent to soothe.
Shorekeeper glanced around the room. The Modulator’s quarters were simple. A desk, a bed, a closet, a wardrobe, a giant glass window that provided a gorgeous aerial view of the entirety of the Black Shores, as well as the night sky.
It didn’t feel like her. The room was too barebones, too practical, with none of the charm. Shorekeeper counted everywhere else that the Modulator had left her mark: the bracelet adorning Lady Flora’s wrist, the kitchen fridge with her name on some of the meals inside, the way the terminals were arranged in the Modulation Hall, the hourglass sitting in the Eidoscope, that one Ku-Bot with the Modulator’s old glove sitting atop its head, the color of the Blake Blooms adorning every member’s clothes.
The Modulator’s influence was everywhere. So why, now, did she feel so distant?
It was a few hours later when the Modulator stirred. Shorekeeper had been rubbing her thumb against the Modulator’s arm, and looked down when the Modulator shifted, opening her eyes.
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to wake you,” said the Shorekeeper softly, missing her warmth as the Modulator straightened off of her lap.
“I should apologize for falling asleep on you.” The Modulator yawned, stretching her arms. Shorekeeper tilted her head. There was a fascination buzzing within her at the sound of the Modulator’s tired voice. It was a tiny bit lower, the vibrations rougher.
“You’ve been working too hard, anyway.”
The Modulator smiled sideways at her. “Says you.”
Shorekeeper stared at that smile. It was warm, as always, but there was a tinge of something else there, something apprehensive, fearful.
“What’s wrong?” Shorekeeper asked. When the Modulator furrowed her brows, she continued, “Please don’t try and evade the question, either. I can tell something’s happened. Everyone can.”
The Modulator looked away. Shorekeeper waited, patient. At last, the Modulator fell back to lean against the footboard, side by side with her.
“I’m leaving.”
“To where?” Shorekeeper asked immediately. “Rinascita again? One of the other countries?”
“No.” The Modulator heaved a heavy sigh, leaning her head against Shorekeeper’s shoulder. “I…don’t know. But I have to leave.”
As the Modulator explained, Shorekeeper felt herself grow colder. She examined herself subconsciously, but her body temperature wasn’t actually dropping—of course not, she had no temperature to speak of. But it was like ice was forming in the pit of her stomach, frozen tendrils creeping every which way on her skin.
The Modulator had indeed discovered a way to prevent Laments before they occurred, but it would come at a cost. She had to leave the Black Shores in search of answers, and semi-permanently.
For she would be erasing her own memory as well.
“I don’t want to forget you,” said the Modulator quietly, voice pained. “Or anyone. I’ve left a message for my future self—several—that’ll explain everything in due time. Eventually, my new self will understand. But…I must leave some of you in both body and mind.”
“Is this why you’ve been locking yourself away with Tethys?” Shorekeeper asked.
“I didn’t want to believe it at first. I thought…I thought I could find a different way, a better method. But the more I searched, the more I realized this was the best path to take.” Though she couldn’t see her expression, Shorekeeper could feel the grimace through the sharp edges of her frequencies. “As usual, the best path is the hardest one,” the Modulator finished bitterly.
“I’ll wait.”
The Modulator paused. Her frequencies whipped around a bit before settling into confused ripples. “What?”
“I’ll wait for your return,” Shorekeeper clarified, as the Modulator reared back to lock eyes with her. “The Black Shores is your— our home. I have no doubt you will find your way back to us again, with or without your memory.”
“Shorekeeper…”
She took a hold of the Modulator’s hand, and pressed it against the fissure at her chest. She had no heart, but energy surged at the crystal below her neck, pulsing in tandem with the Modulator’s heartbeat. “An oath from my heart, a vow from my soul,” Shorekeeper promised, her voice a private, soft song. “I will stay by your side, now and forever always. I will watch over our home until you return, and will watch over you when you do.”
After exactly 39 days, the Modulator left.
Shorekeeper didn’t keep track of what happened after all that much. The Black Shores went on.
Lady Flora began overclocking more and more every week, until eventually, she just…vanished. Shorekeeper found some comfort in securing her bracelet safely away in the Archives. As for herself, Shorekeeper buried herself in her work, letting Tethys run its Lament simulations through her.
It was agony.
Grief, pain, suffering, helplessness, hopelessness, despair, death…
Everything, every wretched emotion felt by all those who suffered and died at the unyielding hand of the Lament, every single one arced through Shorekeeper like a bolt of lightning, and buried themselves into her psyche like a piercing wound.
Shorekeeper choked out a sob.
She hadn’t returned to her physical body in months. When needed, she appeared before others in the form of a projection, but even she had been gone long enough that some of the Black Shores members had started to forget who she really was. As Tethys’ current computational processor, she was bound to her chair.
“This is what you were made for,” said Tethys as it ran yet another simulation. Infinite wails and cries for help flooded her, perfectly condensed into mindless data.
“This is all that you are,” said Tethys as every Lament threatened to engulf her in their dark tides. She hardly noticed the cracks on her skin now. What was one more?
“This is your purpose.”
…what purpose did she have, with the Modulator gone?
