Carson stood among rows of miners in the Operations briefing hall, fighting the fog of another restless night. The standard-issue jumpsuit chafed at his neck as he suppressed a yawn. Around him, two hundred other workers shifted on uncomfortable metal benches, their faces bathed in the hall's signature blue light—TITAN's preferred shade for "optimal attention and retention." The effect made everyone look slightly ill, which Carson suspected was intentional. Sick workers tried harder to prove their worth.

  The massive screens at the front of the hall flickered to life, displaying the TITAN Federation insignia—a stylized T overlaid on a solar system diagram, Earth conspicuously centered despite being uninhabitable for generations.

  "Good morning, productive citizens of Celestia Station." The broadcaster's voice carried the artificial warmth of someone who had never worked a day in the outer rings. "Today's extraction quotas have been increased by seven percent to accommodate growing demand from the terraforming initiative on Venus Colony."

  Carson caught Link's eye three seats down. His friend scratched his left eyebrow twice—their signal for bullshit. Carson responded by touching his earlobe—play along.

  "Before today's assignments, a security update." The broadcaster's perfect features betrayed no emotion. "In preparation for tomorrow's diplomatic visit from the Theist delegation, including Prince Roman of the Sanctum Lineage, all personnel are reminded that interaction with Theist representatives is prohibited without explicit authorization."

  The screens changed to show security footage of royal Theist ships—sleek vessels with distinctive gold-embossed hulls. Carson noticed four new security officers positioned at the hall's exits, their uniforms crisper than the regular station guards. TITAN Special Security Division. He'd only seen them once before, during a containment breach three years ago.

  "Additionally," the broadcaster continued, "routine contraband sweeps have identified an increase in unauthorized artifacts being transported to Celestia 28. All personnel are reminded that unregistered items of Earth origin or unknown composition must be surrendered immediately to Security Processing in Inner Ring, Section 12."

  The man beside Carson muttered, "They're after Bowie's shop again."

  Carson sipped the bland nutritional shake that passed for breakfast, its chalky texture coating his tongue. Eight years and he still couldn't get used to the artificial berry flavor that tasted nothing like actual berries. Not that he'd ever tasted real ones.

  "Extraction Team assignments for today follow," announced the broadcaster as names and locations appeared on the screens. "Teams performing below 50% efficiency will report for supplementary training during recreation hours."

  Supervisor Keller stepped forward, a heavyset woman with eyes hardened by decades of managing miners. "Special commendation to Extraction Team 17 for exceeding quota by twenty-three percent." She paused, scanning the crowd. "Team 34, your performance has been noted as unsatisfactory. Report for efficiency review at end of shift."

  Carson kept his expression neutral. His team, number 22, maintained their carefully cultivated position in the middle of the performance rankings—high enough to avoid scrutiny, low enough to prevent advancement consideration.

  "The central smelting fuse will undergo recalibration during second shift," Keller continued. "All teams working Outer Ring sectors 7 through 12 will experience reduced gravity during the procedure. Adjust your equipment accordingly."

  The screens shifted to display the day's assignments. Carson found his name paired with Link for Bay 9, processing a new asteroid fragment that had been captured by the station's gravity nets yesterday.

  "Dismissed," Keller barked. "Report to your stations within fifteen minutes."

  As the crowd dispersed, Carson felt Link's shoulder bump against his. "Bay 9," Link murmured. "That's the fragment they pulled in during gamma shift. Heard Sato say it has unusual density readings."

  "Probably just another nickel-iron rock," Carson replied, keeping his voice disinterested despite the sudden prickle of curiosity he felt. Something about this assignment felt different, though he couldn't articulate why.

  "What's with the extra security?" Link asked as they deposited their empty breakfast containers in the recycling chute.

  Carson glanced at the officers still positioned at the exits. "Royal visit tomorrow. TITAN getting nervous about Theist influence maybe."

  "Or looking for something specific," Link suggested.

  As they exited into the corridor leading to the mining bays, Carson caught sight of a security team conducting scans of workers' personal lockers—another unusual procedure. The dream flashed through his mind again: flames cupped in his hands, a weight of responsibility he didn't understand.

