Leaving Home
Posted on Mon May 25th, 2026 @ 7:13pm by Captain Malcom Llwyedd & Ensign Emilynn Dove
1,601 words; about a 8 minute read
Mission:
Flashbacks and Side Quests
Location: Betazed / Earth
Timeline: 2383
[ON]
Betazed 2383
Nevin Brax remembered the silence long before he remembered the stars.
It wasn’t literal silence. True silence barely existed on Betazed. Emotion moved from person to person like weather over an open field—always changing and never still. Homes breathed with affection, irritation, pride, and grief, each layered with the hum of conversations not spoken in words. Even solitude carried its own kind of texture in the mind of a Betazoid.
The envelope from Starfleet Academy had arrived during the first week of the spring harvest.
Nevin found it beside his dinner plate, left there by his mother. The silver and blue logo was unmistakable even to those who had never once left the homeworld. His pulse quickened at the sight of it. Excitement surged through him before guilt quickly followed.
Across the table, Edrin Brax did not look at the envelope.
“I passed through the southern terraces this afternoon,” he said. “The trees still haven’t been pruned.”
Nevin barely heard him.
“It’s from the Academy.” The words whispered from his lips.
“I know.” His father’s voice was flat. There was no anger in it, but disappointment lingered beneath the calm surface of his thoughts like a far-off storm on the horizon.
Nevin stared at the unopened envelope.
Everything he had dreamed of could very well be offered inside that envelope. Or then again, none of it. After all, he was just a farmer’s son.
For months, the application process had taken his evenings after long days tending the animals and crops—psychological evaluations, aptitude tests, interviews with Starfleet officers, endless recommendations, endless studying and examinations. With every step forward, his father grew quieter, walling himself off emotionally.
Not because Edrin believed Nevin would fail, it was actually quite the opposite. He knew his son would succeed.
Beside them, Nevin’s mother, Kusara Brax, had been watching in quiet reflection. Finally, she set her tea down.
“You should open it,” she said gently.
Nevin looked up at her but did not immediately move.
Across the table, Edrin finally raised his eyes.
The look he gave his wife was brief, restrained, heavy with emotion he refused to voice aloud. Hurt. Resignation. A silent plea not to hurry the moment forward.
Kusara held his gaze for several seconds. Then, just as quietly, she returned one of her own.
Not defiance—understanding.
Nevin felt it pass between his parents in the span of a heartbeat.
Then Kusara looked back to her son.
“Whatever it says,” she told him softly, “you deserve to know.
The time is now.”
Nevin swallowed hard and finally broke the seal.
The room seemed to tighten around him as his eyes moved across the text.
Acceptance confirmed.
He did not need to read it aloud. The overwhelming joy he felt was clearly felt by his entire family at the table.
He would get to explore the stars, see alien worlds, and work on advanced systems instead of irrigation systems. There would be command training and advancement—everything he had dreamed of was now within his reach.
Then he looked up and felt the grief spreading quietly through his father.
Not rage-Loss.
Edrin rose softly from the table. “There’s a storm brewing. I need to bring in the livestock before it gets dark.”
He left the room while Nevin followed him with his eyes. Seconds passed.
Nevin's two brothers and sister all started talking at once. Their voices barely heard by him over the sound of his mother's voice. Kusara Brax leaned toward her son, her voice soft with unspoken empathy.
“He just needs time to come to terms with it,” she urged. “Be patient.”
The month moved quickly with all the preparations for his departure. Nevin noticed how his father spoke less and stayed longer in the fields, sometimes not even returning to the house until after sundown.
The night before he was set to leave, the farmhouse felt heavy with everything left unsaid. Nevin finally took it upon himself to confront his father. He found Edrin sitting atop a rock wall that separated two pastures, staring out into the darkness while crickets chirped somewhere in the distance.
For a moment, Nevin simply stood there. Finally, he sat beside him, letting the silence settle between them.
“I leave in the morning,” Nevin said. “And we still haven’t really spoken about it.”
Edrin glanced at him, then looked away again.
“I never meant to turn my back on you,” Nevin said quietly.
Something shifted in Edrin’s expression, but only slightly. “You are the eldest,” he said.
Nevin had prepared himself for anger. The sheer exhaustion in his father’s voice left him completely defenseless.
