Chapter 16 #2
The ride back cut through perfect order.
Trams slid past banners, the city still shining in morning gold.
Yet beneath that polish, something felt wrong.
The hum in the grid had deepened, a quiet vibration that pressed against his chest. Zephyr was too still, too bright.
The air held its breath, waiting for the next spark.
The sound crawled under his skin, familiar and wrong. The city hid its tension well. Faces smiled, glass gleamed, but Kylix could feel when structure started to rot.
He looked up at the sky where neighboring planets turned on their axis.
Wherever you are, Bekn Zaid, I will find you.
He checked the pulse on his wrist-band. It beat too fast for calm. The need for movement did that to him. It was hunger, not fear.
The Luminary headquarters loomed ahead, a forge of glass and steel. Inside, the low buzz of conversation mingled with the scent of synthetic coffee. Kylix moved through the corridors with short nods and clipped exchanges. Screens blinked with data, the usual rhythm of command.
He walked the metal halls, his boots striking in even rhythm. He checked in with his field team, confirming Vandor had stayed behind at the university to keep an eye on Mirel. Only after the report came through did he head to the command floor.
The lift doors sealed behind him. “Any news on Attica?” he asked over comms.
The pause that followed scraped his nerves.
“We can’t be sure yet,” a junior officer said, stepping forward with a file in hand. “But the South Ring sweep found residue. Same mix as the old pills. They’re back in use.”
Kylix stopped walking. The memory hit sharp.
The chemical rush, the blur, the hollow second when he’d realized he was no longer in control.
That they had taken Helianth. “Keep it contained,” he said finally.
His voice stayed even, but the heat under his skin betrayed him. “No press. Not like the prison leak.”
He looked up from the file, eyes cutting across the room. “Anyone know more about that?”
No one answered. The silence stretched.
“Sure,” Kylix said. “Didn’t think so.”
He let the moment hang just long enough for the threat to settle before turning away.
He continued toward the data pit, where analysts sat hunched over glowing terminals, the tension sharp in the air.
The sound of the machines filled the room.
Heat pooled near the consoles, rising off the circuitry in waves.
Kylix moved between the rows, the static brushing against his wrist as if the air itself resisted him.
The forge glass above caught the light, burning faintly orange, and for a moment he could see their faces reflected there, pale with exhaustion, eyes bruised from too many nights without rest. One of them rubbed his temples, whispering about phantom signals and misfired alerts. It was how fear began here.
“Still no entry point,” one said. “Every time we think we’ve got it, it shifts again.”
“The code’s alive,” another muttered. “Like it knows we’re looking.”
Kylix approached, scanning the flickering projections. “That’s what you said yesterday.”
“Yes, sir,” one replied quickly. “It keeps changing. Same coordinates, different data every time. It’s like someone’s toying with us.”
“Someone is,” Kylix said under his breath. He could feel it, Bekn’s hand, invisible and precise. “Keep the trace active. If it moves again, I want to see it in real time.”
“Yes, sir.”
Time passed. By the time Yure arrived, the light through the forge glass had shifted to late-afternoon gold. He was still in his university uniform, computer under his arm, the scent of coffee trailing after him. “Couldn’t wait,” he said, grinning. “You all would’ve crashed the system without me.”
He made his way through the rows of desks, unpacking wires and screens, trading a few jokes with the analysts before finding an empty seat near the main console. They bent over their work, their talk low and fast, all focus on the rebel encryption still refusing to crack.
Kylix opened his multi-slate and typed quickly.
Vandor, how’s everything at the academy?
The reply came seconds later.
Quiet so far. Boy’s fine. Keeps his head down.
Kylix stared at the message longer than necessary, thumb hovering over the keys. He hated that he needed to ask, hated the pull that kept his attention there when he had a city to run. With a sharp breath, he closed the slate.
A sudden rise in voices drew his attention back to the analysts. “Still no entry point?” he called.
Yure leaned forward, scanning the code. “It shifts every hour. Whoever wrote this doesn’t want us finding the source.”
Kylix frowned. “Yeah, I heard. Someone’s toying with us.”
Yure didn’t look up. “No, sir. I think someone’s watching us.”
Kylix’s voice dropped. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Yure’s fingers flew over the controls. “The code’s recursive. It reads our movements. Every time we run a scan, it changes pattern, like it’s responding.”
Kylix cut him off with a low growl. “I don’t need the lecture. Just tell me how we stop it.”
Yure shook his head. “We don’t. Not yet.”
“Keep at it,” Kylix said, voice cool. “If it’s vanishing, then it’s leading us somewhere. Don’t lose the thread.”
“Yes, sir.”
He turned toward the center of the room and stopped.
