Chapter 33 #2
Joris, broad-chested and eagle-eyed, was a clear pick for senior leadership.
Akio was an experienced tactician with fire in his veins and a love of justice.
Pascal was all wit and quiet grit, and Remi was the youngest but no less fierce.
‘Joris, you’re Lesedi’s second. Always have his back, even when he doesn’t ask for it.’
‘Copy that,’ Joris replied, voice solid.
‘The rest of you,’ Santi said, his gaze sweeping over them, ‘are Signet now. Wear that name with honor. Make me proud, and don’t give me reason to regret this.’
Each man nodded with solemn conviction.
Santi flicked a command to the central console. ‘A facsimile of Miral’s interface will stay patched into the system to keep you synced with our protocols and network comms. If you run into anything unexpected, ping us on The Sombra via holo. We’ll always answer.’
‘Claro?’ he added, arching a brow.
‘Claro,’ they mirrored.
He let a rare smile tug at his mouth as he moved toward the exit. One by one, he gave each of them a firm hug or a warrior’s handshake, a chin raise, a clapped shoulder. His final salute came soft but sure.
‘Remember that we guard the Wildlight and rule the night.’
‘We are the night,’ they echoed in unison.
Santi slung his cross-body bag over one scapula and walked out with the silent prowl, his heart surging with pride.
He’d built a good crew, one that would endure and ensure peace as millions forged their way through the Wildlight Expanse to safe harbor in Pegasi.
His job was done; now he had a woman to return to, one who needed his sanctuary.
Missions complete, his place, at last, was back on The Sombra.
SOLEIL
As the El Lobo disengaged its docking clamps and pulled away from Cybele Station, a sense of finality settled over Soleil.
She stood at the viewscreen as the massive, intricate terminus shrank away, its lights fast becoming indistinct pinpricks against the vast, dark expanse of space.
Leaving only the quiet of a new future irrevocably launched.
Santi moved up behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist, his chin hooking over her shoulder.
His presence was a solid warmth against her back.
‘How long to The Sombra?’ she asked, eager to see her the place she loved once again.
Santi’s grip tightened slightly. ‘Ah, about that. We’re taking a detour.’
She tilted her head, confusion furrowing her brow. ‘A detour? Where to?’
‘You’ll soon find out, mi sol,’ he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.
He offered no further explanation.
Instead, he rerouted the El Lobo toward a mysterious, unlisted destination.
Soleil frowned, ready to press the issue, but his silence and the gleam in his eyes were absolute, a distinct non-answer that closed the subject.
In due time, they docked with a ship she’d never seen before, sleek, polished, gleaming like a floating jewel against the backdrop of space.
When the airlock cycled open, and she stepped through, with Santi at her six, she gasped.
They walked into an atrium that was a soaring cathedral of glass and light.
Arched beams of brushed titanium rose to a vaulted ceiling, filled with soft skylight simulations and levitating crystal mobiles that shimmered like suspended galaxies.
A handwoven tapestry from the old Earth Andes hung along the foyer wall, and fountains bubbled across black marble floors in graceful curves.
The air was redolent with vanilla and lemon oil scents, clean and extravagant all at once.
‘Welcome aboard the Syracusia,’ a poised Synth AI said, stepping forward.
Her name badge read Nora Halden – Cruise Director.
She was tall, ebony-skinned, with silver cornrows, and wore a flowing suit of liquid silk. Her voice was musical, each syllable crafted for serenity. ‘You are guests of the Royal Suite, I presume?’
Soleil blinked. ‘What is this place?’
Nora smiled. ‘A private resort yacht. One of the finest in the flotilla.’
They walked through what resembled a palace dreamed up by a thousand artisans.
Soleil’s breath caught again and again at the beauty, Italian marbles met Moroccan mosaics, Japanese shoji doors opened to Baltic-inspired steam rooms.
Every corner was a stunning scene: floating sculptures, hand-cut crystal panels, and falling indoor rain gardens.
‘From intricate glass work to curated art collections, each space is designed for quiet discovery,’ Nora explained as they strolled.
‘Luxury here is not just aesthetic, it is embodied. Vintage lighting, handcrafted textures, sculptural furnishings. This is all meant to awaken a sense of stillness and joy. Guests are encouraged to explore, rest, and indulge. Whether you want sunrise yoga, deep-sea diving, or a spa immersion with volcanic mineral therapy, we’ve got it all in hand. ’
‘She means,’ Santi cut in with a smirk, ‘this is where the flotilla’s rich Dons come to pretend they don’t have blood on their hands.’
