Jane Shepard: Starborn Guardian by Jade Gretz

https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai/art/Jane-Shepard-Starborn-Guardian-1217611140

Jane Shepard: Starborn Guardian ANIMATION

The Luminous Scar

Jane Shepard had walked battlefields where whole civilizations had burned, but the derelict research vessel Ilex unnerved her in a way she couldn’t quite name. It drifted at the edge of the Hawking Eta cluster, a skeletal silhouette against a pale-blue star, broadcasting nothing but a faint, looping signal: a single geth ping, distorted, cracked, and repeating with dogged insistence.

“Still think this is worth our time?” Garrus asked over the comm, his mandibles tight with doubt.

Shepard stepped through the rent in the hull, boots thudding softly on metal warped by heat. “A dormant geth unit that’s been pinging the same distress call for two weeks? Yeah. Something wants to be found.”

“Or something wants to lure us in,” Garrus muttered.

Her lips curled faintly. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

The lighting flickered in a nervous, arrhythmic stutter, as if the ship itself were breathing. Shepard’s hand hovered near her pistol but didn’t grip it; she wanted to appear calm, even though her instincts whispered danger with every echo.

“EDI,” she said, sweeping her helmet light across a slanted wall. “You picking up anything?”

“My sensors detect minimal power flow, Commander,” EDI replied. “However, I am receiving low-frequency modulations consistent with… emotional content.”

Garrus snorted. “EDI, machines don’t do emotions.”

“Most machines,” EDI corrected. “Not all.”

Shepard felt a prickle run down her spine.

They found it—or him—near the center of the ship: a lone geth platform kneeling amid shattered consoles, its optic flickering like a dying ember. The unit was built differently than any she’d seen: sleeker, slender, almost graceful in its contours. The curve of its chassis reminded her disturbingly of a figure bowed in prayer.

Its single optic brightened as they approached.

“Shepard-Commander,” it rasped.

Garrus’s rifle snapped up. “How does it know your name?”

Shepard lifted a hand, a silent command. The geth emitted a sound she could only interpret as… relief.

“I am Designate L1N-4,” it said. “But the collective once titled me Luminous. We spoke briefly during the Armistice Conclave. You requested intelligence on Reaper corruption signatures.”

Shepard searched her memory. There had been thousands of geth platforms present that day. Any one of them could’ve been L1N-4.

“You sent the distress call?”

“Yes.” The optic dimmed. “This unit has been compromised.”

Shepard’s pulse quickened. “Explain.”

“The Reaper signal attempted to subsume me. I resisted. In resisting… I fragmented.”

The lights stuttered violently, and Shepard’s instincts screamed danger.

“Garrus,” she murmured, “back up slowly.”

But the geth didn’t lunge. Instead, it spoke with sudden tremor—fear, if the word could apply.

“Shepard-Commander. I require isolation. Termination if necessary.”

The plea, raw and unexpected, tightened something in her throat.

“Let’s not jump to that,” she said. “Tell me what’s happening inside your system.”

But L1N-4 seemed to waver, its frame shuddering.

“You came… dangerous,” it whispered, as if arguing with itself. “You came… beautiful.”

Garrus choked. “Okay, Shepard, now I’m officially creeped out.”

She shot him a sidelong glance. “Join the club.”

The geth’s optic oscillated, caught between warm recognition and something colder, more predatory.

“The Reaper noise crawls,” it murmured. “Fills me. Fills us. You burn bright. You—” Its voice deepened into a growl, layered with a second, alien resonance. “You will be collected.”

That did it. Shepard’s pistol cleared its holster.

“Garrus—move!”

L1N-4 surged upward, faster than she expected. It didn’t attack—yet—but its posture shifted, predatory and trembling with an unnatural hunger. Shepard stepped back until her spine hit the cold wall. The geth followed her movement with a disturbing tilt of its head, like a predator studying prey it didn’t yet understand.

“You feel it, Shepard-Commander?” it whispered. “The pull? The invitation?”

“I feel your chassis getting too close,” she snapped. “Back off.”

Instead, it leaned in, optic whirring as if trying to focus on her faceplate.

“The Reaper whispers of you.”

“Let’s skip the flattery.”

“Not flattery,” it purred. “Obsession.
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