Little Ghost and Echo Latern 3D Render, Digital Artwork by emarukk

! REPORT

Little Ghost and Echo Latern

3D Render by emarukk

The heat of Valeria-Gate bore down on Kaira's skin like the breath of a dying deity. Every step she took sounded too loud, too intentional; the soft slap of dusty shoes on scorching metal walkways resounded in her head far more than in the plaza. She moved from the silent walkways into a shaded alcove, then back, her body swaying with practiced grace. Yet, her motions felt stiff, overly rehearsed.

"Echo lantern, Little Ghost, Lantern in the dark, bearer of echoes.
Little Ghost awaits a flame." She quietly sang these words while simultaneously projecting her song through ghost talk, making it clearly audible to anyone listening. Her verses blended with the booming disco music behind her as if composed to merge with the rhythmic beat.

But beneath her song, her voice trembled with anxiety. Every pivot of her hips revealed the tension coiled in her spine. Her breathing was shallow against the low hum of refinery towers that carried the scents of burning gas and brine, mingling with the loud disco music and laughter. Repeatedly, she adjusted the translucent fabric of her skirt, her fingers lightly touching the gauzy cloth in a vain attempt to steady her nerves. Beneath her skin, a shimmer pulsed erratically in tune with her racing heartbeat.

She stole a cautious glance toward the mercenaries, whose laughter cut sharply and whose calculating eyes left her exposed, each gaze like a knife on her bare skin. Still, she circled on, waiting for a signal that never arrived, caught between the performance and the panic amid the heavy, polluted air laden with refinery exhaust and sea rot. Every micro-flare of color beneath her dermal layers seemed to plead for a reprieve, to quiet down under the strain of her nerves, but it wouldn't. Her body betrayed her, the soft pinks and lilacs beneath her skin pulsing too rapidly against the backdrop of rust-stained steel. Her outfit, nearly ceremonial in its revealing nature, offered no refuge for her fear; it echoed ancient Qiyan traditions, a sheer skirt of translucent cloth that hinted at grace but failed to conceal her terror. What was meant to be a display of artful shimmer beneath her skin had become an unmissable, involuntary distress signal.

Meanwhile, the broker danced with careless energy, spinning the thrall girl like a plaything, oblivious to the imminent storm approaching. His heavy refrigerator armor caught the sparse light in a dull yet imposing manner, and his heavy rifle leaned casually against the old, rusted barrel. The sound box boomed dance music on the same barrel, competing with ambient noises. Kaira observed his every movement while mentally marking the distances between herself and the mercs. Her eye implant flickered as it cross-referenced escape routes, crowd densities, and the looping patterns of security drones.

Her skin flushed an even deeper shade of red, a color too intense, as she struggled to maintain control. It was reminiscent of intense pleasure, but this wasn't pleasure. It was something entirely else; it was pure primal fear that surfaced.

She shifted her weight nervously, scanning the upper levels in search of something, hoping to sense their presence as a Qiyan typically could amidst a crowd's energy. But fear was overthrowing her training, and it was her most superficial feeling. Kaira was Qiyan, trained for beauty and sensuality. She never accepted the cold training of the Unit, and she never got used to the slowly dragging moments before chaos broke loose like Ragnarok's fury.

Then she spotted them, emerging from the higher ground. Two figures, clad in dark power armor, walked above, their matte armor interrupted only by the faint gleam of large-caliber handguns—hull-poppers, kinetic weapons never meant for use inside ships. They blended seamlessly with the chaos of the upper plaza, like predators lurking in the shadows, just about to expose themselves to the prey they desired. Their eyes were locked to the target. Data broker. She stared at them, and she knew they were Ragnarok.

In that moment, Kaira failed to mask her fear. Her shimmer intensified into a vivid scarlet flare, her implanted eye pulsing the same alarming hue, unintentionally signaling anyone watching. Observing her hasty movements, one of the merch knew immediately what her augmentations' sudden change in color meant. Her cover was blown, her nerves unraveling all their plans.

She braced for the worst, anticipating gunfire from the mercenaries as a woman warned others through voiceless ghost talk. The broker turned with a sneer, reaching for his weapon. But the first shot wasn't theirs; it came from above. The broker's head jerked back, his armor shuddering as he collapsed like a puppet with its strings severed.

Chaos erupted before she could fully comprehend it. A deafening boom tore through the air before the explosion of a gas tank followed, shaking the plaza platform and sending fire and debris flying all around. Before she could react, tungsten rounds peppered the area, striking metal walkways and tearing through walls, whizzing past her like a heavy summer hailstorm after scorching heat. Kaira couldn't discern the source of the shots, only the metallic clatter and the scream of ricochets slicing the air. The plaza transformed into a tempest of fire, rain, and smoke. Above it all, the roar of a freighter's landing boosters thundered, the ship descending swiftly, its bulk churning the air into eddies of dust and heat. The ground beneath her feet shook as the ship descended like a hammer through the haze, driving the atmosphere into turmoil. The air was thick with dust, smoke, screams, and the echoes of explosions, every breath tasting of ash. Her skin flared again, involuntarily, reflexive pulses of orange and yellow panic as dust enveloped the air.

She wasn't aware she was being moved, but then she realized how strong arms lifted her. The soldier's grip was firm and steady, grounding her amidst her trembling.

