Entoue To Thessia [July 4th, 2184]
The hum of the passenger transport's engines was steady, a faint vibration that resonated through the walls and floor, masking the ship's otherwise sterile quiet. Martin Winters sat slouched in a corner seat, away from the main flow of traffic in the lounge. The rows of Asari passengers filled the space with a subdued energy—muted conversations, the occasional laugh or murmur, but mostly silence. He felt their glances, quick and fleeting, assessing him before they turned away.
He wasn't dressed to blend in, but then again, when had he ever? Blue jeans, worn and fraying at the knees. A black leather jacket that had seen better days. The dog tags around his neck clinked softly as he shifted in his seat, catching faint reflections from the overhead lights. They were Athria's, the familiar weight a bitter comfort. His fingers traced the edge of the owl pendant wrapped tightly around his wrist, a quiet rhythm he'd been repeating for the past hour.
Beside him sat an old, battered military duffle bag—Athria's, one of the few things he'd taken from her apartment. Inside were the belongings he had hastily grabbed before leaving the Citadel. Clothes, a datapad, and his rifle, disassembled and stowed with meticulous care. Beneath his jacket, his infamous black pistols rested in their leather holsters, their weight a constant presence against his ribs.
Martin glanced down at his omni-tool, which blinked faintly on his forearm. A new notification pulsed at the corner of the interface, the numbers impossible to ignore: 3,000,000 credits deposited. He swiped the message away with a flick of his fingers, but it lingered in his mind like a stain. Payment from the Turian Councilor, compensation for taking down the Spears of Palaven.
Blood money.
He closed his eyes, his jaw tightening as the memory clawed its way back to the surface. The mad limped rush to the escape pod. Athria's face sturn and defiant, then in a second, her strength gone, the light in her eyes extinguished. He had thought about declining the payment, sending it back to the Councilor with a few choice words, but what difference would it make? Athria was gone. No amount of credits could bring her back.
The price of a soul,he thought bitterly, his hand tightening around the strap of the duffle bag. Three million credits. A fortune. Money he could have used to get them both out of the mess, to disappear to some backwater colony where no one knew his name, where they could have started over. Together.
But now? He didn't know. What did it matter?
The ship's PA system chimed softly, announcing their estimated arrival on Thessia in six hours. The voice of the pilot, calm and professional, barely registered in Martin's ears. Thessia. Athria's homeworld. Her funeral. He felt the weight settle deeper in his chest, heavier than the dog tags around his neck or the duffle bag at his side. He had never imagined himself attending her funeral, let alone carrying the grief like a scar that wouldn't heal.
An Asari attendant paused nearby, her expression polite but cautious as she looked down at him. "Can I get you anything, sir?" she asked, her voice smooth and professional.
Martin opened his eyes, meeting hers for a moment before shaking his head. "No, thanks," he said, his voice rougher than he intended.
She nodded and moved on, leaving him in the quiet bubble he'd built around himself.
His gaze drifted to the viewport across the room, where the stars stretched endlessly into the void. He'd seen it a thousand times before—the cold, indifferent beauty of the galaxy. Once, it had filled him with a sense of purpose, the promise of endless possibilities. Now, it felt hollow, a reminder of how small and insignificant everything truly was.
He leaned back in his seat, his fingers brushing against the dog tags once more. Athria's name was etched into the metal, the letters sharp and permanent, unlike the fleeting nature of life. He closed his eyes again, the hum of the ship a faint lullaby as he let himself sink into the weight of his thoughts.
Somewhere in the vast expanse of the galaxy, her voice still lingered in his mind, a ghost that refused to leave him. And as the ship carried him closer to Thessia, closer to her final resting place, Martin couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever escape the shadow she'd left behind—or if he even wanted to.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
The transport touched down with a gentle shudder, its engines powering down with a low hum as the boarding ramp extended. Martin hesitated for a moment, lingering at the threshold, before stepping out into the bright Thessian sun. His boots hit the smooth, polished stone of the landing platform, the sound swallowed by the hum of activity all around him.
