Sol regretted this already.
The Luminara District stretched out before him, a neon-drenched maze of towering spires, floating platforms, and streets that pulsed with shifting holograms. The air vibrated with distant music—deep bass beats mixing with ethereal synth melodies, creating a rhythm that seemed to dictate the flow of the crowd. Streams of glowing mist slithered through the streets, carrying scents both familiar and strange—sweet, spiced drinks, the sharp ozone bite of overworked power cells, something floral and synthetic all at once.
It was alive in a way that almost felt unnatural.
"Alright," Jack said, throwing an arm over Sol's shoulder like they'd been best friends for years, "before you start glaring at me like I dragged you here against your will—"
"You did drag me here against my will," Sol muttered.
Lloyd chuckled, walking a step ahead, hands in his pockets. "Look at him. Not even five minutes in and he already hates it. I called it."
Jack smirked. "Nah, I said two minutes. He's still here, so technically, I win."
"Give it another thirty seconds."
Sol sighed, slipping out of Jack's grip and running a hand through his hair. This wasn't his kind of scene. Too loud, too chaotic, too many unknown variables shifting around him at all times. Every instinct in his body told him to stay aware, to keep an eye on exit routes, to not get comfortable.
And yet…
He wasn't running.
For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no immediate threat looming over him. No last-minute deals to make, no pursuers, no fights he needed to win.
Just this—lights, music, and two idiots who apparently thought 'hanging out' was something he needed.
Lloyd smirked back at him. "Alright, Sol, humor me. If you had to pick one thing to do tonight—besides leaving—what would it be?"
Sol exhaled through his nose, glancing at the ridiculous array of options in front of them.
A floating lounge rotated lazily in the air above, its transparent floor revealing a swirling galaxy-like projection beneath it. A crowd gathered around an open arena, where gravity-defying dancers flickered in and out of existence like they were phasing between dimensions. Further down the street, an arcade pulsed with flickering light, advertising "HIGH-STAKES REALITY-BENDING GAMES! WIN OR LOSE, THE EXPERIENCE IS YOURS!"
He was not stepping foot in that last one.
"I don't know," Sol admitted, rubbing his temple. "Something quiet."
Jack gasped, scandalized. "Quiet? In this place?" He turned to Lloyd dramatically. "You hear that? This guy asks for 'quiet' in the most aggressively overstimulating district on the whole damn ship."
Lloyd snorted. "I told you, man. He's allergic to fun."
Sol shot them both a look. "I have fun."
"Name one time."
Sol opened his mouth—then closed it.
Lloyd smirked. "Exactly."
Jack clapped his hands together. "Alright then, challenge accepted! We're finding something you actually enjoy tonight, or I'm filing a formal complaint to the universe."
"You do that," Sol muttered, but despite himself, the tension in his shoulders eased—just a little.
Maybe, just this once, he could let himself exist in this moment.
---
A short walk later, they arrived at The Celestial Drift, a floating spa unlike anything Sol had ever seen. Suspended in the air, its structure was a mix of shimmering glass and soft, glowing minerals, the entrance framed by cascading streams of liquid light that seemed to defy gravity. The air smelled faintly of exotic oils and something cool and refreshing—like ozone before a gentle rain.
Inside, the place was a dreamscape. Pools of water floated mid-air, surrounded by gravity-defying platforms where guests lounged in relaxation. Alien masseuses from a dozen different species moved gracefully between clients, their hands—some biological, some mechanical—working with practiced expertise. Ethereal music drifted through the space, subtly adjusting in tone and tempo to match the relaxed breathing of its visitors.
Jack whistled. "Now this is how you unwind."
Lloyd smirked. "Told you we'd find something worth your time, Sol."
Sol merely exhaled, shaking his head slightly. He had to admit, this wasn't a bad choice. It wasn't loud, it wasn't chaotic. Just peace.
Then came the actual spa treatment.
Sol removed his shirt and stepped toward the massage platform, the warm ambient glow of the room highlighting every scar that crossed his body—old ones from his time in the slums, newer ones from his brutal fight with the mercenary at Zenith-5. His torso, arms, even his back carried the story of a life hard-lived, a body pushed past its limits more times than it should have been.
For a moment, the room paused. The masseuse, a tall, elegantly dressed alien woman with sapphire-colored skin and delicate, bioluminescent patterns along her arms, faltered for just a second before regaining her composure. Other guests nearby glanced his way—some subtly, some not.
Lloyd and Jack, however, weren't as subtle. Jack's eyes widened slightly, his usual smirk faltering for just a moment as he took in the sheer number of scars covering Sol's body. Lloyd, who had seen his fair share of wounds, crossed his arms and let out a low whistle.
"Damn, Sol," Jack muttered, tilting his head as he took a step closer. "You ever lose a fight? Or do you just collect these for fun?"
Lloyd's gaze was more measured, but no less concerned. "You ever let any of these heal properly?" he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and something else—something closer to worry.
Sol scoffed, shaking his head. "How was a slum rat supposed to pay for treatment?" He rolled his shoulders, giving them both a dry look. "They're old anyway. Doesn't matter."
Then, with a proud smile, he added, "Plus, my pretty face is undamaged, so that's all that matters."
Jack blinked, dumbfounded. Lloyd just sighed, shaking his head. The people around them, who had initially been caught up in their own relaxation, couldn't help but glance over in quiet disbelief at Sol's sheer audacity. It wasn't fair, really—because he wasn't lying.
His masseuse, an elegantly poised alien with sapphire-blue skin, giggled softly at the remark, her glowing fingers pressing gently into his shoulders. "Confidence suits you," she mused.
Jack ran a hand through his hair, his smirk flickering before returning in full force. "Yeah, well, you ever think about not getting stabbed, shot, or whatever the hell else left those?"
Lloyd exhaled through his nose, his arms still crossed. "Not like he had much of a choice, Jack. You don't get scars like that living a peaceful life."
Jack looked back at Sol, shaking his head. "Man, you really had it rough, huh?"
Sol let out a quiet laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Nothing new." He laid down, feeling the warm press of skilled hands against his shoulders. "Now shut up and let me pretend I don't exist for a while."
Jack scoffed. "Yeah, well, from the looks of it, you've been stitched together more times than a patched-up spacesuit." He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck before muttering under his breath, "This isn't fair... how do scars somehow make him look even more attractive?"
Lloyd let out a quiet, resigned sigh, barely audible. "Life really is unfair," he muttered, shaking his head. Then, louder, he added, "Just means you've survived a hell of a lot. Doesn't mean you need to keep adding to the collection."
Jack cleared his throat, trying to cover up whatever stray thought had just escaped him. "Yeah, well, maybe next time, try not to make surviving look so damn good."
Sol ignored them and laid down, feeling the warm press of skilled hands against his shoulders. He was used to stares, used to questions, but at least here, in this moment, there was nothing left to fight.
He closed his eyes, letting himself exhale. Just for tonight.
Sol ignored them.
But even as he laid down, feeling the warm press of skilled hands against his shoulders, his mind was still somewhere else. He wondered—had he ever truly relaxed? Had he ever allowed himself to just exist without the weight of survival on his shoulders?
The tension was slow to leave him. He wasn't sure if it ever fully would. But as the warm sensation of expert massage kneaded into his tired muscles, he let his eyes slip shut, just for a moment.
Maybe—just for tonight—he'd let himself rest.
---