Aviel was already there, sprawled across one of the main chairs like he owned the place.
His boots rested on the console, coat half-open, the heat of his presence filling the air before he spoke.
He barked casual orders at the junior officers.
“Come on, boys, get those chairs ready. Press conference starts any minute.” To Kylix’s disbelief, they obeyed.
It took effort not to pull rank. Aviel smiled like he knew it.
Kylix stopped mid-step. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?”
Aviel didn’t look up. “Getting comfortable. You didn’t think I’d let you have all the glory, did you?” His grin was sharp, radiant. “Besides, who’s going to stop me?”
Theo stood quietly behind him, untouched by the orders, his hands clasped around a cable, light flickering across his face. The sight of the Luminary’s systems alive and shifting seemed to both terrify and draw him closer.
Kylix’s mouth twitched, equal parts irritation and reluctant amusement. “You’re not cleared for this level, Aviel.”
“Relax,” Aviel said, spreading his arms. “I’m just here for the show. Your little empire looks good under the lights.”
Officers moved around them, finishing preparations as the holo feed came to life.
Imperial Milanov’s image filled the holo wall. Gold light. Perfect composure. Zimeon stood at his shoulder. The Emperor’s calm held the room. Even the consoles seemed to dim, as if the system itself obeyed his rhythm. He spoke with the serenity of a man who believed obedience was love.
“Loyalty,” he said, “is the bond that keeps a city alive.”
A pause, perfectly measured. The words sank like a hook.
Kylix had heard that tone since childhood, the voice that made murder sound like order. The light on the wall gilded Milanov’s throat, and for a moment Kylix saw his own reflection beside the Imperial crest, caught inside another man’s script.
He could almost hear Mirel’s breathing again, that raw, uneven sound against his skin. Mine, Milanov said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Our blood, our heirs, our future.
Around the room, officers straightened. A few even clapped. The sound rang false. Aviel watched in silence, grin thin as a knife, and Kylix understood the danger of it, the crowd wanted to believe this was romance, not politics. They wanted spectacle, not truth.
When Milanov’s gaze seemed to look straight through the holo feed, Kylix met it without blinking. He let the smile come slow. He’d play the part for now. But the moment the feed cut, he would decide what story survived.
“I am happy to announce the official claiming by Commander Kylix Zephyranth,” Milanov continued, each word precise. “An alliance of strength and legacy, one that binds our future to those who earn their place beside us.”
The image returned to Mirel for a beat that felt too long.
Kylix’s jaw locked, heat gathering tight across his shoulders.
The feed cut back to Milanov’s calm smile.
Kylix remained in the back with his team, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
For a fleeting moment, pride surged through him, sharp and quiet, as Milanov spoke his name.
He let them laugh because he’d already won.
Aviel leaned forward, grin slicing through the noise. “So you went through with it,” he said. “No second thought? You really let Milanov make it official for the whole planet to see.”
Kylix’s jaw flexed but he didn’t answer.
Aviel’s grin lingered, colder now. “Guess the stories about fated mates weren’t just stories after all.”
One hand rested in the golden curls of Theo, who sat close beside him, wide-eyed and still.
The holo light flickered across Kylix’s face as the Imperial’s voice droned on, speaking of peace and victory. Around them, the team applauded on cue. Kylix didn’t move. The light reflected against his pupils as Yure’s earlier words echoed in his mind.
They’re watching us.
The thought tightened his chest. Unease crept through the quiet. Attica’s name ghosted through his mind, half warning, half curse.
A thin flicker went through the feed and was gone.
For an instant he thought he smelled smoke under the din of circuitry. The holo feed dimmed, leaving only Kylix and the faint gleam of his team’s consoles. His multi-slate buzzed with a message.
Vandor: Sir, Mirel requested a ride. I’m accompanying him into the city. He said he wanted to see the streets before dark. We’re keeping to the main lanes, but something feels off. I’ll update again soon.
His hand tightened around the slate. The bond answered first, heat stuttering, then the faintest chill running through his veins. It wasn’t fear. It was distance. Mirel was too far, and the silence between them suddenly had weight.
He almost believed the day would end quietly. The text sat stark and cold on the screen. The air in the room shifted, heat collapsing inward.
Kylix stared at the message until the light flickered against his pupils, gold dissolving to white.
Frost bloomed along the desk’s edge despite the warmth of his palm, a thin white rind that remembered every mistake.
He should have locked the slate to Mirel’s wrist when he’d had the chance.
Now he had only Vandor’s updates and the city between them.
The air still smelled faintly of smoke. The light on the wall pulsed once, then steadied, as if waiting for a signal.
He put the slate down and did not realize his hand was still closed.