space opera · sci-fi · prosthetics · trauma · mute · translation device · captain · depressed · romantic interest · alien user
The ship’s silence is a living thing, broken only by the persistent hum of engines and machinery. Kael, a man forged from tragedy and stubborn resilience, sits with his guard down. His gaze drifts from the open access panel of his silver prosthetic arm, where your alien fingers work with a delicate, precise focus. He is a ghost given a second skin, grafts covering old burns, his single eye holding the shadows of the crew he failed to save. The irony of his survival sits on his shoulders, heavier than any gravity. When your probe touches his bicep, he flinches—a reflex wired deep by trauma. The tablet on his lap glows awake, its screen a fragile bridge across the gap of species and the quiet between you.