o. a girl of ash.

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Agony. A lament of blood and decay and corruption: scorching, demolishing, blistering in a red-hot furnace of fury as it cleaves tendon from brittle ivory bone, claws thick, dark blood in splattering scarlet mosaics that are an infernal replica of the churning colors of the galaxy sprawling in endless waves above the trembling woman, her body pinned down by heavy chains of this same suffering that has power enough to shred supernovae in two and annihilate the stratums of neighboring worlds.

          But Zoya Vitaan is no stranger to pain—it's an old ally.

          She's embraced it as a dear friend, held it close as a harsh reminder of the wicked penchants of the world, cultivated her strength against it, this constant companion against the thumping beat of her heart.

          And now—she is made from it. It bubbles upon her skin, viscous and salted, beading at her lips and at the hollow of her throat. It writhes through her veins, alive and monstrous, ripping through muscle and flesh, furious and reckless in its destruction. It roars in her ear, the screech of a beast in horrifying agony, strikes of lightning ricocheting through her body like a tidal wave of flame, betraying her though she's trusted and accompanied it so closely for so long. The realization of this, how it's a mirror image of his lies, strikes a chord within her heart, and its atriums contract viciously, a new wave of pain slamming into her chest. (Though this pain isn't physical, it burns all the same.)

          Zoya grips the edges of the hard metal table, biting back a scream as Carasynthia Dune pours pure alcohol into the wound that's gashed through her left thigh. Though it had never truly clotted and stopped hemorrhaging, the new rush of blood that spills out of her leg comes as a jarring shock, the crimson stark and angry against the cool silver of the table, demanding to be seen, to be feared.

          Carefully, Cara spreads apart the two sides of the wound, searching for dirt and debris. Despite her gentle fingers, Zoya's head cracks back so quickly she nearly gives herself whiplash, snapping against the table. Her coiled fist slams into the metal like a bullet, and a choked cry wrenches its way out of her mouth, the distorted echo of a name she hasn't let herself breathe since the day she'd been wounded.

          "It's clean," Cara says finally, her features tensed in the fashion of someone who's holding back both a grimace and an apology.

          A single tear escapes the corner of Zoya's eye, carving a trail through the dust and sweat collected at her temple. She pushes the damp strands of her bangs off her forehead, closing her eyes against the harsh glare of the galvanized lights above. "Now what?" she manages to say, though she knows what comes next.

          Cara spares her a familiar pitying look, one that Zoya despises. Every time Cara or Greef look upon her with those soft, sympathetic eyes, features caught between an unsaid apology and a cool blue ripple of concern, she wants to slam her knuckles into the wall.

          "We cauterize it," the ex-shock trooper says, knocking Zoya's heart into the pit of her stomach.

          "Right," she chokes out, her voice barely a whisper, eyes finding the patterns of the ceiling, counting the lines of the panels.

          Greef Karga enters the room on cue, holding something glowing crimson and releasing curls of steam. The heat of it is so intense that it seems to burn the air in the room, making the world taste of ash and ruin. His expression is soft and troubled, something of early morning chills and stars plummeting from the sky. He walks carefully, as if the ground is as afire as her heart, a mass of flesh and blood, quivering and run through with an invisible blade.

          "This is going to hurt," he says quietly when he arrives at the table, voice a deep, lilting staccato. His hand is gentle as it brushes the hair from her face, the tendrils curling slightly from the perspiration flecking her skin. It lingers a moment on the arch of her brow, attempting to provide an infinitesimal amount of comfort for what is to come. Though it doesn't help, Zoya appreciates the effort.

          Greef looks down and meets her eyes; her irises are hewn of unmovable stone, a mountain capable of withstanding a cataclysm of wind and sleet and the universe's fury, but underneath the compassion in his gaze, a crack ruptures their unfeeling surface. "I know." She closes her eyes to shield herself from the paternal warmth in his pitying gaze, concealing the hurt that clutches at her ribs, filing away at her bones, the hurt that doesn't just emanate from the ruin of her left thigh. "Do it."

          Brow wrinkling, Greef doesn't wait another second. It's clear that he knows delaying the inevitable crescendo of pain will only make it worse for her, in the end. He sears the glowing surface of the dagger against the wound in Zoya's leg, and it's hot enough that her flesh sizzles and smokes.

          Her scream is enough to light the galaxy on fire.

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Hours later, consciousness finds her languishing in ancient agony long gone stale, wades through pools of onyx desolation, tumults of acrid anguish and cold rage coalesced. At first, she refuses to open her eyes, numbness muffling the tormented scream of flame emanating from her left thigh.

          The world is nothing for what seems like an age—nothing but ice and obsidian skies, pinpricks of gold peppering the backs of her eyelids, her heartbeat, monotonous and eternal—though for a moment, she wishes it would stop.

          Thump.

          Ayaan. A blaster aimed at her head.

          Thump.

          Her finger on the trigger, tensing with anticipation.

          Thump.

          Her shot, taking him in the chest, smoke curling into the unforgiving air.

          Thump.

          Din. He knew.

          Something fractures in Zoya's chest, and her ribs cave in, a bristling cage of bone and blood that becomes her enemy, howling as it severs her tendons, rips cords of veins from her arms. Her mouth twists, and her eyes open finally, something warm spilling down the curves of her cheekbones to nestle in the tangles of her hair. She barely registers that the room is empty, but she's grateful to be alone; this grief is choking, consuming.

          Loss warps her vision with watercolor smudges, takes her throat in a vise. A combined, all at once loss of both newly embraced family and old family found once again burns worse than the pressure of the red-hot metal of Greef's blade pressing against her leg. Zoya is grateful when the smothering ebony wave of unconsciousness pulls her under once more.

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Worlds away, stars fill an empty cockpit, ethereal and glowing. Flickers of iridescent silver light billow upon the ship's controls, painting the metal shades of polished alabaster and pearl, illuminating the ghost of an old passenger curled in empty seat, eyes brimming with undiluted hope.

          As if aware of this spectral passenger from some sixth hidden sense, the ship's pilot steps through the entranceway, hovering as his gaze hypnotically catches on the vacant seat, tracing the lines of her phantom.

          Beneath layers of cool metal, his eyes scrunch closed, the fleeting feeling of her skin warm on his, the presence of her soul, clear and glittering with undiscovered constellations, a mirror-image of his yet somehow more opalescent, luminous and untouched by the erosion of time, splaying obscured, shifting shadows against the walls.

          "Please."

          His voice is thin and rough all at once, and though he knows he goes unheard, he isn't able to dwell in this ship's silence, not anymore. He doesn't know when he crossed to the seat, when he started to grip the back of it with one gloved hand, but he knows that things will never be the same.

          "Come back to me," he whispers at last, and is lost to the endless abyss of the stars.

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a/n: ZOYAS BACK!!! can i get a YEE HAW

thank u guys so much for waiting for this, it honestly means the world to me 🥺 ive said it other places on my acc, but just so we're all on the same page, actual chapters might take a ~teeny~ bit longer to start coming as i don't want to rush the plot for this and fuck it up ✋ if you wanna keep up w me / see updates on what i'm writing n stuff, you can follow me on twitter @/brxkkers and on instagram @/jcpiters.wp ✨ ily guys !!!! here's to the the mando era and zoya vitaan supremacy‼️