A Blade in the Stars
The hum of the Highwind’s engines filled the silence between us. Sarah stood near the viewport, arms crossed, her expression thoughtful as she watched the streaks of light stretch endlessly in the void. I leaned against the bulkhead, waiting, because I knew that look. She was piecing something together, turning it over in her mind before she spoke.
“It doesn’t make sense,” she finally said.
I raised an eyebrow. “What doesn’t?”
She exhaled, shaking her head. “The Reminder. The way he fights. We have laser weapons, ballistics that can pierce starship plating, drones that calculate shot trajectories down to a fraction of a millimeter.” She turned to face me. “And he’s out here wielding a sword.”
I smirked. “It works.”
“That’s what bothers me,” she admitted, pacing slightly. “It shouldn’t work. Close combat like that should get you killed, even with his reflexes.”
I watched her for a moment, then gestured toward the galley table. “Sit.”
She hesitated, then did. I sat across from her, tapping my fingers against the metal surface.
“You ever seen him hesitate?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“Ever seen him lose his footing? Miss a strike?”
Again, no.
“That’s the thing, Sarah. He doesn’t fight like we do.” I leaned forward. “We use cover, calculate angles, control distance. The Reminder? He moves. He bends gravity, closes gaps faster than a gunner can track, and by the time his opponent realizes what’s happening, their weapon is in pieces—and so are they.”
Sarah frowned. “Even with Starborn abilities, that doesn’t explain why he prefers a sword.”
I tilted my head. “Maybe it’s not about preference.”
She studied me, waiting.
I shrugged. “Think about it. The Reminder isn’t just fighting people—he’s fighting time, probability, the weight of everything he’s done across countless versions of himself. Guns? They’re simple. Functional. But a blade… A blade is personal. It’s precise. It demands discipline. Control.”
Sarah tapped a finger against the table. “So you’re saying it’s symbolic?”
“I’m saying it’s him,” I corrected. “His past, his choices, all the things he’s lost. Every time he draws that sword, he’s not just cutting down an enemy—he’s carving a path through the chaos, defining himself in a universe that keeps trying to erase him.”
She was silent for a long moment, then exhaled. “That’s insane.”
I grinned. “A little.”
She shook her head, but there was something else in her expression now—understanding, maybe even respect.
“You ever ask him about it?” she finally asked.
“Once.”
“And?”
I chuckled. “He just said, ‘It works.’”
Sarah sighed. “Of course he did.”
The ship rumbled as we dropped from grav drive. Sarah pushed herself up, heading for the cockpit, but before she left, she glanced back at me.
“You know,” she said, “one of these days, someone’s going to fight like him. Use his own techniques against him.”
I leaned back. “I think he’d welcome the challenge.”
She nodded, then disappeared down the corridor, leaving me alone with the hum of the ship—and the thought that, in all the battles I’d seen the Reminder fight, I’d never once seen him lose.