The first thing that struck him was thelight. Thessia was brilliant, almost offensively so. The twin suns hung high in a sky that seemed impossibly blue, streaked with faint wisps of white clouds that looked like strokes from an artist's brush. Everything gleamed under the sunlight—the sprawling cityscape ahead, the crystalline structures that jutted into the sky, and the vibrant, flowering trees lining the walkways. The air itself shimmered faintly, carrying a clean, floral scent that was almost too perfect, like it had been artificially crafted.
Too bright. Too colorful.
He squinted against the glare, his dark, weathered clothes and leather jacket already feeling out of place among the flowing silks and elegant forms of the Asari bustling around him. Their voices, melodic and calm, blended into the soft hum of Thessia's atmosphere, a world that seemed to run on serenity. The sharp, purposeful tones of military Asari mingled with the softer exchanges of merchants and scholars. Everywhere he turned, there were flashes of sapphire skin, smooth and ageless faces, and eyes that seemed to flicker with wisdom centuries old.
The city itself was an architectural marvel—organic and geometric all at once. Towering spires of silver and blue glass spiraled into the sky, catching the sunlight and scattering it like prisms, creating faint rainbows that danced across the streets below. Buildings flowed seamlessly into one another, their designs blending nature and technology. Green vines with golden blossoms climbed up walls, framing doorways that glowed faintly with energy fields. The ground beneath him was a mosaic of pale, polished stone, etched with intricate patterns that pulsed faintly, guiding foot traffic and hovercrafts alike.
It was a city that screamed of elegance and order, a testament to a culture that had spent thousands of years perfecting its aesthetic. To Martin, it feltalien. It wasn't just the Asari—he'd seen their kind in every corner of the galaxy—but the overwhelming perfection of the place. It grated against him, the brightness and beauty a stark contrast to the weight he carried inside. The world felt like it was mocking him, offering a serenity he couldn't grasp.
He adjusted the strap of Athria's duffle bag slung over his shoulder, the weight of it pulling at him as he scanned the spaceport for a direction, a clue about where he was supposed to go. The Asari milled about with an unhurried grace, their movements deliberate and fluid, as if they had all the time in the galaxy. He felt their eyes on him—fleeting glances, curious but not unkind. He was an anomaly here, his dark, utilitarian clothes and bruised face stark against the vibrant tapestry of Thessia's life.
Ahead, a cluster of holographic signs flickered in the sunlight, their elegant script translating into Standard for his omni-tool. They advertised shuttle services, city districts, and cultural landmarks, but they offered no guidance for someone like him. He clenched his jaw, his gaze darting over the glowing words, trying to make sense of his surroundings.
Where the hell do I even start?
His omni-tool pinged faintly, a reminder of the message from a contact had sent him before he left. She'd offered to arrange a guide for him, but he'd declined. He couldn't bear the thought of someone else's pity, of being led around like some grieving charity case. This was something he had to face alone, even if he had no idea where to begin.
He stepped away from the main walkway, finding a quieter corner beneath the shade of a flowering tree with blossoms that glowed faintly in the sunlight. The air here was warmer than he expected, carrying the scent of blooming flowers and fresh rain. It should have been pleasant, but it only added to his discomfort. He pulled out his omni-tool, scrolling through the files he'd gathered from Athria's things. There was an address buried in her notes—an old estate her family owned, nestled in one of Thessia's many lush valleys.
That's where they'd hold it,he thought, his stomach tightening.
He keyed the address into the transport network, watching as a map materialized in front of him, highlighting a route that would take him deep into the countryside. It was an hour's ride from the city, past fields of luminescent crops and winding rivers that reflected the twin suns.
He let out a slow breath, his fingers brushing against the dog tags around his neck. The thought of stepping into that place, facing her family, her friends, felt like stepping onto a battlefield he wasn't prepared for. But there was no turning back. He owed her this—more than this.
With a last glance at the vibrant, bustling city around him, Martin adjusted his jacket and stepped toward the waiting shuttles, his shadow long against the brilliant stone as Thessia's light bore down on him.
The shuttle ride to the estate had been quiet, the hum of the engine the only sound as Martin gazed out at the Thessian countryside. It was breathtaking, a rolling expanse of verdant hills dotted with luminescent flowers and crystalline streams. The twin suns cast the land in a soft glow, and as the shuttle descended toward the estate, the grandeur of the place became evident.