  "Let's just get through today," Carson said, pushing the images aside. "Bay 9 awaits."

  Carson adjusted the torque settings on his cutting laser, feeling the tool's vibration change subtly through his gloves. The asteroid fragment hovered before him, secured by magnetic tethers to the processing frame—a chunk of space rock roughly the size of a small shuttle. He'd been working the same section for twenty minutes, carefully extracting a vein of palladium without disturbing the surrounding material.

  "Density reading's off the charts in sector four," Link's voice crackled through the comm. "You seeing this?"

  Carson checked his scanner display, noting the unusual energy signature emanating from deeper within the fragment. "Yeah. Probably just interference from that solar flare yesterday."

  He knew it wasn't interference. The pattern suggested rare-earth elements, possibly even traces of monolium—the kind of find that would trigger an automatic report to Inner Ring science teams. The kind of find that got miners noticed.

  "If you say so," Link replied, the skepticism clear in his voice. He knew Carson too well.

  Carson pushed away from his section, using the minimal thrust from his suit jets to glide around the asteroid's jagged perimeter. The vastness of space opened up behind him—an endless canvas of stars punctuated by the distant glow of Saturn. These moments, suspended between worlds, always made his chest tighten with something between fear and wonder.

  "Running diagnostics on cutter seven," Carson announced for the benefit of the monitoring systems. In reality, he was repositioning to get a better scan of the anomalous section without flagging attention.

  He recalled sitting in the advancement exam three years ago, deliberately misinterpreting a question about molecular destabilization in asteroid cores. The test administrator had frowned, clearly confused by how someone with Carson's preliminary scores could miss something so fundamental. Carson had feigned embarrassment, mumbling about test anxiety. The rejection notice came two days later, keeping him safely in the mining division with Link.

  "Team 22, productivity at 63% of shift average," Maeve's voice interrupted his thoughts, the AI's tone carefully neutral despite Carson's customization. "Supervisor Keller is monitoring performance metrics."

  "Copy that," Carson replied, exchanging a glance with Link through their helmet visors.

  He increased his cutting speed, but carefully—not enough to stand out, just enough to avoid unwanted attention. The dance was familiar: work efficiently enough to avoid reprimand, inefficiently enough to avoid advancement.

  "Think they'll actually let us see the Theist royals tomorrow?" Link asked, deftly changing the subject as he extracted a chunk of nickel-iron with practiced ease.

  "Not a chance. They'll keep the Prince in the Inner Ring, well away from us dirty miners."

  Carson felt the subtle vibration as his cutter hit a pocket of crystalline material. He adjusted his angle, following the extraction protocols he could recite in his sleep. The work had a rhythm to it, almost meditative—one of the few times his mind quieted.

  "Team 17 just got bumped to Inner Ring maintenance," said another miner over the general channel. "That's the third team this month. TITAN's pulling our best people."

  "Just means the rest of us split their quotas," someone else replied.

  Carson said nothing, focusing instead on the asteroid. He carefully maintained his extraction rate at precisely 7% below his actual capability. The others didn't notice, but Link did. His friend never commented on it—their unspoken agreement to protect each other from TITAN's relentless optimization.

  As he worked deeper into the fragment, Carson's scanner picked up something unusual—a small cavity within the rock, perfectly spherical and containing... something. The readings were scrambled, showing impossible energy patterns.

  "Got something weird here," he muttered to Link on their private channel. "Some kind of hollow space."

  "Worth reporting?"

  Carson hesitated, then closed the scanner application. "Probably just trapped gas. I'll check it after shift."

  He marked the location in his personal logs, then deliberately turned to another section. Whatever it was, it could wait until they weren't under direct observation. Some instinct told him this wasn't something he wanted appearing in TITAN's monitoring feeds.

  "Let's finish section six before break," he said aloud, his voice steady despite the sudden racing of his heart. "We're falling behind Team 26."

  Link nodded, understanding the real message: We'll come back to this later.

  The transition from the mining zone's emptiness to Celestia's central hub hit Carson like a physical wave. After hours of nothing but Link's voice and the hollow echo of his own breathing inside his helmet, the bombardment of sounds, smells, and bodies made his skin prickle with awareness.

