Cody III, Chapter 13 Tara's arms wrapped around Cody's waist, her grip firm yet tender as she steered him through the narrow doorway onto the Bridge. The rhythmic hum of the ship surrounded them, a lullaby to Cody's battle-worn senses. She felt his weight shift unpredictably, a testament to the imbalance his body suffered from the missing horn. With each step, his knees buckled slightly, but she held him up, determined. She knew why he was like this, a walking slumber, not truly aware of anything around him. He had given some of his light, his essence, to the infant on the planet. It hadn’t been part of the plan, and if he’d asked Fang first, he would have been told not to. He was still too young to share his light without experiencing unpleasant side-effects, but in the typical Cody impulsiveness, he’d share his light, and a little bit too much. They reached the Captain's chair, its high back and deep seat an island of stability in the vastness of space. Tara eased Cody down into it. His body folded into the cushioning, his head tipping to the side where the horn once swept back over his head. He surrendered to sleep, breaths evening out, chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm. Tara straightened, her gaze finding Whiskers. His earthen light flickered, casting soft shadows across his massive form. Frustration knitted her brows together as she sought his help without words. "Can't you do something?" Her voice broke the silence, barely more than a whisper. "He ran into a wall three times on his way up to the Bridge." Whiskers' presence held a gravity that seemed to stretch beyond the confines of the room. He loomed, silent, contemplating the First Son's slumbering form. His eyes, pools of ancient wisdom, met Tara's. There was a depth to his gaze, an unspoken understanding of the pains and trials that leadership demanded, even of one so young. Whiskers extended a tendril of light, luminescent and gentle, toward the slumbering figure in the Captain's chair. It shimmered with a subtle earthen hue, reaching out like a caring hand poised to soothe. The light wavered, quivering inches from Cody's temple, where his horn used to balance his ethereal crown. "Don't you dare," Fang's voice cut through the hushed atmosphere, sharp and unyielding. Whiskers' tendril recoiled as if singed by invisible flames. His massive frame stilled, the glow around him dimming in resignation. Fang towered beside them, emerald light pulsating with authority. "His burdens are his own," Fang said, eyes locked onto Cody's peaceful face. "We cannot lift them." Tara's fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms. Her gaze sharpened, fixated on Fang with the precision of a laser. "Why won't you let Whiskers help him?" she demanded. Her voice held steel, tempered with the heat of her concern. "Intervention is forbidden," Fang replied curtly. His emerald light flickered, a visual echo of his rigid stance. "The path he walks, he must walk alone." "But look at him!" Tara's hand gestured towards Cody, her palm opening like a flower pleading for rain. "He needs us." Fang remained unmoved, a monolith against her plea. His eyes never left Cody's face, but it was clear - his decision was final. "His sacrifices have shaped our fates," Fang intoned, voice resonant and unyielding. He stood sentinel, an anchor in the tempest of uncertainty that surrounded them. Tara folded her arms, the sharp lines of her silhouette betraying her frustration. She watched as Fang's gaze never wavered from the First Son of Ara, his posture rigid, a statue carved from duty and honor. "He gave half his light," Fang continued, "and a horn offered to bridge worlds. Not just flesh and power, but symbols of his resolve." Cody lay oblivious to the gravity of the exchange, the rise and fall of his breath the only testament to life amidst talk of sacrifice and consequence. Fang's light flared briefly, casting stark shadows across the Bridge. "Each act, a thread woven into the tapestry of peace." Fang's words hung heavy in the charged atmosphere. "To undo what has been done... would unravel all." Tara's eyes narrowed, her jaw set against the bitter pill of truth. Fang's stance left no room for compromise, the future of Ara etched in the lines of his face. "Then all we can do is wait," she said, her voice low and unconvinced. "Indeed, we wait," Fang agreed, his light softening ever so slightly. "For him, for Ara—for the legacy he has crafted with his own hands." Silence settled over them, a pact sealed in the quiet understanding that the path they walked was lined with both glory and sacrifice. Two-tails hovered, his form less defined than the others but no less present. "Tara, in the eyes of the Ara, Cody has become legend," he said, voice echoing as if from a deep cavern. His