The estate itself was sprawling, a masterpiece of Asari elegance and wealth. It rested atop a gentle rise, its main building an architectural wonder of pale stone and shimmering glass. The structure curved organically, like a part of the landscape itself, with flowering vines climbing its walls and cascading over terraces. Wide verandas overlooked manicured gardens that stretched into the distance, punctuated by fountains that caught the sunlight and scattered rainbows across the grounds. Statues of Asari figures in flowing robes lined the pathways, their serene expressions watching over the estate like silent sentinels.
Martin stepped off the shuttle, his boots crunching softly against the smooth gravel of the driveway. He adjusted the strap of Athria's duffle bag, the familiar weight of it grounding him as he made his way toward the grand entrance. Despite the beauty surrounding him, he couldn't shake the unease curling in his chest. This wasn't his world. It had never been, and it would never be.
The doors to the estate opened before he could knock, revealing an older Asari with regal features and a commanding presence. Her gown was simple yet elegant, the deep blue fabric shimmering faintly as she stood in the doorway. Her expression was measured, her gaze sharp as it swept over him, taking in the worn leather jacket, the dark circles under his eyes, the weight of something unspoken hanging over him.
"Can I help you?" she asked, her tone polite but guarded.
Martin hesitated for a moment, then nodded, his voice steady but subdued. "I'm here for Athria."
Her lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze narrowing slightly. "You're... a friend of hers?" she asked, though the slight edge in her tone made it clear she already suspected the answer.
Martin's jaw tightened. "Martin Winters," he said simply.
The change in her expression was subtle but unmistakable. Her gaze grew colder, a flicker of judgment flashing in her eyes as she stepped back slightly, allowing him inside. "I see," she said, her voice taking on a tone that was both measured and critical. "Come in."
She didn't offer her name, nor did she extend a hand. Martin followed her into the estate, his footsteps muffled against the polished stone floors as she led him through the airy halls. The interior was as grand as the exterior, filled with soft light filtering through expansive windows, walls adorned with artwork depicting Asari history and culture, and vases overflowing with flowers in hues of gold and violet.
She stopped at a set of glass doors that led out to the back of the estate, turning to face him. "You'll find someone waiting for you out there," she said curtly, her tone dismissive. Without another word, she opened the doors and gestured for him to step through.
Martin stepped outside, the sunlight hitting him again as he took in the sight of the back garden. It was expansive, with winding paths that led through groves of tall, flowering trees. At the far edge of the garden, a lone figure stood near a stone bench, his broad, armored form unmistakable.
The Krogan was old, his plates faded and scarred, his massive frame imposing even in stillness. He turned as Martin approached, his piercing yellow eyes locking onto him with an intensity that made Martin feel as though he were being weighed, measured. The Krogan's expression was unreadable, his posture relaxed but charged with a latent strength that hinted at decades—no, centuries—of battle.
"You're him," the Krogan said after a moment, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the air. "The human."
Martin nodded, stopping a few paces away. "Martin Winters," he said quietly.
The Krogan's gaze lingered on him, scrutinizing every detail—the dog tags around his neck, the duffle bag slung over his shoulder, the holsters hidden beneath his jacket. Finally, his eyes fell on the tags, and something shifted in his expression. He stepped forward, his large hand reaching out slowly.
Martin stood still as the Krogan's hand brushed against the dog tags, lifting them slightly to examine the worn metal. The Krogan's brow furrowed, his gaze softening just enough to betray a flicker of something—grief, perhaps, or understanding. He let the tags fall back against Martin's chest, then placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, the gesture firm but not unkind.
The Krogan didn't say a word. He simply patted Martin's shoulder, his rough palm lingering for a moment before he turned and walked away, his massive form disappearing down one of the garden paths.
Martin let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, his hand brushing against the dog tags as he watched the Krogan go. The weight of the encounter settled over him, heavier than the duffle bag at his side. He turned back toward the house; the silence of the garden was a quiet accusation, one he had already told himself.
''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
The Asari funeral was unlike anything Martin had ever witnessed, steeped in a solemn beauty that felt as alien to him as it was profound. The ceremony was held in a sunlit clearing nestled within the hills surrounding Athria's family estate. The space was immaculate, bordered by tall, slender trees with silver leaves that caught the light and shimmered like starlight. The ground was carpeted in soft, blue moss, and vibrant flowers bloomed in every direction, their colors too vivid for Martin's tired eyes.