  "Think they'd install better air scrubbers," Link muttered, shouldering past a cluster of maintenance techs. "Place reeks of desperation and fried protein."

  Carson nodded, his eyes constantly moving. The Middle Ring's main concourse stretched before them—a sprawling marketplace where station residents pretended they weren't floating in the void. Food stalls vented steam carrying scents from Earth cultures long scattered across the system. Music clashed from competing entertainment venues—a TITAN-approved cacophony designed to create the illusion of freedom.

  "Security's doubled since yesterday," Carson observed, noting the black-uniformed officers positioned at major intersections. Their stance was casual, but their eyes never stopped moving.

  Link followed his gaze. "Heard they're upgrading the mineral scanners too. Duvall said his team got pulled off rotation for a complete equipment inspection."

  "That's the third team this week." Carson stepped aside as a commercial drone buzzed past, its cargo compartment emblazoned with the logo of an Inner Ring delivery service. The sleek machine navigated effortlessly through the crowd, its path clearing automatically as people's personal devices alerted them to move.

  They passed a recruitment kiosk where a TITAN officer in a crisp blue uniform was scanning the crowd. Carson deliberately angled his body away, keeping Link between himself and the officer's line of sight. These recruitment pushes happened whenever TITAN needed specialists for some new initiative. Carson had spent years perfecting the art of appearing thoroughly unremarkable.

  "Want to grab something at Bowie's?" Link asked, gesturing toward a narrow corridor branching off the main thoroughfare.

  "Later. Let's check the boards first."

  They made their way to the central information hub where public terminals displayed station announcements, job postings, and carefully curated news from across the system. The screens were surrounded by miners and maintenance workers, while Inner Ring residents received the same information directly through premium neural interfaces.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Carson scanned the crowd rather than the screens. Three security officers were positioned around the information hub—unusual for a standard shift. Their attention seemed focused on a group of technicians wearing the distinctive green jumpsuits of the communications division.

  "Something's definitely up," he murmured.

  "Special visitor protocols," a voice said nearby. Carson turned to find Dasha, a hydroponics specialist from their residential section. "Inner Ring's been on lockdown since morning shift. They're clearing entire sections."

  "For what?" Link asked.

  She lowered her voice. "Theist delegation. Not just representatives—royalty. Prince Roman himself."

  Carson raised an eyebrow. "Here? Why would Mars royalty bother with a mining station?"

  "Resources, politics, who knows?" Dasha shrugged. "But they've requisitioned the entire executive level. Some kind of inspection tour."

  A ripple moved through the crowd as the central screens simultaneously switched to a new announcement. The TITAN emblem pulsed three times before being replaced by a notice of "Temporary Access Restrictions" for multiple station sections.

  "Convenient timing with those new scanner protocols," Link muttered.

  Carson watched as people dispersed from the boards, their conversations a blend of annoyance and speculation. The division was clear—Inner Ring residents moved with confidence, their augmented reality displays visible as subtle glints around their eyes, while Outer Ring workers hunched their shoulders, already calculating how the restrictions would impact their quotas and pay.

  "Let's move," Carson said, noticing one of the security officers studying them with too much interest.

  They drifted toward the less populated edge of the concourse where the lighting dimmed and the storefronts grew shabbier. Here, the station's stratification became physical—premium establishments bathed in perfect illumination gave way to budget vendors operating under flickering panels and jury-rigged power couplings.

  "They're searching for something," Carson said quietly as they paused near a viewport overlooking the docking bays. Below, a flurry of activity surrounded a berth being prepared for a vessel much larger than the standard transport ships. "New scanners, doubled security, royal visit... something valuable came in on our last haul."

  Link's expression darkened. "Something in sector four?"

  Carson nodded slowly, remembering the strange energy signature and the perfect spherical cavity. "Maybe we should pay Bowie a visit after all. He hears things."

  Through the viewport, they watched as a team in ceremonial TITAN uniforms began assembling a formal reception line. In the distance, the distinctive silhouette of a Theist diplomatic vessel emerged from the starfield, its hull gleaming with the gold-red markings of the Royal House of Mars.