words seemed to reverberate around the Bridge. "A hero greater than any other hero in Ara history." Two-tails paused, his glow pulsing softly. "The First Light disappeared ten months ago, and the Throne of Light can only be vacant for one year before the heir must ascend the throne." His twin tails spun slowly, casting a dance of shadows on the walls. "Cody doesn’t have many, if any, that could challenge him, but any misstep would weaken Cody’s position, and then we could be facing civil war." Tara clenched her fists, preparing to protest Cody's imbalance, to demand action. Before she could speak, Whiskers acted. He surged forward, his glow dimming with focused intent. In one swift motion, Whiskers grabbed Tara, pulling her clear from Cody's side just as Fang's tendril ignited. Fang's light burned red, intense and crackling with energy. The sound split the air—a sharp crack like lightning striking stone. The red tendril lashed out, swift and precise. It sliced through Cody's remaining horn. Time seemed to slow, the severed horn beginning its descent towards the cold metal floor, ethereal dust trailing behind like stardust. Two-tails moved with a speed that belied his usually calm demeanor. He darted forward, snatching the horn from its inevitable fate. He cradled it close, the fallen piece of a mighty being now a relic in his careful grasp. Tara's breath hitched, the air caught in her throat as she witnessed the severing of more than just a physical appendage—it was a symbol of Cody's sacrifices, of his connection to both human and Ara worlds. The cut was clean, clinical, yet the implications were anything but. Horror etched every feature of Tara's face as she stared at the horn in Two-tails' embrace. "What have you done?" Her voice, usually melodic and composed, broke with disbelief. Fang's emerald glow did not waver, his stature as resolute as his purpose. "His balance has been restored, that much I can do," he stated matter-of-factly, an edge to his voice that brooked no argument. "The horns will grow back evenly within a year." Tara's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, a storm brewing behind her luminescent gaze. Fang turned from her, addressing the guardian cradling the severed horn. "Take his horn and get on a ship back to Ara," he commanded. His light flickered with urgency. "Place the horn on the Throne of Light; it will act as a deterrent." Two-tails nodded, his body language solemn. The horn, once proud upon Cody's head, now seemed small and fragile in his grasp. Fang continued, "I will gather our most loyal brothers and defend the Throne until you arrive." Authority resonated within each syllable, leaving no room for hesitation or doubt. The corridor swallowed Two-tails, the echo of his urgent footsteps fading into silence. The severed horn, a symbol of sacrifice and strength, rested against his chest like a fragile relic, its luminescence dimming with each passing moment. “Did you just fib to me?” asked Tara. “You didn’t cut his horn off to restore balance, you had another plan.” Tara's hand twitched, fingers coiling into a fist. The urge to intervene surged within her, a tidal wave of protest against Fang's unilateral decisions. Her breath caught, ready to unleash a barrage of words, to claim the right that was Cody's by birth and blood. Fang glanced at Tara. “Two birds, one stone.” Dr. Amelia Branson, Cody’s mother, stood framed in the doorway, a figure of quiet strength, her red hair like a banner of resolve. "Tara, leave it be and help me get Cody back to his bed," she said, her voice steady and calm. “I was aware of their plan to sever his second horn.” Fang's aura pulsed, a silent assertion of his belief in his own actions. Tara turned, her gaze lingering on Cody's slumbering form, the stark symmetry of his face now altered by Fang's swift judgement. “None of this should be happening,” Tara said, her frustration rising. "Tara, we are too intertwined with the Ara to stop it now. Our King is missing or dead, and his heir incapacitated," Amelia continued, stepping into the room, the blue of her eyes reflecting a certainty that seemed to be woven from the very fabric of their situation. “If the wrong person ascends the throne, we either flee into exile, or worse, find ourselves in a dungeon somewhere. Now, let Fang do his job.” Tara exhaled, the fight draining from her as she approached Cody. She reached out, her hands gentle but firm as they cradled him, supporting his weight as they moved him with practiced ease. His head nestled against her shoulder, and she could feel the faint warmth of his light, subdued yet persistent, a whispered promise of recovery. Amelia's hand brushed hers, a wordless thank you mingling with an unspoken acknowledgement of the gravity of their task. Together, they