It hurts—
Shorekeeper closed her eyes. This was to stop the Lament.
“I don’t like seeing you hurt.”
Shorekeeper’s eyes flew open. That wasn’t Tethys’ voice. A memory?
“Their sacrifices are not meaningless.”
“This is your purpose,” spoke Tethys again, though its voice was quieter, fainter.
Shorekeeper strained, pushing back the digital sea, that yawning void threatening to engulf her. At last, the pain ceased, and she heard it.
“You’re not a tool. You’re you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will. One day.”
“Ah.”
Shorekeeper smiled, and the wounds on her body began healing all at once, the Laments fading away into properly contained datastreams.
I exist because of you.
My purpose is borne from the burdens you carry.
Though silence, civilization will endure on this shore.
And this shore…is a testament to my existence.
I am the Shorekeeper.
———————
Shorekeeper had never understood the concept of dreaming. After all, that was a human concept, wasn’t it? For your body to hallucinate while unconscious, to hallucinate while repairing itself, for your brain to perform in a manner still not yet understood by science.
Dreams were meant for beings with desires, who had the ability to want, to yearn. Shorekeeper was not such a being.
And yet, she dreamed that night.
She walked side-by-side with the Modulator in the warm summer sun, the breeze cool on their faces, the tall grasses whispering against each other as they danced in the wind.
Shorekeeper didn’t recognize where they were. The surrounding landscape didn’t match any known geographical locations in her database, yet the Modulator walked through it like she had been there countless times before.
“How have your adventures been?” Shorekeeper found herself asking.
The Modulator turned to her, a bright smile on her face, brighter than the sun above them. She spoke, and although Shorekeeper couldn’t hear her words, warmth bloomed in her chest regardless.
Shorekeeper drew closer, desperate to hear her voice again, and as she blinked, she found herself in the Modulator’s private room, the landscapes gone, nothing but a small wooden table between them.
Shorekeeper watched as the Modulator carefully poured a steaming cup of tea for her, then for herself, setting down the teapot with a quiet clunk. The Modulator cupped the tea between her hands, bringing it up to her face and smiling contentedly.
Shorekeeper eyed the liquid in front of her, a nice, calming green. “Do you like tea?” She asked.
The Modulator’s lips moved soundlessly.
“Take me with you next time.”
The Modulator closed her eyes, taking a long, slow sip.
“When will I see you again?”
The Modulator held her hand out expectantly, like she’d done all those centuries ago, the first time they met. This time, Shorekeeper placed her hand against hers, and interlaced their fingers together.
“When will I see you again?” Shorekeeper repeated, desperately.
The Modulator only smiled.
———————
Time meant nothing for her. Tethys’ Deep did not change with its passing. As she ran simulations with Tethys again and again, only the hourglass, the Modulator’s gift, reminded her of time’s unending flow.
42 days.
Simulation failed.
42 days.
Gravity is the only pre-Lament law of physics that still holds true today.
42 days.
Am I following your orders well?
42 days.
Am I doing good enough?
42 days.
How are you faring? Where are you?
42 days.
42 days.
42 days.
42 days.
42 days.
Please come back soon.
(I miss you.)
———————
Nearly 174 cycles later, it glinted.
The roving star, the star Shorekeeper always kept an eye on, twinkling away in the data-sky below the Black Shores, shone brightly than ever before.
It was a premonition, Shorekeeper would soon realize. A glimpse of the future. And when Shorekeeper felt those familiar frequencies, and realized her Leader, her Modulator, her Star had returned, she felt it:
Joy.
If it weren’t for Tethys, she would’ve gone to see her immediately. But she had the Shores to watch over, and she’d promised she’d lead it in the Modulator’s absence, so she did.
But she’d also promised to watch over her.
She watched as the Modulator took the new name of Rover—fitting, she thought—and made new friends in the capital city of Jinzhou. She watched as Rover fought the Fractsidus, led an army against the Threnodian, saved the troubles of Jué and Its Resonator in Mt. Firmament, enjoyed every day of the Moon-Chasing Festival.
Then, at last, Rover started to make proper contact with the Black Shores. And Shorekeeper was unable to stop herself.
Ripping her physical body away from Tethys had been…complicated, to say the least, but it’d worked, albeit briefly. But it was worth it, to see her Star again. She knew Rover could’ve dealt with those TDs easily, but the urge to protect her had been so strong, logic was not at the forefront of her mind.
Tethys would’ve disapproved.
So she’d summoned a portal just before Rover was attacked, and whisked her away to the Black Shores. Seeing her lying there on the sands, real, alive, looking exactly the same as when she’d left, Shorekeeper couldn’t stop the words from leaving her mouth, the words she’d been waiting to say for twenty years.
“Welcome home.”
———————
Shorekeeper stared at the piano before her, then turned to look out over the rest of the Tethys Hub. It was midday, and Black Shores members were milling about, some grabbing food, others preparing for their next outing into other countries.
It’d been a month or so since Rover’s return. Tethys’ rebellion had been dealt with, the Necrostar was back under control, and Camellya had calmed down enough to promise Rover to overclock less.
And Shorekeeper felt restless.