  The air in Bowie's shop hit Carson like a physical force—dense with unfamiliar scents that the station's recycled atmosphere had long since filtered away. Earthy, organic smells mingled with the faint tang of aged paper and preserved leather. It smelled like history.

  "Back corner's got the new arrivals," Bowie called from behind his cluttered counter without looking up from the tiny mechanical device he was repairing with impossibly fine tools. His fingers, wrinkled but steady, manipulated components smaller than dust motes.

  Carson nodded and wound his way through narrow aisles crammed with artifacts spanning centuries of human civilization. Unlike the station's sleek minimalism, every surface here burst with texture—rough-hewn wood, pitted metal, fabrics that had actually been grown rather than synthesized. He ran his fingers along a shelf of bound paper books, feeling the subtle grain of their covers. Station materials were uniformly smooth, designed for easy sanitation and minimal sensory distraction.

  The shop existed in a perpetual twilight, lighting kept deliberately dim to protect the more fragile items. Small directional spots illuminated specific displays, creating islands of warm illumination in the comfortable gloom. The effect was both protective and theatrical.

  Carson reached the back corner where a glass case contained what appeared to be ancient jewelry. He leaned closer, studying the craftsmanship of a pendant with geometric patterns that seemed strangely familiar.

  "Pre-Collapse ceremonial piece," Bowie said, suddenly beside him. The old man moved silently despite his age, a skill Carson had never quite figured out. "Notice the symmetry? Seven-fold pattern. Not common in Earth design."

  "The metal composition looks unusual," Carson observed, dropping the cultivated disinterest he maintained elsewhere on the station. Here, he didn't have to hide his intelligence.

  "Good eye. Contains trace elements not found in our system. One of several anomalies TITAN's suddenly very interested in." Bowie tapped the case meaningfully. "Historical anomalies, they're calling them."

  Carson straightened. "That's why they're upgrading the scanners?"

  "Partly. Word is they've found something that doesn't fit their neat historical timeline." Bowie moved to a nearby bookshelf and pulled down a leather-bound volume. "Speaking of which, you've been spending time in this section lately."

  The shelf contained ancient mythological texts—stories of gods and heroes from Earth's distant past. Carson had indeed been drawn to them, though he couldn't articulate why.

  "Just curious about old stories," Carson said, accepting the book Bowie handed him. Its weight felt significant, substantial in a way digital texts never did. "These civilizations built their entire worldview around forces they couldn't explain."

  "And you think we're so different now?" Bowie's eyes crinkled with amusement. "TITAN explains everything with science, Theists with divine purpose. Both just stories we tell ourselves."

  Carson opened the book to find illustrations of ancient deities holding various symbols of power. One figure clutched what appeared to be a crystalline key.

  "Those dreams still troubling you?" Bowie asked casually. "The ones about the flame?"

  Carson's head snapped up. "How did you—"

  "You talk in your sleep sometimes when you doze off here." Bowie's explanation came too smoothly. "Dreams matter, Carson. Especially recurring ones."

  A subtle change in air pressure indicated the shop's hidden security system had detected someone approaching. Bowie glanced toward the entrance and lowered his voice.

  "I've got something coming in next week. Something with unusual properties. Might interest you."

  "What kind of properties?"

  "The kind TITAN pretends don't exist." Bowie returned to his counter as the door chime sounded. "You know, Carson, I've always wondered why someone who scored in the ninety-eighth percentile on the aptitude preliminaries would deliberately tank the formal assessments."

  Carson froze. Those records were supposed to be sealed.

  "Your father never underestimated himself that way," Bowie continued, his voice barely audible now. "He embraced his potential. Followed it straight to the stars."

  "My father?" The word felt strange in Carson's mouth. "You knew my father?"

  Bowie's eyes flicked to the new customer browsing near the entrance, then back to Carson. "Not just knew him. I helped him hide what he found." He gestured toward the mythology book still in Carson's hands. "Why do you think those stories call to you? Blood remembers, Carson, even when minds forget."

