The Sting of Betrayal
A ll the way back to his apartment, Kisan seethed in a tangled mess of anger and pain.
Each step was heavier than the last, his boots echoing against the sterile walls of the corridor.
His mind raced, replaying every moment spent with Samira, dissecting her words, gestures, and smile.
The sting of her betrayal cut deeper than he’d ever imagined, a sharp, unrelenting ache that settled in his chest like a storm brewing over an unprotected shore.
He clenched his fists as he entered the sparsely furnished space that served as his home.
The door hissed shut behind him, but the sound did little to break the rage consuming him.
He slammed his bag onto the floor, the force rattling the small table nearby, and began pacing the room.
How had he been so blind?
He’d started to believe her, to have faith in her.
That was the part that infuriated him the most.
Trust wasn’t something he gave without difficulty—not after everything he’d been through, not after the destruction wrought and the guilt he carried like a second skin.
With her, his guard slipped. He had dared to hope that she perceived something more in him, something good, something worth saving.
Now, the memories of her words echoed with a hollowness in replay, each compliment calculated, every glance another piece of some masterful game.
He replayed their conversations, scrutinizing her smiles and her sensuality.
Fokk , it had been an act, a facade to get what she wanted.
His hands gripped the back of a chair, the muscles in his arms taut as he tried to steady against the tide of rage.
The anger was easier to hold onto than the pain and humiliation.
Even as he stood there, breathing hard, the betrayal gnawed at him with relentless and raw insistence.
He slammed his fist against the table, the sharp crack echoing through the room.
‘Damn it,’ he muttered, his voice thick with frustration, battling to let go - of her.
His reflection in the darkened window caught his eye, and he hated what he tagged: a man who let himself imagine he was more than his past, only to have it thrown back in his face.
She’d said the right things, hadn’t she?
Twas the words he’d desired to hear. About seeing the good in him and understanding his pain.
He’d craved to believe her so badly it made him sick to think about it now.
Kisan leaned against the wall, his head falling back with a dull thud.
The room crowded his senses, the walls closing in around him.
His chest tightened, not just from anger but from something deeper—disappointment. Not just in her but in himself. For dropping his guard down. For allowing her in.
‘Never again,’ he snarled into the empty room, hoarse with bitterness.
Yet even as the words left his lips, he recognized they were lies. Because despite everything, regardless of the betrayal and the humiliation, a part of him still wanted to believe in her.
That was the cruelest truth of all.
The Sable Group’s hangar stretched like a cathedral of industry, its vaulted ceiling lost in a haze of ambient light and exhaust fumes.
The air was thick with the mingling scents of machine oil, heated alloys, and ozone from charged plasma tools.
The clang of metal echoed through the vast space, underscored by the steady hum of generators and the occasional hiss of venting steam.
Rows of ships stood in various states of readiness, their hulls gleaming under the overhead lights.
The hangar floor was alive with the rhythm of hundreds of ground crew prepping ships for space flight and the sharp voices of supervisors barking instructions.
Equipment whirred and clanked as engines and tested systems were tuned and tinkered on.
Kisan stalked through the organized chaos.
The techs closest to him paused in their work, some nodding in acknowledgment, others glancing at him circumspectly.
Most days, he let it roll off his back, a strain he was now used to carrying. However, today, raw and raging, their disapproval gnawed at him.
He sucked his teeth, suppressing the burn that curled in his chest.
Ahead of him, the Cephei waited like a predator poised to strike.
Its sleek, angular lines had the ability to disappear under the Sable Group’s signature stealth wrap, a matte black surface that seemed to drink in the light around it.
The ship radiated quiet menace, its compact frame designed for speed and precision.
Twin kinetic rail guns sat mounted under the wings, their barrels shimmering with the energy of their slumbering power cores.
The subtle panels hinted at its advanced quantum computing systems along the hull, integrated with high-velocity noids that could push the engine to extraordinary speeds.
He hadn’t wanted a gunship.
When the Riders offered it, he had hesitated, reluctant to embrace a weapon of war after spending so long trying to leave that life behind.
Kainan had been insistent. ‘It’s key that we all have fast, weapons-ready ships in case we’re called into battle. No exceptions.’
With reluctance, Kisan had agreed to the unexpected gift.
Over time, he grew to appreciate the Cephei for its craftsmanship, but what he liked most was its quietness.
It was built for stealth, with its engines purring rather than roaring. Its sleek silhouette allows it to slip through enemy defenses unnoticed, and its black hull is designed for speed and evasion.
The Rider climbed the steel staircase leading to the control deck, his hand brushing the cool, textured railing.
The familiar feel of it grounded him, steadying his simmering anger.
He entered the ship through the airlock, the hiss of the pressurized seal severing off the noise of the hangar below.
Inside, the air was cooler, redolent with the rich scent of polished leather and steel.
The Cephei’s control center was a marvel of design. It was a high-end, cutting-edge space that married functionality with elegance.
The pilot’s chair was the centerpiece, a plush seat crafted for comfort and control. Kisan dropped into it, the supple pelt molding to his body as the controls lit up around him in a soft cascade of iridescent aqua and white.
A 360-degree plex display crowned the helm, offering a seamless view of the hangar and the stars beyond.
He leaned back and patched his neural node into the ship’s HUD, the connection sparking a familiar tingle at the base of his neck.
The vessel’s systems unfolded before him in his mind: engine readouts, navigation data, weapons status. He sensed the Cephei to its core, its pulse steady and waiting, an extension of his body.
The craft’s interior was just as mesmerizing.
Fine detailing adorned the bulkhead joints and plates, their precision a testament to the Sable Group’s mastery.
Leather-seamed paneling lined the walls, its texture both tactile and luxurious.
Every element had been designed for function and form, from the reinforced crew couches with reinforced restraints to the custom-crafted pilot’s seat, its headrest embossed with the Sable Group’s livery.
Massive multi-dimensional holo screens floated around him, displaying maps, security feeds, and a virtual 3D overlay of the external landscape.
The lights shifted to a soft blue combat mode, a feature intended to maximize vision during high-stakes maneuvers.
Even the more minor details—the adroitly machined aluminum-built levers, the threat alert toggle, and the mechanical speedometer—were crafted with artistry.
Kisan took a deep breath, the cool, filtered oxygen filling his lungs. His hand brushed the controls, the smooth surfaces warming under his touch. He could fly the ship manually if needed, but Mirage’s quantum nucleus was always available to assist, her presence a silent guardian embedded within the Cephei’s systems.
‘Cephei, ready for departure,’ he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil roiling beneath the surface.
He wasn’t yet willing to speak with Mirage, her node, or the vessel, so he silenced the AI and took over the manual levers.
The gunship responded with a subdued hum, the engines purring to life as the hangar doors began to open.
Kisan observed the panels slide apart, revealing the inky expanse of space outside. The hangar’s noise faded, replaced by the quiet power of the Cephei as it rose into the dark, glittering void. Its trajectory locked on hyperspace and beyond that, Orilia XIV.
He gripped the controls, his aqua eyes narrowing as the ship accelerated toward cosmic infinity.
As the stars stretched into transcendental lines, the embittered Rider sat back, his thoughts a whirlwind.
Samira’s betrayal stung, and he let the rancor within stream through his body, matching the fire of vengeance in his chest.
Somewhere out there, Samira—and his mask—waited.
Whatever her reasons, he would find her and take back what was his.
The hunt was on.