(GTSGIR) Ch 6: The Promise Long Ago!

The flickering light from the screen painted their faces in soft pulses of color—green, then red, then white. The old projector clattered from the corner of the room, cycling film through its stubborn reels. The room was dim, cozy, and smelled faintly of warm blankets and microwave popcorn.

Arabella curled up tighter beside him on the oversized couch, her knees pulled to her chest, her silken black pajamas brushing against his arm. Her wild white hair was a fluffy mess that stuck out at angles, some strands frizzed with static from the pillow behind her.

She was small then—barely the height of his chest, even when she stood on her tiptoes.

Now she was clinging to his side like a terrified kitten, eyes wide and glossy, watching some ancient horror film from Earth's vaults. The kind with grainy film, practical monster suits, and screams that sounded just real enough to get under your skin.

And when the grotesque creature lunged out from behind a bloodstained door on the screen—

"Aaaah!" Arabella shrieked, wrapping both arms around Gunner's thick bicep. "Daddy!! I'm scared!!" she whimpered in a soft, girlish voice, burying her face into his sleeve.

Gunner chuckled, setting down his soda can with a metallic clink.

"I got you, sweetheart," he said, wrapping one strong arm around her shoulder. "You don't have to be scared. I'll always be here to protect you."

Arabella peeked up at him with teary eyes and a trembling pout.

"I know," she whispered, snuggling closer. "That's why you're the best."

Gunner chuckled again, pulling her into a little side hug and ruffling her hair gently. Her hair crackled under his hand.

"Well," he said, settling back against the couch, "I just hope you'll do the same for your sisters someday."

Arabella's head tilted up. Her eyes were wide, still a little wet from the scare, but calm now. Soft.

"Of course," she said. "I love my sisters."

Gunner nodded, his face turning thoughtful as he looked at the screen—though the movie was now forgotten in his mind. His voice dropped just a little.

"And I hope..." he said slowly, "that no matter what path you choose, Bella... you'll protect the ones who can't protect themselves. That's important."

Arabella went still for a moment.

She blinked.

Then looked up at him—really looked, studying his face. His eyes, the creases near the corners, the little silver flecks in his beard. He wasn't just her dad. He was something safe. Something good.

Something true.

She smiled.

Wide and proud.

"Okay, Daddy," she said, her voice light and bright. "I promise."

The room faded into quiet again, except for the droning hum of the film and the distant scream of another character getting their head yanked off on-screen.

Gunner just smiled and pulled his daughter closer.

Arabella rested her head on his chest.

That was sixteen years ago.

***

(Gunner)

Gunner's boots crunched lightly over broken pavement as he pulled the heavy bin down the cracked city curb, the long metal claw in his right hand clinking with every discarded bottle or food wrapper it pinched from the gutters. The sun was just beginning to rise—peach-colored light stretching across the slumbering neighborhood, catching the dew on metal signs and shattered glass like little stars.

A stray dog barked in the distance. Somewhere nearby, the hum of an old hover-truck passed low and slow, a delivery droid trailing behind it like a lazy duckling.

Gunner adjusted the strap of his neon-orange vest and took a moment to rest against a rusted light pole. His fingers, stained with grime and age, clutched the handle of the claw tighter than usual. Not out of fatigue. But because of that memory. The one that had visited him earlier that morning.

Sixteen years ago.

The couch.

The movie.

Her tiny voice saying, "Okay, Daddy. I promise."

He looked up at the pale sky, filled with drifting clouds and satellite lines that barely showed in the sunlight.

And he whispered, more to himself than anything else:

"Please... don't forget who you are."

⸻

(Arabella)

Far, far away—beyond the dusted veil of galaxies and glowing nebulae—hovered Arabella.

Her massive form loomed in the darkness of the void, knees tucked beneath her and legs crossed delicately atop a shimmering, invisible platform of condensed stardust and quantum geometry. The very fabric of space shaped itself to hold her weight—an unspoken testament to her power.

To her left, a pale moon cracked silently beneath her resting elbow. Its crust split open in quiet protest, scattering debris into the dark. Arabella barely noticed.

Her eyes were fixed on the tiny, hovering orb before her.

Virellia.

The little planet spun innocently, almost like a marble. Hazy reds, greens, and blues drifted in its atmosphere. Its mountains barely reached past the height of her ankle, and its oceans glistened like melted gemstones. A toy. A keepsake.

And yet—it still existed.

Longer than it should have.

Why?

Arabella tilted her head, silvery white hair swaying like the rings of a galaxy behind her.

She honestly... wasn't sure. At first, she was certain it had started as a joke. A meaningless challenge. One of those foolish dares passed between sisters.

"Bet you can't make a functioning world that lasts longer than a star-cycle," one of them had said.

So she had created Virellia. With all its strange beasts and beautiful skies. With its noble council, obsessed with manners and structure. With its impossible hope.

And yet... here it was.

Still spinning.

Still theirs.

Still hers.

Before her, just above her chest, the Council of Virellia hovered—each representative a tiny hologram projected from orbit. Their dignified forms—robed, floating, flickering slightly—tried their best to remain professional. But even they looked like insects caught in a windstorm next to the curvature of her titanic body.

"My lady?" came the voice of Elvrax, the senior councilor. His bald, blue-scaled head bowed slightly, his voice formal but weary.

Arabella blinked, eyes refocusing on the present.

"Oh, yes," she said softly, and her lips curled into a lazy smile.

There was a glint in her eye now.

A slow mischief, like a child remembering a toy she'd forgotten at the bottom of her closet.

She leaned forward slightly.

The holograms wavered. The gravity around her shifted.

"What do I think of you, my people?" Arabella asked, her smile widening.

The platform beneath her vibrated as her massive form began to move, drawing closer to the planet like a slow eclipse.

Down below—on Virellia's surface—skies darkened.

The clouds stopped drifting.

Children in a playground froze, staring upward.

Farms went silent. Lights flickered. And across the continents, millions of people tilted their heads up... to see the sky replaced with her face.

It wasn't a sun. It wasn't a moon. It wasn't a god.

It was her.

The soft curve of her lips, the slope of her nose, the reflection of oceans in her eyes. But distorted. Massive. Almost unrecognizable. Her lips parted with a slow, delicate breath, and that alone pulled entire cloud systems into her mouth.

Towers tilted. Winds howled.

Arabella giggled.

Then—just to see—she extended her tongue.

From orbit, it was a gentle motion.

From the surface, it was calamity.

Her tongue barely grazed the atmosphere—just the tip—but it sent shockwaves across continents. Forests buckled. Tides surged inland. Her tongue traced one light stroke across the northern hemisphere... and from above, the council could see a massive scar etched across the planet's face, as if a god had written her name with a kiss.

Arabella licked her lips and pulled back slowly.

The holograms shuddered.

Elvrax steadied himself, clearly affected.

Arabella glanced down at the council, amused at their flickering projections. They had felt that. Even at a remove. Their sensors trembled with the brush of her taste.

And yet—they still bowed.

She cocked an eyebrow at Elvrax, her voice playful but edged with something older, heavier.

"You asked what I think," she said. "Let me be clear."

She sat back again, adjusting her weight, making the distant stars ripple like puddles beneath her.

"You are my creations," she said simply. "Therefore, I may do with you as I please. It's just... in my nature."

She smiled sweetly.

"Understood?"

Elvrax bowed deeper, though his face looked grim.

"Understood, my lady."

Arabella's eyes lingered on them for a moment longer, her thoughts unreadable.

And somewhere, deep in the galaxies far away...

A man in a neon vest picked up a crumpled drink can and whispered a prayer to the sky.