  Carson leaned against a maintenance panel, arms crossed, the perfect picture of a bored worker waiting for his next assignment. His stance suggested indifference, but his eyes missed nothing.

  The Inner Ring's ceremonial docking bay had transformed overnight. Gone were the utilitarian gray walls and standardized lighting. Now, ornate tapestries depicting cosmic phenomena hung from newly installed mounting points. The air carried an unfamiliar sweetness—ceremonial incense that violated at least three TITAN environmental regulations.

  "They've tripled the security grid," Carson murmured to Link, who slouched beside him. "See the new scanner nodes? Those aren't standard issue."

  Link grunted. "Didn't even know TITAN had that model. Why go through all this trouble for a bunch of space mystics?"

  Carson watched a TITAN technician install what appeared to be a quantum resonance scanner disguised as decorative lighting. The woman's movements were precise but her shoulders remained rigid, jaw clenched tight enough that Carson could see the muscle working beneath her skin.

  "Something's got them spooked," Carson said. "Look at Supervisor Chen."

  Across the bay, Chen barked orders at a maintenance crew polishing an already gleaming floor. His typical bureaucratic calm had evaporated, replaced by the sharp, clipped cadence of genuine stress.

  "Attention all personnel," the station AI announced overhead. "The arrival of our distinguished Theist delegation represents an opportunity for cultural exchange and cooperation between our factions. Standard protocols apply."

  Standard protocols. Carson almost laughed. Nothing about this was standard. The ornate ceremonial objects being arranged—crystal bowls, gold-inlaid pedestals, and what appeared to be actual flame containers—violated every safety regulation in TITAN's handbook.

  Two TITAN security officers passed nearby, their conversation drifting to Carson's ears.

  "—containment protocols if they bring unregistered artifacts—"

  "—special authorization from Director Novak himself—"

  "—quantum isolation fields ready if the relics show any unusual properties—"

  The officers moved out of earshot, but Carson filed away the information. Director Novak never authorized exceptions to security protocols. Not for anyone.

  "Why's TITAN rolling out the red carpet for people who think technology is just a path to their gods?" Link whispered.

  Carson shrugged. "Resources. Mars has the largest reserves of monolium in the system. TITAN needs it for the Earth Reclamation Project."

  But that didn't explain everything Carson was seeing. The preparations went beyond diplomatic courtesy into something that looked uncomfortably like accommodation of power.

  A group of station workers huddled near the refreshment station, their voices low but excited.

  "—saying it's connected to the Firekeeper prophecy—"

  "—bringing artifacts that can supposedly predict the future—"

  "—Princess herself is coming to verify—"

  Carson resisted rolling his eyes. The Firekeeper prophecy—some Theist legend about a chosen one who would unite humanity through sacred flame. Pure superstition wrapped in mystical language to control the masses.

  Yet TITAN was treating this visit like a potential threat. The dissonance made Carson uneasy.

  "What's with all the scanners if they're such honored guests?" Link asked, noticing the same inconsistency.

  "They're scanning for something specific," Carson replied. "Something they expect the Theists to bring."

  The docking bay's main doors hissed open as a TITAN official entered, flanked by assistants carrying what appeared to be ceremonial robes—deep crimson with gold embroidery that caught the light. The official's face was a mask of diplomatic pleasantness, but his fingers tapped an anxious rhythm against his datapad.

  "All this fuss for 'artifacts of significance,'" Carson muttered, quoting the official announcement. "TITAN doesn't believe in religious relics."

  "Unless they're not just relics," Link suggested.

  Carson nodded slowly. That was the only explanation that made sense. TITAN believed these artifacts had real properties—technological, not mystical. Properties worth bending regulations for. Properties worth risking bringing Theist influence onto a TITAN station.

  A movement caught Carson's eye—someone watching from the upper observation deck. Not dressed in TITAN's utilitarian gray or the Theists' ornate robes, but something else entirely. A woman with close-cropped dark hair, her posture suggesting neither deference nor authority, but something more balanced. She surveyed the preparations with an intensity that matched Carson's own analytical gaze.

