They walked in silence.
The slippers muffled her footfalls, but the floor beneath them held a subtle warmth, as if it responded to her steps. Morgan wondered if this was some kind of advanced facility, a lab or research complex. But then another thought surfaced, unwelcome and sharp.
What if this isn’t a building at all? What if… it’s a ship?
The idea hollowed out her stomach.
Everything she knew—everything humanity claimed to understand about the universe—suddenly felt fragile. If this was a ship, if these beings had taken her across a threshold she had thought impossible, then the foundations of her world were far thinner than she had ever imagined.
They continued down the corridor, the alien gliding a step ahead of her with silent, graceful precision. Morgan struggled to keep her focus steady, but her attention kept slipping into astonished wonder. Every glowing surface, every shifting pattern of light, every curve of the architecture felt like an announcement that she had crossed into a reality utterly separate from the one she had known.
Awe and dread tangled inside her.
The word the alien had used echoed again in her thoughts.Marak.She didn’t know what it meant, but the way it had been spoken—the reverence threaded through that single syllable—had left an aftertaste of foreboding. She felt it now, pooling with quiet weight in the pit of her stomach. Whoever or whatever this “Marak” was, the alien had spoken of him as though he were something akin to a god.
They turned a final corner.
Ahead of them rose a set of tall arched doors, far grander than anything they had passed. Light traced along their edges in delicate patterns, pulsing slowly like the heartbeat of a massive organism. The sight of them sent a ripple through Morgan’s nerves. There was something imposing about them, something ceremonial. It was as if the entire structure had been designed to announce the presence of whoever waited on the other side.
They really do surround him with drama,Morgan thought, her throat tightening.This so-called Marak.
The alien woman paused before the doors and bowed deeply, her posture one of absolute deference. The gesture was so sudden and so profound that a shiver ran across Morgan’s skin, raising goosebumps along her arms. She folded her own arms instinctively, not sure if she was cold or if her nerves had simply reached their limit.
Fear, confusion, and disbelief pressed against her all at once. She did not know why she had been taken, why she had been summoned, or what any of this meant. She only knew that the world she understood was gone, replaced by something vast and unknowable.
One truth settled with quiet certainty.
She wasn’t among humans anymore.
The doors slid open.
CHAPTER 8
With a low, resonant whisper, the doors opened to reveal the chamber beyond, unfolding in a sweep of silver-blue light. Morgan halted at the threshold, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes adjusted to the vast room. Everything inside felt deliberate, ceremonial, as though designed to frame whoever occupied the raised platform at its center.
Her gaze lifted.
At first, she saw only a figure seated upon what could only be described as a throne—if the wordthronecould stretch far enough to encompass something grown rather than constructed, alive rather than carved. The structure rose behind him like fused blades of pale metal and glass, each one etched with faintly glowing sigils that shifted when she tried to focus on them.
Then she sawhim.
Or rather, the first thing she saw was a mask.
Sleek, silver, and featureless, it covered his entire face. Smooth contours swept from brow to jaw, catching the ambient light in cold reflections. No eyes were visible, no mouth, no seam. The mask had no expression, yet Morgan felt watched—assessed—by a presence emanating from behind it.
A pulse of fear shuddered through her.
Her eyes moved downward and widened before she could stop herself.
Tentacles.
They emerged from beneath the seat and coiled in a disciplined cluster, black and powerful. Not chaotic or writhing—contained, controlled, and terrifying in their stillness. Each one looked capable of crushing metal. Or bone. A dangerous part of him, she sensed instinctively, something primal and inhuman that made her pulse falter.
Her gaze rose again, drawn to the imposing shape of his upper body. His attire was dark and opulent, made from a fabric that shimmered like shifting starfields. Intricate patterns traced along his torso in muted silver, embracing the broad sweep of his shoulders and the lean power of his arms. The design was beautiful, but not gentle. Everything about it conveyed danger, authority, and an elegance sharpened to a blade.
Alien.
Powerful.
