Burdened with Scars
T hey strode through the gunship, descending one flight of stairs, as the Cephei cruised through the rushing void of hyperspace.
Kisan led the way into the small galley.
‘Sit,’ Kisan growled.
Samira did as commanded, eyes on him as he fixed her a plate of spiced noodles, rehydrated seafood, and a quick salad.
He also brewed her a kahawa .
He placed the tray before her, plus cutlery, jerking his chin at her as he sat astride a screwed-in bench at the table. ‘Eat.’
They did so in companionable silence, the hunger easing.
‘Delicious,’ Samira announced, licking her fork.
Kisan’s eyes fell on her mouth as he poured each a glass of dark amber spirits from a bottle tucked away in a generous wine fridge. ‘My friend, Sax, brews this bourbon himself. The Sybarite label appears to mock its decadence, a nod to Sax’s droll humor. He also crafts another brand, Ascetic, a severe yet elegant whiskey that is its counterpart.’
The rich spirits’ woodsy, smoky aroma filled the air.
Samira raised an eyebrow as she took a sip, the liquor burning on her tongue. ‘You always drink on missions?’
‘Only when the company’s good,’ Kisan replied, his tone dry but laced with warmth.
A smile tugged at her lips. ‘Careful, Rider. That just about sounded like a compliment.’
‘Almost?’ he teased, leaning back in his chair. ‘I must be losing my touch.’
Their laughter came easily, their barriers softening with every passing moment.
The ship felt cozy, the space between them shrinking as they shared stories—hers of life in Thalassa, his of battles fought and wounds earned.
Kisan leaned back in his seat, the reverb of The Cephei’s engines a soothing backdrop as they cruised through hyperspace.
His viridescent eyes flicked to Samira, who was seated across from him. Her dark hair caught the soft glow of the console lights.
‘What’s the story of Orilia XIV?’ he rasped, cutting through the silence. ‘How did the Vaelorii become two distinct races?’
Samira glanced at him, her expression thoughtful. ‘We weren’t always binary. We started as one—people living by the water, in harmony with Orilia’s oceans, lakes, and rivers. Our world shaped us.’
Kisan leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. ‘How?’
Samira folded her hands in her lap, her gaze distant as she began. ‘Over time, as more land sank under the sea level, some of our human ancestors chose to live beneath the waves. They became the Quarians, adapting to life in the abyss. Their bodies evolved—sleek, streamlined, designed for speed and grace in most sub-aqueous saltwater environments. Fins and webbing helped them move without effort like the ocean was an extension of their bodies.’
‘They have gills, don’t they?’ Kisan interjected, his tone curious.
She nodded. ‘ Naam , adapted lungs. They can breathe underwater, though they still surface on occasion. Their skin is marked with luminescent patterns—lines that glow in the dark, almost like living tattoos. It helps them communicate and navigate the depths.’
‘Bioluminescent communication?’ Kisan said, tilting his head. ‘Fascinating.’
‘It’s more than beautiful,’ Samira said. ‘It’s functional. It’s how they speak—through glowing motifs and the manipulation of water currents. We use some of their luminescent arrays to send messages, too. Their cities are like underwater constellations, built from coral-like structures that pulse with light.’
‘Sounds peaceful,’ Kisan murmured.
Samira’s expression softened. ‘It is, in its way. The Quarians see themselves as the guardians of the oceans. Their lives are slower, more harmonious, in tune with the rhythm of the sea.’
‘What about the Sorans?’ the Rider asked, his gaze fixed on her.
Samira straightened, her tone shifting. ‘We’re the ones who stayed above, on the islands and shores. Our bodies are more robust, dealing with uneven terrain and different climates, yet we adapted to the freshwater surrounding our continents and archipelagos. Our skin became semi-porous, designed to absorb moisture and connect us to the water. We wear armored suits and boots that draw water from the ground. We built our cities around the lakes and rivers, with flowing canals and aqueducts near us. Our communication relies on fluid kinetics, like the Quarians, but we manipulate freshwater streams instead of oceans. Without our lakes and rivers, we’d weaken. So, however divergent the Sorans and Quarians are, we’re united by water and connected in purpose. We trade knowledge, goods, and culture. The divide isn’t a fracture—it’s an evolution.’
Kisan nodded. ‘Symbiotic. But different.’
‘Exactly,’ Samira said. Her tone grew heavier. ‘Nonetheless, that connection is fragile now. The Corilian invasion has disrupted everything. The Quarians, less capable of fighting on land, have retreated deeper into the oceans, protecting their cities, while we fight on the dried surface. If we fall, the split will become permanent. If we lose our fresh water forever, we will be extinct.’
