Kyrax stepped forward slightly, the air tightening around him. The Vykan masks shifted, subtle mechanical reactions mirroring instinct.
“You will not refuse,” he said softly. “Because the alternative is war, or bloodshed, or my death—none of which will occur. The bond stabilizes me. You know what happens to a Vykan who remains unbonded. And you know the cost of killing one of your own.”
A beat of stillness.
“And,” he added, “because you fear me more than you value your traditions.”
A long silence stretched between them.
And then—one by one—the Vykan inclined their heads.
Acceptance.
Reluctant, wary, but acceptance nonetheless.
Morgan exhaled, feeling tension leave her shoulders.
Kyrax turned to her, the crimson glow of his eyes softening behind his mask.You are recognized,he murmured through the bond.
She lifted her chin, meeting the gaze of the council with steady confidence.
Vyranth felt larger now—not too large, but expansive enough to hold the life she intended to build here.
Beside Kyrax, within this world, and with a future that had stolen her away at first… but which, eventually,shehad chosen.
She’d had no choice.
But within that, she’dhada choice.
The Bastion itself seemed to shift as they left the chamber, corridors brightening subtly, attendants bowing more deeply, doors opening seamlessly before them.
The reality had changed…
And so had she.
CHAPTER 35
Kyrax had never liked the council chambers.
They made him think of still water—reflective, deceptive, hiding whatever currents moved beneath the surface. Out in the Void, in the Bastion, in the endless sky over Vyranth, things were simpler. Enemies declared themselves with action, not polite phrases and measured inclinations of the head.
He much preferred that.
After the session, he left Morgan at the threshold of their connected chambers, feeling the steady hum of their bond as she retreated to the quiet of her garden and the rooms prepared for her. She wanted time alone, she had told him—time to breathe, to sit with the new reality of her position in his world. He had agreed, not because he wished distance, but because he could sense the way her mind worked now: curious, disciplined, needing space to reorder itself.
So he let her go.
But he did not stop feeling her.
Her presence thrummed at the edge of his awareness—calm, settled, a low, anchoring pulse beneath the constant, restless energy that had always lived inside him. It was still a strangesensation, this stability. He had never experienced anything like it.
He crossed the upper corridors and descended into the heart of the Bastion, where war was planned.
His war chamber lay deep in the mountain, surrounded by layered defenses and shielded from outside interference. Walls of dark stone curved into a domed ceiling where tactical overlays could be projected in full three-dimensional scale. Hololithic displays hovered in the air, showing ship configurations, patrol routes, shield integrity lines, energy readings from the mist fields.
This was the part of his existence he understood best.
Nuar was waiting for him near the central array, his dark armor unadorned, helm held under one arm. As always, the Saelori captain’s face remained composed, blue skin luminous under the cool light, pale eyes sharp.