A circular platform of smooth stone had been erected at the center, its surface adorned with intricate carvings and symbols of remembrance. At the heart of the platform stood an ornate urn, its deep blue ceramic inlaid with silver patterns that caught the sunlight. Martin knew it held Athria's remains, and the sight of it stirred something deep within him—a raw, aching loss that he couldn't put into words.
Rows of chairs formed a half-circle around the platform, most of them occupied by Asari. The attendees were dressed in flowing, colorful garments that seemed to shimmer and shift with the light, creating an almost surreal atmosphere. Their faces were serene, though some bore expressions of quiet grief. They spoke in hushed tones, their melodic voices blending with the gentle rustle of the trees and the faint hum of the wind.
Martin stood at the very back, leaning against a tall tree at the edge of the clearing. He hadn't wanted to take a seat among them, to intrude on something that felt so inherently theirs. His leather jacket and jeans made him look out of place to the ethereal elegance of the Asari mourning their own. He kept his head low, the dog tags around his neck clinking softly in the wing. The weight of it felt heavier than usual, though he knew it was just his own guilt.
He watched as a tall Asari elder, draped in robes of deep violet, stepped onto the platform. Her voice rang out, clear and resonant, as she began to speak. Martin couldn't understand the words—an ancient dialect, he guessed—but the emotion in her tone was unmistakable: reverence, sorrow, and a deep respect for the life they were honoring. The other Asari bowed their heads, their hands pressed together in a gesture that seemed to blend prayer and remembrance.
As the elder continued, holographic images appeared above the platform, flickering to life in the air. They were moments from Athria's life—snapshots of her smiling, laughing, training with fellow commandos, and standing proud in her armor. Martin's chest tightened as he recognized one image in particular: Athria on the Citadel leaning casually against a railing with her arms crossed, a faint smirk on her lips. He remembered that day, how she'd teased him about his awkwardness in the bustling marketplace, even during everything that was going on.
The holograms shifted, fading into one another like fragments of a dream. Martin found himself staring at them, his vision blurring slightly. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, cursing himself under his breath for letting it show. He felt the weight of her loss in every flicker of light, every image that reminded him of what he'd failed to protect.
The elder finished her speech, and the Asari began to sing. Their voices rose in unison, a hauntingly beautiful harmony that resonated through the clearing and seemed to vibrate in Martin's very bones. The song was mournful yet uplifting, a blend of grief and hope that carried with it the weight of centuries of tradition. Martin clenched his fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.
No one approached him. No one offered him a seat or a word of comfort. He was alone, as he had expected to be. He couldn't blame them—they knew who he was, what he represented. Athria's mother had made that much clear in her tone, and he imagined the others felt the same. He was the outsider, whose name was whispered in dark corners with equal parts fear and disdain among them.
As the song faded, the attendees rose one by one, stepping forward to the platform. Each offered a small token—flowers, trinkets, or handwritten notes—that they placed at the base of the urn. The pile grew steadily, a collection of memories and farewells, each one a testament to the life Athria had touched.
Martin stayed where he was, watching in silence. He felt the dog tags around his neck, their cold metal pressing against his skin. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the owl pendant, its surface worn smooth from years of handling. He held it tightly in his hand, the edges pressing into his palm as he debated whether to step forward.
Finally, when the last Asari had placed her offering and returned to her seat, Martin pushed off the tree and made his way toward the platform. The air seemed heavier as he moved, the eyes of the attendees following him with quiet curiosity or judgment—he wasn't sure which. He climbed the steps of the platform, each one feeling like a mile, until he stood before the urn.
He stared at it for a moment, his reflection distorted in the polished surface. Then he placed the owl pendant among the other offerings, his hand lingering for a second before he stepped back. He didn't speak, didn't offer any grand gesture or explanation. He simply stood there, his hands at his sides, the dog tags swaying slightly as he bowed his head.
For a moment, everything else faded—the whispers, the judgment, the weight of his own failures. It was just him and her memory, the silence between them filled with everything he wished he could say but never would.
