JAMES

Time never mattered.

Frozen moments melted into bubbled magma.

He couldn't, wouldn't take pictures of it — not of the dancing flames or the sputtered embers. Never again. His hands trembled and he lost his grip on what he loved. He tossed and turned while things beeped and people spoke out in the halls. White against a negative space. He threw his arm over his brow, then wriggled his limbs before focusing back on the room.

It was a bland, beige colour. Across from his bed, a wall with his information on a patient holoboard. He twisted over to the semi-circle window, where a city bloomed into the expanse. Lights danced across the sky from a large stadium, while ads spun across the skyscrapers. Neon blues and purples filled the night streets. Spires taller than anything he imagined, framed by the most boring colour in existence. He studied the healing pod, but the sheen of gold disappeared.

Gold.

James choked and lurched, and the pod beeped a single alert. It fell silent when he clutched his chest and dug his fingers into the hospital fabrics. Hard webs laced through his lungs and gathered in his throat. Knees against his chest when he sat against the pillow, he rubbed his shoulders.

Where... am I?

On his right, the metal door which kept him from the view of any curious observers and led into a world unknown — a world he no longer longed for. James rubbed his neck with a groan, and missed the silver chain. His twin chain. He snapped around the two bedside tables, then relaxed at the sight of it hanging off the edge, limp and clean of ash and grime.

It slid off the edge and clattered to the floor.

He attempted to swallow, but coughed from scratched pain which followed it. He sat there in silence and listened to the distant medical alerts in the corridor and doctors called into rooms.

I must... be in the hospital. Mrs. Falae mentioned it... He rested against his hand, arm straight against his shoulder while he studied the outside and the spires which pierced through the angles. Small in a galactic world, he folded his lips and shook his head.

He left the chain on the ground.

Autumn never gave him his breath back.

Anything would've been better than the unfamiliar world — better than being alone. James brought his hands against his temples and the dam overflowed while he curled into himself. No... no... they can't be. I sent her to Rayan, they would've been safe. Anything but that. Anything but her going back. Why would she go? How did they get separated? Is... he...?

He jumped when the healing pod beeped once more and he fought for his breath. Worlds shuddered and he slumped back into the pod with a pained groan. Golden sheens wrapped around the curve of the pod and blasted warmth into his skin. Flames licked and bubbled his blood, and he bit down on a scream. He sent his fist into the small railing of the pod.

The door slid open with a hiss.

Everything kicked into overdrive but the flames drowned him. He hesitated at a familiar shape.

General Illiya Falae, and beside her, another doctor in a white coat who held a datapad in his hands. His head burned while the embers scalded his lungs. James dove into the pillow. "Turn it off. I don't want to feel warm."

Give me ice.

The doctor moved forward and tapped settings at the foot of his bed. It washed into a swift breeze, and James found the strength to sit up to lean against the propped pillows and stared at the two older adults. "Where am I?"

"You're in Odaport General Hospital, and my name is Dr. Zentanil," he replied. "You were admitted a couple days with moderate smoke inhalation. We took a couple of imaging of your chest and lungs — it'll take a while, but your lungs will heal. Your blood tests came back negative, and we've cleaned out your airway, though you will have shortness of breath and phlegm for a little while."

James sank deeper into the pillows. "Prove it."

Dr. Zentanil handed him his information. He tapped through the tabs, right from his admittance to the day — not that he cared to understand the contents. He noted the dates and ignored them.

"The Regenerative Nanosprites cleared through most of your lungs, all we need to do is some follow-up observations. You're being discharged into Mrs. Falae's care." Dr. Zentanil handed an infopod to her. "Here, this is all the Medis he'll need for his recovery, along with times to take them and dosages."

"I didn't agree to medication," James argued.

"Your lungs are still in a vulnerable state," Dr. Zentanil pointed out. "For the best outcome, you'll need to take it until it's all gone, and we've checked on the healing."

James folded his arms as Mrs. Falae scooped the necklace from the floor. A nurse-bot carried fresh clothes into his room and dropped them on the seat nearby. It rolled out with a happy chair which sent flames of irage into his legs and he longed to rush out of bed to kick it across the room.

"So, I can leave?" he asked and pushed the chain away from himself when Mrs. Falae handed it to him.

"We just need to do a few more checks," Dr. Zentanil replied. "Nothing major. We need to double check your throat and nose to see how they're coming along before releasing you."

"Can I refuse?"

Dr. Zentanil frowned at him. "If that is your choice to refuse help."

James folded his arms and snubbed his caretaker. Mrs. Falae said, "Let me talk to him for a minute."

Dr. Zentanil nodded and headed outside to talk to the waiting nurse, where the door slid closed. Mrs Falae rolled her chair beside him. "James."

"I can make that choice," he bit.

"I won't make you do something you don't want, but these people want to help you. You've been through a physically and mentally demanding situation—"

"No, really?" James glared into her ice-blue eyes.

"And," Mrs. Falae said, firm. "I think you should let them check you over. Let them peek at your throat and nose. Once they discharge you, I'll take you to the manor. It's quieter than most places, and on the outskirts of the city. You can recover there."

James clenched his jaw and bit on his tongue until he bled. He looked away. "I don't want their stupid help. I want to go back home."

Back underneath the autumn tree with the grass to caress his cheeks. Tears spilled over while the rust littered the back of his throat and burned deeper.

"There will always be moments in our lives where we wish we could turn back the clock," Mrs. Falae said and rested her hand over the red star on her breast pocket. "But, we have to make the most of it."