Soleil shot him a look, still overwhelmed.
Nora led them to their suite, and the moment the doors opened, Soleil blinked in wonder.
The room wasn’t just luxurious, it was spellbinding.
A four-poster bed draped in sheer embroidered fabric overlooked a private terrace of floating lilies.
Each room featured floor-to-ceiling windows that, with a touch of a button, transformed into a multi-dimensional holos of any possible view they desired, from oceans and beaches to mountains, erupting volcanoes, verdant forests, and eerie planetoids.
Also within the space was a lounge framed in velvet and brushed steel, and a sculpted bath sunken into polished onyx.
Ambient lighting glowed in pale golds and rose hues, mimicking candlelight.
Everything pulsed with quiet, intimate elegance, and it overwhelmed her.
When the attendant left, Soleil turned to Santi, breath hitching.
‘Why, baby? I don’t know if I can even handle this kind of pampering.’
He stepped forward, brushing his knuckles across her cheek. ‘Have you ever been pampered before?’
‘I lived in near poverty with my mother,’ she murmured. ‘She was poor, but we scraped by. Then, while on the run from Vern, I existed in hovels, including the one on The Sombra. So no, Santi, I’ve never been spoiled like this.’
He silenced her with a kiss, then leaned his brow to hers.
‘That’s why, mi amor. You deserve to be treated like a real queen for a few days.
I want to show you how much you’re loved.
We’re running up my black card today, because you are the most precious thing I have.
I want to fill your memories with laughter, warmth, champagne bubbles, silk sheets, and sunrises you don’t have to survive through. ’
Her throat constricted, her heart tight with disbelief and tenderness. He was doing this for her just because he cherished her.
‘You don’t have to,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t need all of this.’
‘I want to,’ he rasped. ‘I want to give you something beautiful to replace the shadows. To help you start fresh. That’s what love does, carino. It doesn’t just hold you, it lifts you to the sky.’
Tears welled in her eyes, fat and hot.
She turned away to breathe, but he caught her chin, kissed her forehead, and held her as if she might float away.
‘I’ll take you on a tour, heck, I’ll fokk you in each room,’ he murmured. ‘The spa, the dining table, the pool, morning, noon, and night.’
The days on the Syracusia blurred into something dreamlike, soft, golden, and laced with healing.
Soleil had never known luxury, not in the way this vessel offered it.
Every morning, she woke feeling more like she slept in a cloud than a mattress.
The four-poster bed was silk-draped, with memory foam calibrated to cradle the curve of her body.
The linens were pale ivory, trimmed in gold thread, scented with citrus and wild orchid. The pillows were a mountain of satin.
Soleil often fell asleep, lost in them and in him, tangled with his limbs, with little evidence where she ended and Santi began.
Between sessions of lovemaking that left her breathless and boneless, she slept safe, deep, and undisturbed.
When they woke, they bathed together in a sunken stone bath that filled with flower petals; she sank into it, eyes closed, sighing at the indulgence.
Santi lit floating candles and made love to her in the tub, her body gliding over his beneath warm water.
Once they left their suite, their attendants provided state-of-the-art spa services.
Soleil got scrubbed, soaked, kneaded, oiled, and tended to for five days, treated with sacred care.
She got wrapped in sea kelp and exfoliated with crushed sapphire salts, massaged by warm-stone hands until her bones forgot the language of tension.
Every meal was a work of art: citrus-dusted croissants that melted on the tongue, cream-rich tagliatelle flecked with midnight truffle, and wine that glowed like garnet when held to the light.
At night, wrapped around each other in the opalescent suite, Santi rested his forehead against hers and rasped.
‘I love you, Soleil. I treasure all of you. The broken, the brave, the terrifyingly beautiful. Never forget that.’
It took a moment for her to absorb his words, then she glanced up at him, tears slipping down her cheeks.
‘Santi, I’m not sure yet I deserve it. But I so appreciate you giving me the space to find myself again, to breathe free, to feel safe. To be held. Even when I never asked for it.’
He kissed her again, then grinned. ‘It was my plan, all along, to cherish you. From the instance you came up on me in the showers on The Sombra, and I wanted to throw you up in the shower and fokk you to oblivion. Perhaps even from the moment I caught sight of you at the ammunition depot when you gave me so much sass.’
She laughed, burying her head in his chest. ‘Fokk, I’d almost forgotten our fateful first meeting.’
‘I was so gone, lusting after your classy, sassy, and a bit bad-assy self. You’re freakin’ worthy of my heart and soul,’ he rasped, cupping her face and tilting it up to him. ‘Until the end of time.’