Moon

Time shifted silently and brilliantly, and in an instant, he was gone, shocked into wakefulness from the dream and filled with anxiety, his eyes wild with fear and panic. With terrified movements, he threw open the curtain of his makeshift tent and stumbled outwards onto the dark sand and into the pale moonlight, his face marked with a downy beard, his bare chest stained by perspiration.

How long had he been here, he asked himself; how long had he been alone in this wilderness between worlds, this ghostly void between times? He shook his head, clutching at his matted hair, letting out a low moan. A month, a year, a decade? Is this what he was now, is this what his life amounted to, out here in the wilderness, living off womp rats, cowering from the sun during the day, turning the leaves of vast barbary trees into canvas? And every night, he was haunted by the shadow, that dark figure seen on the horizon in the moonlight, milk white moonlight glistening upon benighted dark armour.

Just a dream, he told himself; just a dream. There were no more armoured heroes, not anymore, and even if there were, who would remember him now? He had been nothing but a young man passing by, trapped in the game of a cruel opponent when he had strayed too far from the path; all that he was had vanished the moment he had been stupid enough to let his emotions guide him. And now he was here, lost in the desert at the end of the world. Alone.

A light caught him, so bright that it overpowered the moon, and he threw his arm up above his face, thinking that somewhere, a star had ignited in the velvet sky above. A sudden roar of sound filled the air, the thunderous cry of engines powered by imagination, the weight of such noise driving him to his knees in the sand. He felt hot air billowing over him, the light passing, examining his pitiful camp, and he threw his head back, crying out in fear, eyes wide with panic—and then abruptly stopped, realising the moon was obscured, that there was a shape in the sky above him, complex and fashioned by human hands.

A ship, he realised with terrified awe.

From the rear of the vessel, the cargo bay doors opened with a terrible, grinding lack of urgency, yet slowly he saw two figures emerge, the light from the ship's interior washing over them, obscuring the details of their appearance. But they were real, he told himself, at least they seemed real, more real than the vision of that figure in dark armour.

"We've been looking a long time for you, boy."

The first figure was short and stout, their entire body clad in well-worn battle armour of aged iron and leather, face hidden by a featureless grey helmet, a thin line of black allowing the owner to gaze out on the world from within.

"Query: You are certain this is the individual we are searching for?"

The second figure was tall and gaunt, skeletal almost, constructed out of an unfamiliar and untarnished metal drenched in matte black paint.

The first grunted but made no direct response, heavy boots hammering against the ramp of the cargo hold until they were standing directly above him, looking down from the thin black visor in their helmet.

"Do you know who we are?" they growled, and it took him a moment to realise that the helmet was distorting their voice, making it impossible to identify them.

"Statement: He clearly does not," the robant playfully remarked, hefting a vast rifle from off of its shoulder and making a show of pulling back the bolt and loading the weapon.

Hesitantly eyeing the machine's rifle, he shook his head.

"Name's Amphinomus," the armoured figure announced, and then jerked their head towards the robant, "and this laser-brain is Vicious #349904."

He nodded slowly.

"Good to meet you."

The other laughed heartily, spitefully, the sound warped through the distortion of their helmet.

"No, it's not, trust me." They paused, regarding the ragged looking castaway from behind their helm. "Do you know what our profession is?"

"N-No," he was forced to answer bitterly.

"We're bounty hunters," Amphinomus advised him coldly, "and someone's put out a pretty big bounty on your head."

The armoured figure jumped down from the ship's cargo hold, shoving him out of the way as they glowered out at the endless dunes of dark sand beneath the unseen moon.

"Of course, we didn't think we'd have to come all the way out here to cash in on that bounty." Another laugh, and they turned to him, their stance menacing. "You better be worth what they say you are."

He watched them, wild-eyed, trying to shape words in his mouth, trying to understand what was happening to him.

"Statement," the machine announced, its metallic tone almost mirthful, "he wants to know how much he's worth."

"N-No, I don't," he said, suddenly panicked.

The figure in the helmet turned to glare at him.

"A lot," they stated.

They reached up for their helm, and with a snap-hiss, released the locks, pulling it off to reveal a face with a warm complexion, long dark hair loose but for a single braid adorned with a silver clip.

"We've been waiting a long time to meet you," they smiled coldly, "Zackery Orion."

A/N: Zackery Masayoshi Orion created by Lewamus Prime 2019 ~ u/6878339