Why? She’d done all she needed. The Black Shores were attempting to make contact with a notable family in Rinascita, and all they had to do was wait for a reply. Rover would have her invitation, Shorekeeper had done her job.
Shorekeeper sighed, about to return her focus to the piano, when the emergence of a familiar frequency caught her attention.
Shorekeeper stayed sitting resolutely forward, her chest pounding as the doors to the garden electronically whirred shut, and footsteps slowly but steadily grew louder as the source of the frequency started up the stairs.
“Hello,” Rover said, sliding onto the bench next to her.
“My Star,” Shorekeeper greeted, facing her with a smile, scooting closer, close enough that their shoulders touched. She tilted her head. “You look tense.”
“I…want to apologize.” Rover looked down, staring at her reflection in the glossy black of the piano. “For—”
“You need not feel guilty about the decisions of your past self,” Shorekeeper said gently.
Rover parted her lips in surprise. “How—?”
“You may not remember me,” said Shorekeeper, placing her fingers over Rover’s Tacet Mark when she grimaced, “but I remember you, know you. You made the same face when you left the Black Shores the first time, all those years ago.” She reached up to cradle the edge of Rover’s jaw, energy thrumming when Rover leaned into her touch. “You did not want to leave me, in fact you agonized over your decision for weeks before going through with it. You tried to delay the inevitable, but it was the right choice.”
“And how do I compare to her? The me that you knew before?” Rover asked hesitantly. Her eyes looked terrified, yet determined to hear the answer.
“You’re still the same.” Shorekeeper leaned in, and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, just on the edge of her mouth. When she pulled back, she smiled, for her Star had a rather cute blush on her face. “Still caring for others with reckless abandon, like when you fought Tethys to save me.”
“I still don’t remember anything,” Rover admitted, “but that mad desperation I felt when you were getting integrated into Tethys…”
“Hm.” Shorekeeper began playing a song, their song, on the piano, ever so gently as she spoke. “That’s still you. No matter your name or title, you will always be my Star.
“You know,” Shorekeeper continued, the notes of their duet curling into her ears, dancing across the space of the garden, “You once said the title of ‘Shorekeeper’ wasn’t much of a name, that I should choose a proper one for myself.”
“Sounds a little rude of me.”
Shorekeeper laughed softly. “No, you were right. I was too focused on it at the time, and I let it rule me. You showed me differently. I am the Shorekeeper, but the Shorekeeper isn’t me. I have you to thank for everything; I believe through you, I have what humans call a soul.”
She paused. The song slowed, until Rover clumsily joined in; her fingers pressed against the proper keys correctly, yet a bit unsure. The familiarity was there, but the muscle memory had to be relearned, it seemed.
“I know now,” said Shorekeeper, suddenly feeling too shy to look anywhere else but her own moving hands at the moment. “My chest stirs whenever I see you, yet I have no physical heart. Like the emergence of a butterfly, or the birth of a star…I feel a constant, insistent pulse. I want to see more of you, yearn to stay at your side, I long…to be with you.”
Rover stopped playing. For a moment, Shorekeeper felt like she was falling into the black hole all over again, helpless to watch as everything she ever knew slipped away. But then a hand fell over hers, warm and gentle, coaxing her to flip her palm upward.
Rover interlaced their fingers, and Shorekeeper could feel the pulse against her wrist, unsteady yet steady, rapid yet slow, a soothing excitement. She trailed her eyes from their hands to Rover’s face, and then to those eyes that she’d seen all her life.
“I’m certain,” Shorekeeper continued, voice a hoarse whisper. “This feeling…I love you.”
Her eyelids fluttered shut as Rover slid her hands to cup either side of Shorekeeper’s face, thumbs rubbing the outline of her ears. “Oh, my Shorekeeper…”
Shorekeeper pouted, for there was no better word, as Rover pressed a kisses to her forehead, the bridge of her nose, her cheeks, one at the base of her neck, and one final one at the crystal on her chest. Shorekeeper only opened her eyes when Rover stopped, hands now trailing paths from her neck to curl around her shoulders.
No other words needed to be said. The fond look in her Star’s eyes was the same as it always had been, all those years ago. Though she may not remember her, it was clear her heart still did.
And that was answer enough.
———————
“I’ve triple-checked the condition of Aalto’s ship,” said Shorekeeper following Rover to the Black Shores port. Some of the newer members startled at her appearance, while older ones simply smiled knowingly, a content expression on their faces. “Still, be careful as you enter the sea.”
“No need to worry,” Rover said, holding up her right hand. “If anything goes wrong, I have no doubt Abby will step in to help me.”
“Ha! You betcha!” spoke a voice from inside her Tacet Mark.
They slowed as they neared the port. In the distance, Aalto saluted at their approach, then kindly pretended to be interested in nothing in particular as Shorekeeper drew closer.
Shorekeeper reached for Rover’s hands, curling back her fingers to press a light kiss against her knuckles. Rover’s frequencies hummed pleasantly. “Be safe.”
Rover nodded, squeezing her hands back. “I’ll be back, my Shorekeeper.”
“And I’ll always be waiting for you, my Star.”