Ella nodded conspiratorially, "I’ve heard stories. Is it true that the first time she met Commander Xandros, she put a blaster to his head?”
Nadine's laugh burst out, bright and startled. Ella giggled with her, the sound was light enough to almost make the viewing window feel smaller, warmer.
I tuned them out.
Because something else had hooked into me. A pull. Not the familiar, cold drag of the Abyss. Not the whispering hunger of the Harrowed One that had dogged me since the moment of my forging. This was different, sharp, alive,personal. It tugged behind my ribs, right where that old, unwelcome heat always lived. The flaw. The longing I had never named. It flared now, sudden and fierce, like a blade finding the exact gap in armor I had worn for eons.
My gaze stayed fixed on the blue marble, but my mind reached outward, tasting the space between us and the planet, stretching across the fleet hanging in orbit like a noose of gold and steel. The pull sharpened. Demanded.Her.Not a name. Not yet. Just the certainty that whoever—or whatever—waited out there had to be dealt with first. I spoke before I could stop myself.
“We need to talk to him first.”
The words fell heavy into the chatter. Ella and Nadine’s voices cut off mid-giggle. Dravok’s head snapped toward me. Zapharos’ golden aura flared, bright and questioning.
“Who?” Zapharos asked, shifting into the tone he used when battle lines were being drawn.
I didn't answer. I could not. Not yet. The pull was still coiling through me, tightening like a vow I wasn't aware I had made. My fingers flexed at my sides, feeling the phantom weight of the executioner’s blade that had never truly left my grip. Whatever this was—whatever waited on that soft blue world or in the shadow of those Pandraxian guns—it was not something I could explain with words that would satisfy them.
Not yet.
Dravok narrowed his eyes, his shadows curling tighter around his frame. “Thyros?”
I met his gaze, then Zapharos’, then the two humans who were watching me as if I had just spoken in the language of the wound itself. I said nothing more.
The blue marble turned beneath us, innocent and ancient and full of secrets it had tried to forget. Somewhere in the space between my flaw and that distant pull, the war I had been born for shifted its shape once again.
Zapharos studied me a moment longer, then inclined his head. He moved to the comm station without further question, like the decisive, ever-practical Praetor of War he was. As if they had already anticipated us, the Superior Commander’s ship acknowledged us immediately.
“Permission granted to dock at Bay Alpha-Seven,” the officer on the other end stated. “The Commander is waiting.”
The ship we approached was a behemoth of imperial precision. Golden hull plating gleamed under running lights; every angle was sharp, every surface engineered for both beauty and war. From the viewport, it looked like a predator dressed in silk: elegant lines, layered shielding, weapons arrays folded with lethal grace. Nothing like the raw, scarred, battle-worn vessels Ipreferred. This was order made manifest. Control. The kind of vessel that believed it could tame the void itself.
We docked with a soft, almost courteous clang. The airlock cycled. When the doors parted, the corridor beyond was wide, brightly lit, and lined with Pandraxian honor guards. Their postures were rigid, perfect. I could respect the discipline even if the polish set my teeth on edge.
Zapharos led the way. Dravok flanked him, his aura rippling slightly. He was on edge. The females and I brought up the rear. The pull was stronger now, a steady drumbeat in my blood.
The Superior Commander waited in the primary reception hall. Xandros. Tall even for a Pandraxian, broad-shouldered, he seemed capable enough of carrying the weight of an empire; his purple skin was marked by the scars of command. Beside him stood a human female—Ashley, his mate, was my guess—arms crossed, chin lifted, eyes sharp enough to cut. She wore a simple uniform that somehow looked like armor. Nadine had not exaggerated; this one had fire.
Zapharos and Dravok exchanged curt nods with Xandros, old acquaintances, it seemed. Dravok’s gaze flicked to Ashley with something almost like wary respect.
“Commander Xandros,” Zapharos greeted in an expressionless voice. “We appreciate the welcome.”
Xandro's eyes swept over us, assessing us, one after the other. “Zapharos. Dravok. The emperor warned me you were coming.” His gaze landed on me last. “And this is?”
“Our executioner, Thyros.” Zapharos introduced me.
I inclined my head, right before the pull slammed into me like a physical blow. I still didn't know what it was or where it came from, but the urge to explore it was becoming like an itch under my skin that I couldn't reach.
The females moved forward. Nadine stepped straight to Ashley, pulling her into a quick, fierce hug. “Told you I’d see you again.”
Ashley returned the embrace with a grin that looked more like a challenge. “Took you long enough, Phillips. Looks like things between humans and the Arkhevari are working out.”
Ella hung back a moment, then offered Ashley her hand. “Ella. Zapharos’… Aelyth.”
Ashley shook it firmly. “Heard about you, too. Welcome to the crazy.”
The other males wasted no time. Zapharos and Xandros fell into the familiar rhythm of commanders measuring each other—territory, authority, the situation on Earth. Dravok inserted himself with his usual precision, questioning the Pandraxian presence in orbit, demanding clarity on the Cryon remnants still skulking in the shadows. Voices rose and fell in that careful, measured way males used when deciding who would lead the coming storm.
I listened for perhaps thirty heartbeats. Then I’d had enough.