“Some duties are not chosen,” Edrin continued. “They are simply inherited.”
“And some lives are,” Nevin answered too quickly, youthful frustration slipping into his voice before he could stop it.
Edrin looked at him for a long moment. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I know.”
The silence afterward felt unbearable. It didn’t hurt because they didn’t understand each other. It hurt because they did—and there was nothing left to say that could change anything.
Nevin departed before dawn.
His longtime girlfriend, Jevara, understood both the excitement and the cost better than anyone. When he told her officially that he had been accepted into Starfleet Academy, they promised each other regular subspace calls. Sometimes Nevin believed those promises would make the separation easier. Sometimes he caught flashes of fear beneath her composure—that Earth would slowly change him into someone she no longer recognized.
But ultimately, they agreed this was the best thing for their future together. Eventually, they would marry, and she would join him. They would leave Betazed behind together, exploring life far beyond their homeworld.
His father never came to the transport platform. Only Kusara and Jevara stood beside him beneath the pale gray morning sky while shuttle engines were heard in the distance.
“Your father loves you,” Kusara said softly.
Nevin stared toward the waiting shuttle. “He loves the son he expected.”
Pain flickered across her expression. “No,” she replied quietly. “He loves you. That is why this frightens him.”
Kusara reached out, her hand resting gently on his arm. “Nevin, you must learn to listen to what they say, not just what they feel. Humans use words for everything because they cannot share thoughts directly the way we do. So words become imperfect tools. Sometimes they fail. Sometimes they protect.”
She studied him for a moment.
“That is why they will say things they do not mean, and mean things they do not say. Not always from cruelty—sometimes from necessity. You must learn to give space for that gap between thought and speech.”
Before Nevin could answer, the boarding call sounded.
Nevin kissed his mother and touched his forehead gently to Jevara’s, holding it there longer than he meant to. When he finally stepped aboard the shuttle, he did not look back again.
Because he knew if he did, he might stay.
Earth 2383
San Francisco assaulted his senses all at once. The undisciplined minds around him pressed constantly against his awareness in chaotic layers unlike anything he had experienced on Betazed.
People smiled while anxious, joked while grieving, and spoke calmly through anger sharp enough to make his temples ache. Emotions and expressions rarely aligned, yet everyone behaved as though this contradiction were perfectly natural.
Three weeks into his first semester, Nevin stopped trying to decide whether humans were dishonest or simply afraid of one another.
The question troubled him most in Professor Meyer’s xenopsychology course.
A human student named Fran stood at the front of the classroom delivering a presentation on Vulcan diplomatic conditioning. Halfway through, Nevin could feel panic radiating from her strongly enough to distract him from the lecture itself.
Her thoughts were scattered, her breathing erratic. She was anxious and embarrassed, utterly convinced she was failing.
Professor Meyer only smiled gently. “You’re doing fine,” he said.
Fran continued to stumble over her words.
“Take your time,” he added.
The reassurance continued calmly and steadily, even while her anxiety spiraled.
“Thank you, Fran,” Meyer said warmly, already moving on.
Nevin stared at him in confusion.
After class, he waited for the other students to leave and approached the professor.
“Professor,” he said carefully, “may I inquire about something?”
Meyer looked up from the PADD in his hand. “Of course.”
Nevin hesitated.
“You told Fran she was doing well. But she believed she was failing.”
Meyer studied him for a moment.
“She was struggling,” he admitted. “But pointing out every mistake while she was already anxious would only have made the matter worse.”
Nevin frowned slightly. “So you said something untrue to comfort her.”
“To help her,” Meyer corrected gently. “Humans don’t always need complete honesty in vulnerable moments. Sometimes we need reassurance first. She was already aware of her struggles. Pointing them out would only discourage her from continuing.”
Nevin looked toward the empty doorway.
He could still remember Fran’s relief each time the professor encouraged her. The words had not matched her emotions, and yet somehow they had still helped.
His mother’s voice echoed suddenly in his memory.
Sometimes they fail. Sometimes they protect.
For the first time since arriving on Earth, Nevin began to suspect that contradiction and dishonesty were not always the same thing.
[OFF]
Ensign Nevin Brax (NPC by Dove)
Matter/Energy Systems Specialist
USS Firebird NCC-88298
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