Chapter 4
Sylas
Sylas lounged across the obsidian throne, legs dangling over one armrest, claws clicking idle patterns against polished stone.
Morning light filtered through the high, slitted windows, cutting pale beams across the chamber floor.
Cold light. Winter light. The kind that reminded him winter never truly ended on Yzefun—it only pretended to during those brief, warm months when the Mother Moon drew close enough to coax nightblooms from frozen ground.
He rolled his shoulders, irritation already prickling under his skin despite the early hour.
Another report sat unread on the low table beside the throne.
He didn’t need to look at it. The news would be the same as always: The Fallen were running feral deep within the eastern woods, their minds void of sanity, hunting any poor fool who lost their way.
Moon Tear madness had claimed another three in the past cycle alone.
Good males, once. Strong. Now reduced to creatures that knew only hunger and rage.
And the Interstellar Protections Agency—those self-righteous parasites—wanted him to cooperate. Wanted him to grant the humans grace for their mistake. Their incompetence. As if being technologically backward excused trespassing on sacred ground.
Sylas’s muzzle curled.
A pathetic human escape vessel had crashed into their territory. Worse, it had landed in the Holy Ruins, close enough to the Lux Shrine that the impact had cracked one of the outer prayer stones. Desecration. Accident or not, the damage was done.
His claws scraped against obsidian, the sound sharp in the silence.
The IPA, with its hollow promises and bureaucratic posturing, demanded immunity for the humans’ transgressions. Pardons for their arrogance. They cited treaties. Protection clauses. Exemptions for “developing spacefaring species.”
It would be laughable if it weren’t so infuriating.
Sylas had read the reports. Studied the vessel’s trajectory, the failed communications, the ignored warnings.
His brother had given them three chances to turn back.
Three. More than generous by any standard.
When they’d continued their reckless course, Ryxin had acted within his rights as Commander to defend what was theirs.
Defending territory wasn’t a crime.
Yet now, as Alpha King, Sylas was left to deal with the aftermath. The politics. The pressure from species who thought themselves above consequences.
Killing the humans outright would have been simpler. Clean. Final.
But part of him hesitated.
Not out of pity—he had little enough of that for his own kind, let alone furless aliens who couldn’t survive a single night in proper cold. No, his hesitation came from pragmatism. From the question that had gnawed at him since Ryxin’s initial report.
What if they’re useful?
The humans had crossed the void between stars. Crash-landed, yes. Incompetently, undeniably. But they’d made it. That suggested some level of skill. Some knowledge worth extracting before disposal.
If they proved valuable—if there was some way to use them, study them, learn from their technology or navigation methods—keeping them might be worthwhile.
He just wasn’t convinced they were worth the effort.
Most humans he’d encountered through IPA channels were soft. Weak. Obsessed with comfort and safety and rights they hadn’t earned through strength. The thought of such creatures in his fortress, breathing his air, consuming his resources—
The heavy creak of the chamber doors pulled him from his brooding.
Sylas didn’t shift position, but his ears swiveled toward the sound. His gaze tracked the opening doors with practiced disinterest, though his attention sharpened.
Ryxin entered first. Of course. His brother moved with the confidence of a male who knew exactly where he stood—commander, prince, the only one Sylas trusted completely.
Black fur caught the pale light, fine streaks of dark gray rippling across broad shoulders.
Behind him, one of his Lux Knight Captains followed.
Xar, judging by the particular shade of his pelt and the predatory set of his stance.
Then came the humans.
Two females, heads down, hands bound with cuffs that gleamed dull silver in the morning light.
They shuffled forward, their movements restricted, humiliated.
The chains weren’t strictly necessary—what could these fragile creatures do against Yzefrxyl strength?
—but they served their purpose. Reminded the prisoners exactly how powerless they were.
Sylas straightened slightly, his interest piqued despite himself.
The females looked even more pitiful in person than they had in the vid-streams Ryxin had sent.
Furless. No claws. Blunt, pathetic teeth hidden behind lips too soft to do any real damage.
Their skin was pale, exposed, vulnerable in ways that seemed almost offensive.
How they’d survived long enough to traverse the stars defied logic.
A species with no natural defenses had no place in the cosmos.
