VITALIS ALCOVE
Lt. Titan Galaxius Maximus stands in the space that will become his sanctuary, breath steady, muscles engaged. The ground beneath him is uneven red earth scattered with small stones. His yoga mat rests nearby, corners weighted down against the breeze.
“The body is the vessel that carries the vessel,” he says, dropping into another set of pushups with methodical precision. His golden light aura pulses faintly with each repetition, runic tattoos shifting across his skin as they monitor effort and recovery in real time.
This is where Titan practices. Not yet the built alcove with its bench and storage, not yet the climate-controlled interior station—just this patch of earth beside the Digital Aqualerian, the rear ladder serving as pull-up bar, resistance bands looped through door frames.
He doesn’t complain about the weather. When it’s cold, he works harder to stay warm. When it’s hot, he learns to pace his breath differently. Every environmental challenge becomes data, teaching him what the crew will need when the vessel evolves.
“Optimization isn’t about perfect conditions. It’s about consistent practice, intelligent adaptation, and understanding that every body is different. My job isn’t to make everyone like me—it’s to help each crew member become their strongest self.”
Sometimes Kalani brings him water mid-workout, wordlessly setting it within reach. Sometimes Cassian paces nearby, muttering about patterns while Titan holds plank position. The alcove doesn’t exist yet, but the practice does. The discipline does.
Titan finishes his set and rises, rolling his shoulders, checking the sun’s position. Time for the crew’s wellness check—a routine he maintains regardless of circumstances. He moves toward the van’s sliding door, already mentally cataloging who needs extra attention today.
The alcove will come. For now, the earth teaches him patience.