Chapter Text
"Where the moon river flows, the stars will sing..." your mother hums as she cradles your fractured wrist.
You sniffle, trying to be stronger. As the daughter of a healer, you've seen injuries much worse than this. But you're only seven. This is the worst pain you've ever been in, in your short life. You can already feel the bones mending, but the shock of it all--the sudden fall, the snap, the sharp burst of pain--stays. You are learning for the first time what it is to heal.
"Shhh," your mother murmurs, "Shh, sweet girl. You'll be okay."
You wake up from the dream abruptly. It's been such a long time since you've had a good dream, and not a nightmare. But you don't need to be asleep to see the fire flashing before your eyes, to hear to explosions, to see your mother's broken hand, reaching for you. You try to hold on to the good memory, but as you open your eyes to the familiar bare cell, it's hard to keep it from slipping through your fingers.
"Star-girl," the grating voice of a Galra guard draws your attention, reminding you of what woke you up. The door to your cell is open, and two guards are holding a barely-conscious gladiator between them. The guard who just spoke grins, baring sharp, yellowing teeth, "You have a patient."
You frown and stand up, murmuring, "I thought...I thought that Myzax was fighting today." The two guards move to lay the patient down on the extra cot in your cell. You're a bit startled to see how...human he looks. The second guard grins in a way that makes your blood run cold and replies, "He was. This is our new Champion." You can't hide your shock, and the guards laugh as they leave the room, smiling at the nearly-unconscious man like he's their new favorite toy. Which, you realize, he is.
As the door to your cell slides shut, you waste no time in assessing the man's injuries. He groans as you gently lift his arm to examine a deep cut. "Shhh," you murmur without thinking, "It's okay. I'm going to help you."
"Where's...Matt..." his voice is weak, and in his injured state he's doing nothing to hide his worry.
"I'm sorry," you say, quietly, as you place your hands on the wound in his arm, "I don't know anyone named Matt. The guards hardly let me out of my cell."
"Who are you?" he struggles to keep his eyes open, "Are you human?"
"You need to rest." Your voice is gentle, but firm. He doesn't listen, though, trying to pull his arm away and frantically asking, "What are you doing to me?" You don't try to reach for his arm, instead letting your hands drop to your sides. "I'm just going to heal you," you murmur, quietly. This finally makes the man pause, and you hesitantly place your hands on his shoulders, easing him back onto the cot. This time, he doesn't resist, eyelids flickering as his body suffers the effects of his injuries and pushes him towards unconsciousness.
"Rest," you say, again, and this time his eyes stay closed.
***
When the Galra guards return, you're still healing the man's injuries. "I thought you were supposed to be fast," one sneers, and you shudder. You don't know if you'll ever get used to the sound of Galran voices.
"He had fractures throughout his entire arm, several lacerations, burn wounds from Myzax's laser, two broken ribs, and multiple contusions." You respond calmly. One thing you've learned in your time on Zarkon's ship has been to stay quiet, calm, and non-confrontational. In a way, it's similar to how possums play dead to avoid their pray. Something so dull, so passive, is no fun to mess around with.
The guard grunts.
"How long?"
You hesitate, wondering if you should risk lying or not. You usually do anything you can to avoid angering the Galra, but you can't remember the last time you've had a human near you. "Through the night," you respond, a slight waver in your voice, "He'll be healed by morning." The guard moves closer to you, slowly, and it takes all your self control to keep your hands placed calmly on the new Champion's hand, healing a hairline fracture in his thumb.
"That's a long time, Star-girl." The voice is so harsh, it's almost painful in your ears, especially with the close proximity of the guard. "Feel free to take him to a Galra medic." You respond, proud of how steady your voice is this time. You almost sound bored. The guard growls and turns away, opening your cell door. "Tomorrow morning," he says, stepping out with his partner and allowing the door to close behind him. You breathe a sigh of relief.
Your evening meal has already been delivered, so the guards really won't be returning to check on you until tomorrow morning. Although the man did have numerous injuries, your abilities are stronger than any of the Galra have yet guessed, and you can use that to your advantage. He should be fully healed in three hours, and could regain consciousness in as little as one. You'll probably have to take a break soon to eat, however, which will push the time back a bit. Still, if all goes well, you'll have at least a few hours to talk to the man, to ask him questions, to see if he knows any more about what's going on than you do. As the bones in his hand grow stronger and mend, you begin to feel dizzy. Once his arm is completely healed, you pull your hands away and go to the tray in the corner of your room.
You spoon the flavorless Galran mush--standard prisoner fare, although they've given you a generous double portion for the new Champion--into your mouth, but your headache only grows worse. You drop your spoon onto your tray and suck in a sharp breath as pain throbs in your temples, squeezing your eyes shut and gritting your teeth. This has happened before, and you know it will pass once you're rested, but you're still not used to the sharp pain. You press your fingers to your temple.
"Are you alright?" The voice startles you. It's deeper, richer, calmer than before. Completely different from the voices of the Galran guards. When you open your eyes, you see the man staring at you from his cot, sitting up slowly and wincing.
"I'm fine," you say, faintly, trying not to agitate the pounding in your skull, "I've just overexerted myself a bit. Give me a moment, please." He falls silent, and you breathe in and out purposefully until the ache subsides. When you open your eyes again, he's still staring at you.
"I'm okay, now." You stand up, carrying the tray over to the cot and pulling up your stool. He watches you cautiously, obviously unsure of what to think.
"You're a human." It's a statement, but you can hear the question behind his words. You shake your head, balancing the tray on your lap, and respond, "I am part human. But my mother was Ellythrian; a star-person." The man blinks, and you can see that he has no idea what you're talking about.