Let alone on his planet.
Ryxin stopped a respectful distance from the throne. His Lux Knights stationed around the chamber snapped to attention, fists crossing their chests in salute. The sound echoed—precise, practiced, powerful.
Sylas noted the subtle difference in how they addressed him versus Ryxin. For his brother, respect tinged with camaraderie. For Sylas, respect that bordered on fear.
As it should be.
He was the one who reigned. The one who’d won Lux’s Blessing through the Great Challenge, who’d torn apart three challengers in a single Blood Moon to claim the throne. The Alpha King who held this fractured society together through sheer force of will and the power the Moon Tears granted him.
But he didn’t begrudge Ryxin the reverence his knights showed. His brother was honorable. Ruthless in battle, strategic in planning, loyal to his core. Ryxin didn’t covet the throne—unlike others who would leap at the first sign of weakness during the next full moon.
Sylas’s gaze dragged to the two humans.
The one in the red dress shook so violently it was a wonder she remained upright. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks, shoulders hunched as if the weight of their stares would crush her. Her whole body radiated terror—the kind that came from being broken before the fight even started.
Weak. Hopeless. Worthless.
She wouldn’t last a day in any real test of survival.
The other, however—
Sylas’s attention sharpened.
This one wore white. A gown, formal and expensive-looking despite the tears and ash stains. Her hair gleamed like sunlight on fresh snow, falling past her shoulders in tangled waves. She stood tall despite the chains, despite the obvious fear that made her hands tremble.
Defiant.
Her chin tilted upward just enough to be noticed. Just enough to suggest she hadn’t given up yet.
Interesting.
“What about the others?” Sylas’s voice rumbled through the chamber, deliberately casual. He scanned the entrance, found it empty of additional bodies. “The report said five were discovered. Yet you only present two.”
Ryxin’s expression remained neutral, though a flicker of something—exasperation, maybe—crossed his features. “The males didn’t respect the rules. They nearly injured these two females with their stupidity.” He paused. “They’re being sent to the pits to be…disciplined.”
Sylas raised an eyebrow. The pits. That explained the delay. “And the third female?”
His brother’s lips curled into a sly grin, tail flicking with satisfaction. “She’s warming my nest.”
The words hit Sylas like a physical blow.
He sat upright fully, legs uncurling from their lazy sprawl across the throne. “You brought a human into your nest?” Disbelief colored his tone, sharp and immediate. “Why would you trust one there?”
Of all the reckless—
Ryxin chuckled, the sound rolling through the chamber with no trace of shame.
“Look at them.” He gestured toward the two females with one clawed hand.
“Do you think I should be concerned?” His grin widened.
“My Ari enjoys being pampered. After I carried her from the wreck, I felt…responsible for neglecting her well-being. She’s grown on me. Nice to have around, actually.”
“A pet?” Sylas repeated, struggling to process the concept.
Other species kept pets—companions, hunting animals, creatures bred for specific purposes. But this? A human? One of the weak aliens who’d desecrated their Holy Land?
He tilted his head, studying the two females again with fresh eyes.
The one in red sniffled, barely holding back another sob. The golden one remained upright, her bound hands clenched into fists despite the futility of the gesture.
Sylas growled low in his throat.
He could see why Ryxin might take one in. A pet could be useful—a symbol of power, proof of dominance, even a source of loyalty if properly trained. The novelty alone would make certain statements in court.
But the idea of such fragile creatures in his care made his hackles rise. They’d require constant supervision. Protection. Resources.
Still. The idea intrigued him.
The golden one, at least, had a spark. She’d keep things interesting. The other would likely give him nothing but headaches with her endless weeping.
Perhaps keeping one alive wouldn’t be so terrible after all.
Sylas stood from his throne with practiced grace, each movement deliberate. His claws scraped against stone, the sound echoing through the chamber as he descended from the dais. Around him, his Lux Knights straightened further, postures rigid in acknowledgment of his proximity.
Power rippled through the room like a tangible force.
The two females stood frozen. Their bodies trembled—good. At least they possessed enough intelligence to recognize a predator when they saw one.
He stopped directly in front of them, towering over their pathetically small frames. Even the golden one barely reached his chest. How did creatures this size survive anything?