  She didn't belong to either faction. And in a system divided between TITAN and Theist control, that made her the most interesting person in the room.

  Carson locked his quarters with a double security protocol—standard TITAN issue layered with his own modifications. The familiar click and soft hum signaled his daily transformation from carefully crafted mediocrity to the person he actually was.

  He exhaled, shoulders dropping as the weight of performance fell away. His quarters were small—standard outer ring allocation—but they were his. One of the few places in the vast station where he didn't need to calculate every word and gesture to appear average.

  "Maeve, privacy mode."

  His AI assistant materialized beside his workstation, her holographic form shifting from the professionally bland appearance she maintained in public to her true configuration—bright purple hair, vintage Earth clothing, and a posture that mirrored Carson's own relaxed stance.

  "Scanning for surveillance anomalies," she reported. "None detected. Privacy protocols active."

  Carson rolled his neck, feeling vertebrae pop as tension released. "Display my research files on Theist artifacts."

  The wall screen illuminated with documents he'd carefully collected through untraceable channels—historical accounts of Theist relics, scientific analyses disguised as theological studies, and fragmented reports of unexplained phenomena associated with certain artifacts.

  "The preparations today were excessive," Carson said, sinking onto his bunk. "TITAN doesn't allocate quantum isolation fields for diplomatic visits."

  "Agreed. Analysis suggests containment protocols typically reserved for unknown technology," Maeve replied. "Their official statements reference 'artifacts of cultural significance' but security deployments indicate expectation of active technological properties."

  Carson nodded, scanning through images of Theist ceremonial objects. "The Theists believe in something they call the 'Sacred Flame'—supposedly carried by their prophesied Firekeeper."

  "Correlating with your dream patterns," Maeve noted. "Frequency has increased 43% in the past month."

  Carson's fingers tapped an unconscious rhythm against his knee. "Show me the mineral analysis from today's extraction."

  A three-dimensional rendering appeared—the asteroid fragment they'd processed showing unusual energy signatures in its core. Not enough to flag TITAN's automated systems, but noticeable to someone looking for anomalies.

  "Similar resonance patterns to your previous findings," Maeve confirmed.

  Carson leaned back against the wall, feeling the subtle vibration of the station's systems through the metal. "They're getting stronger, Maeve. The dreams."

  "Your neural activity during REM sleep shows increased coherence in the temporal lobe. Whatever these dreams are, they're not random."

  "They feel..." Carson paused, searching for the right word. "Familiar. Like memories I shouldn't have."

  He closed his eyes, recalling the latest dream—standing before a flame that burned without fuel, its light casting shadows that moved independently of their sources. The weight of something around his neck, cool against his skin.

  "You've been turning down advancement opportunities for three years," Maeve said, shifting topics with the abruptness only an AI could manage. "Yet you spend your free time studying quantum mechanics and dimensional theory."

  Carson smiled faintly. "Link needs me here."

  "That's your public reason," Maeve countered. "Your private research suggests other motivations."

  The truth hung unspoken between them. Carson had discovered patterns in the asteroid belt—subtle anomalies that didn't fit TITAN's models. Patterns that would draw attention if reported by someone with his test scores. Better to remain unremarkable, a middling miner with no special talents, while he investigated privately.

  "Something's coming, Maeve," Carson murmured, eyelids growing heavy. "I can feel it."

  "Sleep patterns indicate dream cycle imminent," Maeve reported, her voice softening. "Recording neural activity as requested."

  Carson nodded, not bothering to undress as he stretched out on his bunk. The familiar hum of the station faded as exhaustion claimed him.

  The dream began differently this time. No gradual transition but an immediate clarity—standing in a chamber of impossible geometry, walls that curved in ways that shouldn't be possible. The flame before him burned golden-white, casting light that seemed to penetrate his skin.

  Around his neck hung a crystal pendant, key-shaped and pulsing with the same golden light. It felt warm against his chest, alive somehow, connected to his heartbeat.

  A voice spoke, not in words but directly into his mind: The Light awaits its Keeper.

  For the first time, Carson could see the crystal clearly—intricate patterns within its structure, a map of connections that somehow felt more real than the station around his sleeping body.