Chapter 4
FOUR
CYAN
The sands coloring the upper atmosphere of Earendel were as though straight from a painting. Cyan sat on the curb next to the holdover, Priad’s chin resting on his boot. The neon LED sign cast a sharp green glare on Priad’s ash black fur.
They’d spent the day outside of Chevron, exploring the arid jungle areas to the north. That salty flavor to the air was stronger there than even in the city, where it was somewhat masked by the scents of life, chemicals, and food. Priad had had room to run up and down the dunes that the shrubbery areas abutted, working off pent up energy for the first time since their last trip home.
He had missed the forests and mountains he’d grown up with—if it hadn’t been for the sword, he’d likely never have left his home solar system. He’d be on Gaia. Maybe with another warg to keep Priad company. Maybe with a family.
Cyan smirked wryly to himself, bringing the bottle to his lips for another sip of now-warm ale. Love had always been a fantasy. You built it—you didn’t stumble around all over the galaxies in the dark hoping for lightning to strike. If he wanted it, he’d have to look. And he had no time for that; not with the weight on his back.
He frowned, steering his thoughts away from his homeworld. Scratching Priad behind the ear, he smiled down as the warg met his eyes from beneath hooded furry brows.
“It will release us eventually,” Cyan assured the warg.
He didn’t know when, or how. But in the weeks of dreams and nightmares that followed the sword’s arrival in his life, he’d gotten glimpses of a sort of knowing that eventually he would fulfill his task.
Or maybe he just needed to let himself believe that.
“Someday we’ll make it back.” Cyan gave Priad’s head two firm pats. The warg yawned and flopped onto his side, tucking his paws to his chest in a gesture entirely incongruous with the fearsome beast. This was love. Guaranteed. Foolproof. Easy. Cyan scratched the beast’s barrel chest.
The comms adhesive at the back of his ear vibrated in that moment, the bone-conducting audio announcing an unknown connection within a two-kilometer radius.
“Yes?” he answered.
“Hi. Cyan Orlogsson?”
Cyan blinked, having expected the voice of the old man he’d met earlier that day in the repair garage and instead getting something else entirely.
He could guess who it was. He had seen her.
“You’re good,” he smiled.
“T-thanks. It’s kind of my job. Your dataslate’s ready for pickup, first thing tomorrow.”
“Is it fixed?”
“Well, I’ve got your name and connect, don’t I?” the girl quipped, though he heard the hint of pride in her voice. Cyan raised a brow at Priad.
“Then I’d like to get it tonight, if I can.”
“We’re technically closed … ”
“Please. It’s important.”
It’s not that important.
Cyan turned away from Priad’s unblinking stare.
The other line took a beat, thinking. “Yeah, okay. Can you get here in the next ten minutes?”
“I’ll be there.”