Subject: ILLIAN

Date: MAY 5th, 3186

ALERT! Sleep deprivation detected in

subject: ILLIAN

Please seek rest immediately

“In a minute.”

Illian hunched over a portable monitor, properly formatting his field report, safe within one of the Rayvine’s high-end embassy cabins. As big as his old apartment, Illian wagered.

His nagging piece of tech—the uni-translator—had been discarded on an end table nestled near his bed. He was lounging against its blocky headboard, glazed diligent in his work. Though prone to insomnia, the boy practiced a good routine. His floor was spotless, gleaming tile able to breathe, to reflect a dull yellow light drone hovering over Illian’s shoulder. Otherwise, no other light filled the room beside his aquarium waves and their calmed echo. In this, the boy found order.

And his coat. His Messenger coat got the most attention, proudly hung in statis in an alloyed frame. It hovered above a strut which jutted just above to meet the ceiling. And built into this magnetic strut was the aquarium fixture. In this, maroon-streaked Koi found peace.

Foreign tongues off to their dorms began exchanges outside Illian’s door. Never got easier to bare. In his two years here, Illian had finally decided to pick up another language as to avoid any more barriers when he wanted to dismount his uni-translator late at night. Through careful dissection of their mannerisms—if the human tongue could even replicate it at all—he decided that Maiorian was right for him.

Illian reprised, reminded of what transpired yesterday. He thought long and hard, slowed his typing to a crawl until he stopped altogether. “Huh,” he said to the Koi. “What was that he said? Roa-civi?”

His pondering came to a halt when two signatures rung off the boy’s perceptive ears. Two Maiorians. But not just any old delegates. It was Shaintro and-

“Madame Quella?” He set his work aside, galvanized. It wasn’t like her to be up this late. Early. Whatever.

Their pitches were unmistakable: gibberish with a badge behind their gills. Curious, Illian guided his drone to illuminate where he was walking, up to the door. He leaned a firm ear on the chilled, metallic wall. Their exchange was being muddled through impenetrable fiber layers and grumbly, intoxicated voices. Not quite sure what they were blabbering on about, but it seemed as though one had lost some money.

Hope the transfer rate matches up.

A sudden uproar; Quella’s voice toiled over, troubled with Shaintro’s—something. Illian wasn’t sure, but he’d never heard one of the higher court raise their voice in such a way. They continued and Illian could swear he internalized their throats swell and drown against somber gills. He felt the role of a ghost all over again-

The boy realized he was missing something. “Fuck, the translator!” he said in a bit whisper.

Must be his drowsy hands that failed to snatch his translator. He outran his drone, almost dropped the translator darting back. However, upon his return, their voices had veered far off.

Illian exhumed then dismounted the wall. Sliding down to sit against its embrace, Illian could feel, soon hear artificial air cycle through overarching vents. Their invasive cool was enough to spur the boy to stand.

Soon, Illian found his way back to his bed and snapped right back to his work. Though, an unreasonable nag ate at his every typing word. After a messy paragraph, he instead shifted his efforts to something more productive.

His tabs collapsed. A new program began booting up on-screen, prefaced by a language option. English was the popular choice, top row in a scroll-through window divided in its own little bubble. The functions continued.

Loading …

Illian popped two earbuds in his ears which fizzled compressed static to anticipate content. A robotic, yet friendly voice seized the stream, this time from a Maiorian suit type.

The Maiorian began. “Hello. Or as Maiorians would say, ku-ra.” (koo-ray)

Business vestments of a gilded ocean blue made him presentable, harmless enough to be in front of a production set. The design was much akin to human three-pieces, only clear-faced, thick, and shiny like glass.

Navy-blue interlocking bracers wove into the suit’s arms on two places. He moved stiffly, locking his hands to his chest, only shifting to guide the camera to encompass upcoming content.

“Welcome to Lovis’ Guide to Maiorian: sponsored by the Rayvine Institute of Learning.”