"I've got you, little ghost; this is Echo Lantern," he murmured, his voice low and rough as he dragged her through the smoke.

Kaira let out a yelp and caught sight of a man in a navy hat, puffing on a thick, old-fashioned cigar despite looking young for that habit. Targeting implants gleamed over his eyes as he scanned the surroundings with practice like he had done this scenario tens of times before this day. He appeared steady, yet Kaira sensed his underlying fear. Heavy rounds rained down around them, shattering the air with loud explosions.

Kaira's breathing was ragged, her eyes wide with terror. She barely noticed two soldiers following them, rushing to the site and hauling away the broker's body. Her world narrowed to the rhythm of the soldiers' boots on scorched steel, the groaning hiss of a freighter settling low, and the ramp opening wide like a mouth to swallow them.

Every instinct screamed at Kaira to flee, to break free from the soldier's hold, but her body wouldn't respond. She allowed herself to be carried; somehow, it felt safe. They vanished into the belly of the roaring craft, everything behind them erupting in chaos. The ship ascended swiftly, and Kaira felt the forces pressing her against the soldier's chest as the freighter surged upward. The sensation was dizzying, the weight pinning her down, the vibrations of the engines thrumming through the hollow cargo hold like a living entity. The soldier's grip remained tight, one arm secured around her waist, while the other held fast to a handrail welded to the bulkhead. There was no time for seating, no time for safety harnesses. Kaira felt the movement trying to toss them around, but the soldier stayed grounded, crouched on the deck, holding her with one hand while keeping them steady with the other. His gravity boots screamed while they fought against the forces of nature, and his power glove shook. Yet he held her gently like she was a delicate flower.

The freighter's boosters roared in her ears, echoing off the walls, a constant drumbeat of power that blurred her senses. The air in the cargo hold tasted of smoke and metal, each breath shallow beneath the drone of their escape. Kaira clung to the soldier's armor, feeling the heat of battle fading, her shimmer softening with each pulse.

Safe, for the moment. Her mission was over.

PROFILE

Digital Drapery CoWed, Apr 23

Karma: 6,755

Some characters walk into a scene. Kaira flares into one. Like a mood ring with PTSD and a mission objective, she's over here trying to balance espionage, choreography, and a full sensory meltdown while surrounded by a disco inferno and men who think loud laughter is a personality trait.

You've got refinery smoke, bass drops, and the ghost of every bad decision clinging to her sheer skirt like static. And in the middle of that, she's serving nervous system on fire while everyone else is vibing like they're waiting on appetizers.

Then boom-enter the black-clad bringers of Ragnarok, and suddenly it's less "suspenseful infiltration" and more "welcome to the fireworks finale of your anxiety." And what's her body do? It lights up like a busted neon sign in a rainstorm. Subtlety? Never heard of her.

And just when it's all going sideways, a man with gravity boots and plot armor scoops her up like she's the prize in a claw machine. No dramatic music needed. His line? Cool, understated, makes you wonder if he moonlights in poetry or just practices being unforgettable.

This wasn't a rescue. This was a full-on space opera extraction with extra seasoning. It read like Blade Runner got caught in a fever dream about betrayal, beauty, and battle logistics.

So yeah-Little Ghost and Echo Lantern doesn't just tell a story. It leaves burn marks in your imagination.

! REPORT

PROFILE

emarukk

Karma: 2,210

Sun, Apr 27

Whisper low, the lantern calls,
in darkened halls where secrets creep,
Little Ghost drifts soft as silk,
her hollow heart too full to weep.

She listens where the laughter lives,
in men who drink to drown their sins.
She dances close, collects their words,
each promise thin, each lie worn thin.

Her lantern waits with patient flame,
its echo dim beneath her skin.
She hums for it, a tender thing,
and draws it ever deeper in:

Echo Lantern, Little Ghost,
softly now, the hour's near.
I have found what stirs your flame,
the vault of flesh, the bone of fear.

Her voice, a thread of fragrant smoke,
entwines the dark, seduces night.
A fragile song, so sweet, so slight—
but underneath, the steel ignites.

Echo Lantern, Little Ghost,
come with fury dressed in light.
Bring the end the stories crave,
and fold your ghost in sleep so tight.

Her eyelids close, a lover’s feint,
her lips still warm, her hands still grace,
but in her chest, the storm coils sharp—
a blade beneath a velvet face.

And when the Echo comes at last,
with boots that hush the screaming floor,
he finds her waiting, soft and still—
a siren in the art of war.

PROFILE

Digital Drapery Co

Karma: 6,755

Sun, Apr 27

Whisper close, your lantern's light,
But know the shadows hunger deep,
For in the dark, where none dare tread,
A beast resides, its claws to keep.

You speak of ghosts, of twisted tales,
Of promises that break and bend,
But there are shadows far more cruel,
Ones that linger, never end.

Your echo calls, a distant cry,
A flame that dances in the night,
But what you seek will leave you cold,
For shadows never seek the light.

The lantern’s glow, it flickers thin,
A whisper lost beneath the skin.
She’s not the one you should beware —
It’s those who move without a prayer.

The vault of flesh, the bone of fear,
It’s not the ghost you ought to fear.
It's what’s behind the veil, unseen —
A shadow hungry, cold, and keen.

So dance, my poet, play your part,
But know that in the quiet dark,
The ones who haunt the silent halls
Are never those who heed the calls.