James rested his arms against his sides and fought his tears when Mrs. Falae moved for the door. Next moments fluttered by, unfrozen in movement. Dr. Zentanil returned with the nurse, who rolled in a wheelchair while he checked his nose and throat. He changed into fresh, laundered clothes, but time escaped his grasp as he sat in the wheelchair with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He scowled when the nurse pushed him through the ward, where the beeps intensified and coiled with the wailing sirens. He bit on his lower lip, driving the pain deeper as Mrs. Falae glanced down at him with a frown. The nurse took them to the Medis Station on the floor's exit area.

He rested his elbow against the arm of the wheelchair and tucked his face into the blanket while Mrs. Falae spoke with the person behind the desk and handed them the infopod. He shifted in discomfort when a transport's sirens wailed into oblivion outside, going silent once it parked in the arrival bay.

He wanted to run.

He wanted to go back.

He was on Kestra, an entire new planet, and his home was gone.

The Medis Handler gave Mrs. Falae the package and a portable Vita-mask. James glared at the attendant from around Mrs. Falae's tall, imposing stature, but they ignored him.

Why couldn't they save them?

He waited while the nurse guided them to the doors, and he lifted himself out of the wheelchair. He stumbled to escape, but Mrs. Falae rested a hand on his shoulder and stopped his descent.

"Slow down, James."

He wrenched out of her hand and wrapped himself in the blanket. Out of the central cooling of the hospital and into the painful humidity of Kestra, he almost burst out into understanding laughter, and longed to scream with the prickles sweeping down his arms. Embers set him alight while he sniffed and held back a sob. That's why you hated snow, Rayan? You really are a city boy... you hadn't seen real snow in your life until you came to Eastpoint...

"I want to go back," he rasped while water trailed down his skin.

"It'll be much colder in the manor," Mrs. Falae whispered. "Come on, I'll get you to the car."

"Your car...?" James coughed. "What about your hoverbike?"

Mrs. Falae hummed in thought. "It seems to be missing."

James snorted while the memory overflowed his mind. His throat burned with the motion through his sinuses, and Mrs. Falae led him to a car of black pitch and tinted windows. Lines of white pulsed through the wheels when she brought her prismkey forward and whistled into it. Edevic lines responded and the doors raised to let him in. James hesitated at the lush seating, but Mrs. Falae leaned around him to crank the seats and form them into a pseudo-bed.

He crawled into the car and rolled over, tucking deep into the protective corners. Mrs. Falae closed the doors behind him, and it rocked his seat. Through the tinted windows, Mrs. Falae moved around and hopped into the driver's seat, and he lifted his attention to the curved roof of the car. James rested on his back when she opened the sunroof and he revelled in the Kestran sky.

Rayan's voice whispered in his ear and described the beauty he dreamed of. The car rumbled to life, and he held onto nothing while it swayed him with gentle movements. He described every piece, every picture perfect moment. Orange hues danced across the clouds and Kestran horizon, swirling around the gas giant the planet orbited. Eruda, with its majestic strength, a perfect representation of the landscape Rayan showed him through a painting.

Bile rose into his throat and he turned over. His heart pounded with ferocity, unable to let go. I said I'd pretend...

He closed his eyes, but the car came to a stop. No spires blocked the beauty Rayan saw, and he sat up when Mrs. Falae opened the door with the Medis package in her hands. He crawled out of the car and into the horrid heat. He shivered and followed her up the steps to the house among the grassy hills and pathways. Mrs. Falae opened the door and nudged him in before closing it behind her.

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

"No."

"You haven't eaten anything except hospital food. Are you sure?"

"Yes."

James stared into the nothingness, unable to capture the insides of the house.

"Come on, I'll show you to a room you can use." Mrs. Falae walked him up the stairway.

"You... didn't tell my dad I'm alive?" His voice barely raised above a hoarse whisper.

Her shoulders slacked. "I didn't. I'll respect your wishes." Onto the second landing, she nodded down the corridor. "Do you want to use Rayan's old room?"

James hugged himself. "I'd rather not." He gazed at her. "Is... Is he still missing?" Hurt, grief, and rage filled his heart and swelled it into an explosion. "Where did he go? What happened at the mansion?"

"James, I want you to rest before we go into details," Mrs. Falae instructed as she led him to a different door, which opened at her approach. "Once you're well enough, we'll talk."

He peeked inside, where a huge bed stretched across the wall, covered with a fluffy comforter. Several buttons ran along the frames. "It has a protective screening if you want privacy," Mrs. Falae explained, then nodded at the I-Screen on the other wall. "Use that if you want."

James wandered into the room, then eyed the package in her hands. "Where are you going to take those?"

Mrs. Falae returned his look. "I'll be putting them where they're secure."

James stomped deeper into his prison. Everything weighed on his face, but he refused to cry. "I hate this."

"You're going to hate this for a long time, James," she admitted.

He clenched his fists and glared at her. "Whatever," he bit and slammed the window shutters closed. "I have no choice, do I?" He threw his burning arms into the air. "I'm just supposed to sit here and—"

"Recover."

James scoffed at her. A soldier. A general. He breathed out, but scratched pain laced through his chest. Mrs. Falae put the Medis box down and shifted through it to tug out a golden capsule, but when she moved for him, he backed himself into the corner.

"I still have choices."

"You'll be in pain if you don't take this."

"I wish I cared." James huffed and flopped onto the bed. "No."

Mrs. Falae's expression never wavered from calm reflection. He hated it and her, and her ability to stand there, calm and disconnected. How can she stand there and tell me what I should or shouldn't do? I hate it. I hate this stupid bed.

"Will you get some rest?" she asked.

"I can't do anything else."

I hate it.

Mrs. Falae placed the capsule back in the box. "I'll leave you for tonight and we'll start on your medication tomorrow. I'll be in my office if you need anything. Washstation is down the hall."

James waited until she closed the door, then pressed the buttons on the bed frame. Shutters rolled out of their roof casings and shut him away from the world with no meaning, with no focal point, and no picture perfect frozen moments.