laid Cody upon his bed, the silken sheets a stark contrast to the starkness of the medical equipment that hovered nearby. Tara's fingers trembled as she reached for Cody, her touch hesitant against his cool skin. The weight of his head rested in the crook of her arm, a silent testament to his vulnerability. She steadied her breath, willing her racing heart to calm as Amelia's words filled the room. “But…” Her protest was feeble, the beginnings of a battle cry stifled by uncertainty and dread. “Tara, we are almost out of time," Amelia cut in, urgency lacing her voice like threads of steel. "I fear the First Light is lost to us." Her hand, a gentle force, guided Tara's in adjusting Cody's position on the bed, their movements synced in a dance of necessity. Fang must act now if he is to save Cody." Amelia's eyes locked with Tara's, conveying the gravity of their plight. The air shifted, charged with an unspoken command. “The peace of Ara depends on it.” A weight settled on Tara's shoulders, heavier than the burden of Cody's slumbering form. With a nod, she silenced her objections, her resolve hardening like crystal. Her hands moved with purpose, tucking the sheets around Cody, a makeshift cocoon against the chaos threatening to unravel their world. Cody lay motionless, his breathing even, blissfully ignorant of the loss. His now-symmetrical profile, once graced by twin horns, mirrored a serenity that the room did not share. *** Tara spent the ensuing days between sitting at Cody’s side, and sifting through the papers he had printed a week ago, her fingers dancing over the edges of brochures and pamphlets. Each leaflet whispered against another as she searched for patterns, connections that might reveal the clue they needed to save Cody's future. The cabin lights hummed faintly overhead, casting a soft glow on the scattered documents. It was there amidst the steady stream of people coming and going from the galley that they discovered the break they needed. "Look at this," Sam said, straightening from where he had been rummaging through a pile of discarded materials. He extended a brochure towards her. "Already seen it," Tara replied without glancing up, "chess tournament on Ceres for rich people with too much money." Sam insisted, tapping the paper emphatically. His eyes, normally so calm, sparked with excitement. "Draco Lucis. That's our lead." Tara paused, finally meeting his gaze. She took the brochure, her fingers brushing against his. The image of the domed amphitheater shimmered under the cabin lighting, grand and opulent. "Dragon of Light," she murmured, the pieces of the puzzle sliding into place in her mind. "Where else would you stage a cosmic chess match?" Sam added, his voice low but sure. "Right," Tara breathed out, a wry smile crossing her lips. She glanced back at Cody, still and quiet on his bed, then stood up decisively. "But how do we get in?" “Perhaps your Uncle Max might have an idea?” Tara immediately placed a call on the video comm to her Uncle’s ship in orbit. She smiled as his face lit up. "Ah, Tara, my Little Star! To what do I owe the pleasure of a call first thing in the morning?" His voice was warm, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening with genuine affection. "Uncle Max, we need access to Draco Lucis. On Ceres." She cut right to the chase; pleasantries could wait when Cody's future hung in the balance. Captain Archer raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Do you now? That’s not exactly an open bazaar, my dear." "Can you help us?" There was a pause, a calculating silence as Captain Archer studied her face. “As it so happens, I own a docking berth and Box Suite at the amphitheater. I’ll contact them that you are in route.” "Thank you, Uncle Max. We owe you one," Tara said, relief washing over her like a cleansing tide. "Be careful, Tara," he cautioned, the playful twinkle in his eye replaced by a stern intensity. "Draco Lucis is no ordinary venue, and the games played there are far from child's play." "We will be," she promised, disconnecting the call. She looked to Fang watching her from the doorway, determination etched into every line of her face. They had their way in. Fang watched from the room's threshold, his presence a silent sentinel. "Launch preparations for Ceres?" he asked. "Immediately," she commanded. Behind her, Sam nodded, his scholarly demeanor replaced by the steely resolve of continuing their search for the First Light. This would be their last chance before having to return to Ara. "As you wish, Princess," Fang intoned, bowing in a manner that rippled through the air like a wave. A triumphant grin spread across Tara's face. "Darn straight! It's about time someone recognizes I’m a princess," she said, her voice carrying the strength of her conviction.