"Ellythrians believe that our people came from stars," you explain, "One night, eons ago, a great meteor flew through the sky and knocked some stars down onto a tiny planet, way out on the edges of the galaxy. The stars were injured in their fall, and called to their sisters for help. But to fall is the worst fate for a star; none of the sisters in the sky would come down. Finally, after years of suffering, broken, on an unfamiliar planet, a new star heard the calls and sacrificed her life in the sky to go down to Ellythria--that's the planet they fell on--and heal her sisters. The stars became mortal as their connection to the sky waned, and their children were mortal, and their children's children. But the ancestors of the healer star, who had sacrificed herself, continued to have the ability to heal." Telling the old legend has a soothing effect on you, and when you look up you see that it seems to be soothing the man, too. He no longer looks so agitated, and is listening intently. There is, however, a skeptical look in his features that he can't quite hide.
"Of course," you look down at your mush, trying to hide your embarrassment, "It's impossible to knock stars out of the sky with meteors. And there's no proof that stars are sentient, or ever have been. Yet, we know the legend must hold some truth, because there are people among us who have the power to heal any physical ailment of any living person, excepting themselves."
"So...when you said you were healing me," the man coaxes, and you reach out to place your hands on a small cut on the back of his hand. He watches in disbelief as it closes, new skin growing rapidly, until there's nothing left.
"Small injuries like this, they're the easiest," you explain, "But bigger injuries take a lot of energy. It's possible to overexert yourself. And we can't always make a body like new; sometimes there are scars left that we can't do anything about." You run your fingers gently over the scar tissue on his arm where the deep cut was that you first healed when you saw him. He gazes down at it, and you pull your hands away.
"Now, it's your turn," you say fervently, "I told the guards it would take me until morning to heal you, so we have until then--of course, you still have some injuries, so try not to move too much, I'll get to those--but tell me, where did you come from? How did you get here? Are there others like you?"
"My name is Takashi Shirogane," he says, still marveling at the new scar on his arm, "I...I was the pilot of a mission from Earth to Kerberos. I'm not exactly sure what happened, but I think we were abducted by...by..."
"Galrans," you nod, "Their leader is Zarkon. He's been ravaging the entire galaxy."
"Right," he looks like he wants to ask more questions, but keeps his focus, "See, on Earth, we didn't know aliens existed. They probably still don't know...um, anyway, I was with a man named Doctor Holt and his son, Matt, when we were taken. They said they were sending the doctor to a work camp, but Matt and I were going to be sent to fight some...beast. They called it Myzax. They were going to make Matt fight first, but--I couldn't....I couldn't watch...I grabbed the blade and injured him so that they'd send him to the work camp, as well, and I fought, instead."
You stare at him, shocked. You hardly leave your prison, but you've seen Myzax once before, when you were called to heal him. It was one of the most grotesque and frightening experiences of your life. You can't believe that anyone would be brave enough to sacrifice himself to that creature to save his friend...nor strong enough to win. An unfamiliar feeling stirs inside you, something warm and...hopeful.
"You said you were part human." Takashi Shirogane's voice interrupts your thoughts, "What did you mean by that, if you're from another planet?"
"Right," you murmur, "Um, well, we didn't know of the existence of humans on Ellythria until about a decade before I was born. A ship crashed on the outskirts of our planet--at first people thought more stars had fallen from the sky, because they looked so similar to us. But minuscule differences were revealed, and we soon realized that they were not Ellythrian--they called themselves 'humans'. We had been aware of a few other alien species, but never one so close to ours. Many claimed that the old legends were true, and stars had fallen onto another planet, somewhere far away in the galaxy. The humans had no memory of how they had arrived there, nor where they had come from. Nothing we did helped; the only clues to their origins were from strange memories of their homes, like certain foods or customs. We adopted the humans into our people, and some even intermarried. My father and mother were one of those couples--my father is human. However, as far as anyone could tell, his blood had no effect on the healer blood I inherited from my mother; if anything, it seemed that my abilities might be stronger, or at least different from her's in some way. We didn't have time to find out, though, before the Galrans arrived and conquered Ellythria."
"How old were you when you were taken prisoner?" Takashi asks.
"Seventeen."
"And how old are you now?"
"Nineteen."
He stares at you, horrified and pitying, "Two years? You've been captive here for two years?" You nod.
"Why do they keep you here?" He asks, "Don't they have other ways of healing people?" You chuckle humorlessly, nodding again, "Oh, certainly. But their medics and druids and technology are still far slower and more flawed than what I can do. I'm valuable." The word is bitter, in your mouth. You've heard it one too many times aboard this ship.
"There's got to be a way to escape--" He begins to stand, but cries out. His hand flies to his rib. Instinctively, you push him back onto the cot, then press your hands gently to his ribcage. "I'm so sorry," you say, chewing on your lip as you find the break, "I almost forgot that you needed more healing. Have you been in pain this whole time?"
"I'm fine," he says, clenching his fists until his knuckles turn white as your hands brush over the broken bone.
"I need to finish healing you, Takashi Shirogane," You begin to concentrate, letting energy flow from you and into the wound, "Escape is every prisoner's dream, but the most important thing to worry about right now is just surviving."
"I'll take your word for that," he says, gritting his teeth, "But I'm not going to give up."
You try not to smile. Hope only causes pain, in places like this. But something in his voice makes you want to believe him.
"And it's Shiro," he adds, "You can call me Shiro." This time, you don't try to stop yourself from smiling.