MOTHER

“Happy Birthday, my dear Elara, Happy Birthday to you!”

Mom sings the song completely off-key, with Dad giving her the tightest hug, her face almost fully engulfed by his arms. Elara is overwhelmed with joy, smiling with her teeth in full view as Mom takes photos, Dad’s booming laughter enveloping the room, the flickering light from the candles on the cake, displaying the number 8 prominently, bathing her in a warm yellow embrace.

The living room smells of melting wax and a plethora of aromas from countless sweets, candies, and savoury treats, overwhelming the senses. Across the table, her little brother laughs uncontrollably, watching his sister in full embrace, and throws a napkin paper plane at her. Her mom now rushes in and hugs her, pulling her even tighter.

“Make a wish, my love,” her mother whispers. Elara gazes intently into her eyes, feeling her warm breath on her cheek. The rest of the family start clapping, smiling wildly, singing once more.

She blows on the candles. The flame flickers, moving rapidly back, and the world suddenly shatters into blue.

The scent of food, the warmth of the candles, the light breeze swaying the curtains slowly, and the embraces are gone. It is replaced by the sharp smell of damp soil, rotting moss, and the slight drizzle tapping gently on the body, creating puddles around Elara.

Elara gasps, convulses, inhaling the cold, brittle air, snapping from the golden light and the gentle winds in the dining room to the twilight in a mutated, lush green, untamed forest with gargantuan trees surrounding her. Elara is sitting on her knees on overgrown, deep dark green plants and shrubbery. Bioluminescent moss grows thick and voluptuously up the tree trunks, illuminating her surroundings in a subtle green-gold colour. Elara’s crystal-jagged lattice, her biological markings etched into her neck and collarbones, glows a subtle blue. She slumps to her left side on the forest wet floor, raises a hand to her face, feeling the cold, metallic implants fused to her jaw, eyes and head. She hears the clank and grind of her implants, readjusting to her position.

The biomechanical umbilical cable, thick as a forest vine, pulsing, synchronised to the rhythm of her markings. It remains securely connected to the back of her head, in her cortex.

She slowly gets up and reorients her body to her original kneeling position. She looks around the clearing, and nine others sit in the mud in a perfect, silent semi-circle, their cortices also connected to the umbilical cables. They are all slumped forward, eyes rolling in a quiet trance, drooling as they experience visions. At the centre of the connected cables stands MOTHER, a towering, black monolithic mainframe from the Old World, humming in a low, deep vibration. An ancient server, rusted, overgrown with vines engulfing it, absorbing the light with little to no reflection. In the distance, vehicles hover, parked neatly together in various shapes and sizes, some of the spacecraft still running, their Blue Shardian gravity inversion drives preparing for sub-light flight.

“Are you OK?” A rough voice breaks through the dripping monotony of the forest.

Elara looks away gently from the mainframe and sees another person standing over a dilapidated, centuries-old terminal, with features and garments similar to hers. It’s Adoman. He looks concerned, a green glow illuminating the lines of his face from the terminal.

Pale, angular jawlines define their faces, and they wear enveloping, pitch-black hydrophobic tactical garments with the same dark red insignia on their backs and the sides of their shoulders, tight matte fabrics suited for combat, fitted with magnetic holsters for their energy weapons.

Adoman’s cranial implants join to his jaw and down his neck, reflecting the sheen from the monitor, his crystal lattice red, subtle and opaque on his neck and down his right arm.

“It was my birthday. I was