Then he turned and walked back to his place beneath the tree, his steps heavy, his chest tight. The ceremony continued, but Martin barely heard it. His mind was far away, lost in the memories of a life he'd never deserved to be a part of but would carry with him for the rest of his days.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
The ceremony ended with a final, haunting note sung by the gathered Asari. As the voices faded into the hills, the attendees began to disperse, moving quietly back toward the estate or lingering in the clearing to exchange muted words. Martin stayed beneath the tree, watching them leave but making no move to follow. He didn't belong here—he never had.
With a heavy breath, he pushed himself away from the tree and slung the duffle bag over his shoulder. The weight of it felt heavier now, though he knew it was just his mind playing tricks on him. He adjusted his jacket, the familiar clink of the dog tags around his neck grounding him for a moment. Athria's tags, now his burden to carry.
The path back to the estate was quiet, the faint hum of insects and the occasional chirp of alien birds filling the air. He walked slowly, his boots crunching on the soft gravel path as he passed the ornate gates and re-entered the sprawling grounds. The estate looked just as perfect and pristine as it had earlier, but now it felt colder, more distant. He could feel the eyes of Athria's family on him, even if they weren't there. Every glance, every judgmental tone, every unspoken accusation lingered in his mind like ghosts clinging to his shadow.
There was nothing for him here. Nothing but bitter memories and bad feelings.
As he passed the main house, he thought of Athria's mother and the look she'd given him at the door. A mix of disdain and quiet grief. He deserved it, he told himself. He deserved all of it. The blame, the anger, the isolation. It didn't matter that he'd tried to save Athria, that he'd fought with everything he had. She was gone, and he was still here, and that was enough to make him the villain in their eyes—and his own.
He didn't stop at the house, didn't look back. He made his way to the estate's exit, pushing everything and everyone away as he walked. His jaw tightened, and his eyes fixed on the path ahead. There was no point dwelling on what couldn't be undone. The past was gone, and so was she. All that was left was the dull ache of her absence and the weight of the dog tags hanging against his chest.
The city was waiting at the end of the estate's long, winding driveway. The transport vehicle sat idle, its sleek, reflective surface catching the light. Martin climbed inside, tossing the duffle bag onto the seat beside him before slumping down with a sigh. The door slid shut with a soft hiss, and the vehicle hummed to life, gliding smoothly down the street and away from the estate.
He leaned his head against the window, watching the city come into view as the vehicle descended into Thessia's bustling heart. The bright, vibrant hues of the architecture and the endless flow of Asari moving through the streets were too much for him. The planet felt too bright, too colorful, too alive. It didn't suit him, not anymore.
He didn't know where to go once he left Thessia. He had no home, Ilium, once a hollow attempt at a normal life, had been abandoned months ago when the chaos on the Citadel began. He wasn't going back there, and he sure as hell wasn't returning to the Citadel, where every corner would remind him of Athria.
As the transport vehicle weaved through the city, Martin opened his omni-tool, half-expecting to see a new message from the Andromeda Initiative. They still sent him reminders of Alec Ryder's offer—a chance to join the Initiative and start fresh in a new galaxy. He stared at the unopened messages for a moment, his finger hovering over the screen before he closed them. The thought of leaving everything behind and disappearing into Andromeda felt like running, and he was tired of running. Tired of leaving pieces of himself behind in every place he'd called home.
No. If he was going anywhere, it had to be somewhere he could lose himself without pretending to start over. Somewhere that didn't care who he was or what he'd done. Omega. The thought settled in his mind like a dark cloud. Omega was chaos personified—a place where no one asked questions, and no one cared about names or reputations. He could disappear there, at least for a while.
Martin closed his eyes, the hum of the transport lulling him into a fragile quiet. His hand drifted to the dog tags beneath his jacket, fingers brushing the cold metal as he clung to the only piece of her he had left. He didn't know what the future held, didn't know if he even wanted one. All he knew was that Thessia, this bright and unwelcoming world, wasn't where he belonged.
As the vehicle pulled into the starport, the towering structures casting long shadows across the landing platforms, Martin grabbed his duffle bag and stepped out. The air was crisp, the faint hum of starship engines filling the atmosphere. He didn't look back at the city or the planet. There was nothing for him here.
He adjusted the duffle on his shoulder, straightened his jacket, and made his way toward the terminals, his mind set on the distant, chaotic haven of Omega. A place to disappear, to drown in the noise and shadows until he could figure out what to do next—or if there was even anything left worth doing.