Kisan studied her, the meaning of her words sinking in. ‘You’re carrying a lot, Samira. Fighting for your people, trying to hold onto something that might shatter any day.’
She met his gaze, her expression steady. ‘It’s what I was born to do.’
For a moment, the hum of the ship was the only sound settling between them.
They stared at each other for a long time.
She reached for his arm and stroked it, her hand following the emerging inked contours and shapes. Her fingers brushed the glowing lines of his tattoos.
‘What do they mean?’
He huffed. ‘I program them myself, with the names and last utterances of those I can remember I harmed. A reminder of my past and the choices that had guided me so far, good and bad.’
She tilted her head to consider him, eyes softening with compassion. ‘You can’t live torturing yourself this way, Kisan.’
‘How else can I recall?’ he growled, laced with torment.
She contemplated him for a long time. ‘By doing good. The more you help, the more their memories need to go onto your skin; soon, you won’t be reminded of the pain you caused but the hope you delivered. It won’t take the bulk of your guilt away but perhaps dull the edges.’
He shivered as her caress continued, and she inched closer, working her hand up to his neck where the ink glowed and pulsed, then up, trailing to his lips.
His eyes closed as if capturing the moment in his mind.
When her hand fell away, he opened his eyes, and they locked gazes before he gave a wry turn of his mouth and chin jerk.
They put their plates and glasses away in the sonic washer in silence.
Kisan walked her to her quarters.
The corridor was lit with built-in lamps guiding their path, and the gentle hum of the ship’s systems was the only sound.
They paused outside her door, the air charged with something neither dared to name.
‘ Sante for dinner, Rider,’ Samira whispered.
Kisan nodded, his emerald eyes meeting hers. ‘Anytime.’
The quiet between them stretched, heavy with unspoken words.
Samira leaned in before he stepped away, her lips brushing against his in a soft and fierce kiss.
For a moment, Kisan froze, his mind reeling—but then he responded, his hands finding her waist as he deepened the embrace, his tongue darting over her sensual lips.
Igniting a storm of emotions that tore through his meticulously constructed barriers.
Even as her curves molded to his harder, sinewed limbs, his thoughts and heart churned. Flashes of his past intertwined with the present—memories of violence, of failure, of the person he had been.
Yet, she was kissing him, her touch grounding him in a way he hadn’t thought possible.
Her palms rested on his muscled, heaving chest, and for a brief moment, he hesitated.
Might someone like her want this—want him? A man burdened with scars, not just on his skin but carved deep into his soul?
Then Samira’s fingers curled, pulling him closer, her heat, her untapped need drawing him out of the spiral threatening to consume him.
He responded, his hands sliding to her waist, brushing against the supple fabric of her jumpsuit top.
Her presence filled the small corridor with an intensity that silenced the ghosts of his past, even if just for a fleeting moment.
Their kiss deepened, and the flavor of smoky sultriness lingered on her lips, a remnant of the bourbon she’d sipped earlier.
The tension between them for days finally broke free, leaving a raw charge in its place.
With a growl, he stepped her backward into the chamber.
The door slid to close behind them with a quiet hiss. Sealing them in a space where the green and blue hues of the ship’s ambient lighting danced over their skin.
Kisan ended the kiss, his breaths ragged as he stared at the stunning woman in his arms. ‘You’re sure you want this? With me? Wouldn’t you rather -’ he growled.
Samira stepped back, her moon-dust-flecked eyes searching his face, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. ‘Kisan,’ she interrupted. ‘You’re here. With me. Stop looking for a reason to run.’
His jaw tightened, and his aqua eyes flashed as he sliced them away. ‘You don’t know the things I’ve done,’ he murmured, his rumble rough. ‘The people I’ve hurt. The monster I was.’
‘I know enough,’ she said, stepping closer. Her hand cupped his cheek, her touch gentle yet unyielding. ‘You think you’re the only one carrying shadows? Do you think I don’t see them? Feel them?’
Her vocalization softened, though her words carried an edge. ‘You’re alive, Kisan. You’re trying. That’s more than most people ever do.’
He let out a shaky breath, the warmth of her caress spreading through him. ‘You are worthy of a whole man. Who—’
‘I deserve a real soul,’ she interrupted, her tone sharp. ‘Right now, so do you. Stop punishing yourself for a moment, or you’re going to combust from self-torment.’