### Righteous Guild member Mr. Narwhal ### Aioi's Perspective “What? Mr. Narwhal turned down joining our crew for the deep-space patrol again?” “I mentioned it casually, but yeah, seems he wasn’t feeling it. Said something about the Diana crew not being his scene.” “Ugh... seriously? What’s with that?” The Orion Route was alive with the hum of trade season, a peak period for Guild members. Merchant fleets bustled from colony to colony, while freelancers scrambled for contracts to earn those all-important merit credits. Diana, my crew, specialized in escorting merchant heirs through dangerous sectors. With our team mostly women, we were popular for such jobs. But Mr. Narwhal? He wasn’t interested. Was it because we were all women? but Diana crew have one male member. Sounds like something he’d say, dismissing us with a sarcastic grin. I tried asking Receptionist Mirai at the guild’s control hub. No luck. “Did you really want him to join?” Mirai asked, raising a brow. “Well... yeah. ...

###Solo: A Narwhal Story The Guild outpost, once teeming with the chaos of fresh recruits—imagine a cargo hold of over-caffeinated glow-moths smashing into every console—had finally settled into something resembling order. Not peace, mind you. Out here on the edge of Lunatran Empire territory, “order” just meant the airlock wasn’t jammed with deserters, and the med-bay only had two rookies getting their stomachs pumped after eating “mystery meat” from a derelict. The ill-suited had slunk back to their home colonies, their dreams of glory snuffed out faster than a match in a solar storm. Take the Stellar Serenaders—a crew so convinced diplomacy worked in the void they tried to negotiate with a pack of marauders. Last I heard, their captain was selling algae-based haikus on a backwater moon. The void doesn’t care about your syllable count, kid. Then there were the reckless ones. The Lightning That Slays Stars (their hull decal read “Slays”—poetic, really) flared bright but brief. Their c...

###Space Rations and Sinking Dreams When the hydroponic harvest cycle ends, the prices of synthetic grains nosedive. Sounds great, right? Wrong. It just means the cost of nutrient paste and protein blocks goes down a tiny bit—not enough to celebrate. Honestly, it’s hard to be happy about any of it, considering the synthetic carbs in this sector are *terrible*. It’s not like I’m holding out for Earth rice because of some nostalgia from my mysterious knowledge of Old Earth. Martian bread? Centaurian flatbread? I’d gladly take those if they existed. But no. This sector is already a wasteland of entertainment—at least let me eat something decent. “So, these are the portable rations you made, Narwhal?” “Yeah. I call it the NarwhalBar Mark III.” “That’s... just a disgusting name.” “Maybe try something more appetizing?” “Also, it’s already falling apart before you even stick it in a nutrient processor.” “Hey, think about the person eating this while picturing your face.” The scene: a taste-te...

###Misunderstood Bathhouse Blues ###Yunikon's Perspective "...I want to go home." Hearing Narwhal's voice drift from the other side of the warm bath chamber door, I froze. I had only stopped by to put away the cleaning cloth, yet those words caught me off guard. Quietly, I stepped out of the changing area and closed the door behind me. A pang of guilt crept up my spine. Narwhal, you once said at the cantina that you weren't caught up in your past. That you didn't dwell on it. But it was a lie, wasn't it? A strong front to hide your vulnerability. You don't want anyone to know how much you miss your home. And yet, your homeworld... it's already gone. "Sigh... there I go, prying into someone else's life again." I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but now I couldn't unhear it. Of course, I'd never spread what I'd overheard, but pretending I didn't hear anything? That's not my style either. "If I could just cheer Narw...

###Nostalgic Soak "I caused trouble for everyone. It was because of my... inexperience and ignorance. I'm sorry." After we returned to the Spacer Guild and filed our mission report, Stella bowed her head slightly. Her full combat gear, which had been chilled to the bone during the planetary expedition, had finally stabilized to a comfortable temperature. She had already packed up, ready to head back home. ...Her expression when she saw the payment was priceless. Completely stunned. It was like she couldn’t decide between *"Do I really deserve this?"* and *"Wait, I’m actually getting the full amount?"* To be fair, this job was so tedious no one else would’ve touched it. The reward was officially calculated, sure, but it still stung a little, knowing how little it truly amounted to. Probably just enough for her to grab a low-gravity rest pod and sip on some synthetic nutrient broth. "I’ll... return home and talk with my family again. I need to think...

####The Cold, Hard Truth of Deserted Dreams When the mission began, Stella was on high alert, her hand resting near the control panel of her weaponry, eyes scanning for threats on Loki’s surface. Now, she’s barely holding herself together, struggling just to keep her focus. The notion of hostiles? It seems like she’s forgotten they even exist. Her suit’s holographic readouts, once pristine, now stutter and glitch with increasing frequency. The data streams ripple like fractured light, more erratic than any of ours. We gather at a makeshift outpost near Loki’s cratered equator. The auxiliary power cells we salvaged from the failed relay station barely keep the place running. The recreation deck’s dim ambient lights flicker weakly as we huddle together, ration packs in hand. Lunar, for reasons I can’t fathom, packed the most unappetizing dehydrated meals for this mission. Conversation is sparse, the silence weighed down by exhaustion and the planet's low, rumbling winds. Comfort? Non...

#### The Cold, Hard Truth Loki. A planet as deceptive as it was unique. Its environment resembled an arid desert at first glance, barren and golden under the faint glow of its twin stars. Yet, this desolate facade belied its true nature. Its air, inexplicably rich and breathable, put many terraformed worlds to shame. Most spacers opted to leave their breathing support systems off while exploring Loki—keeping them active here was simply wasteful. Still, the planet’s temperature betrayed expectations, turning bone-chillingly cold during its long winter cycles. Though I don’t often flaunt it, my exo-suit is custom-engineered. It might look like standard galactic exploration gear, but beneath its unassuming exterior lies advanced nano-thermal technology. The suit shields me from the cold’s relentless bite, ensuring warmth without the need for cumbersome life support modules. It’s a quiet luxury, one that I appreciated deeply as we prepared to disembark. But not everyone in the group enjoye...

###Warm Aspirations in Frozen Landscape You might say that for someone so adamantly opposed to it, I'm taking on a high-risk mission for the sake of a warm water bath.   And you'd be right. Absolutely, embarrassingly right. The risks and benefits are laughably uneven, and I’m well aware of how ridiculous this is. Laugh all you want—label me a foolish spacer, a desperate wanderer of the stars. I won't deny it.   But a warm water bath? That’s the kind of luxury I can’t replicate on my own, not even in my wildest daydreams.   If I were living in some utopian habitat pod near a pristine water source on a carefully terraformed planetoid—with no xeno predators lurking and infinite resources at my disposal—then maybe I could indulge in regular baths. But out here? In this cold, resource-starved corner of the galaxy? That’s fantasy on the level of ancient starlore.   Even the advanced systems of this sector fall short. There’s no techno-magic miracle prov...