Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
P lateau – Calstar’s Hut
Julia wiped down the stone countertop, clearing the last remnants of breakfast as the soft morning light filtered through the open windows of the hut. The scent of warm bread and spiced tea still lingered in the air, blending with the earthy freshness of the garden outside. She worked with measured movements, her thoughts half on the task, half on the man who had just stepped through the door.
Roan.
Three days had passed since their kiss beneath the stars. Three days of unmentioned tension, of sidelong glances and fleeting moments charged with something neither of them was willing to acknowledge. They had danced around each other in conversation, cautious yet drawn together by an invisible thread.
And in those three days, Calstar’s declining health had become impossible to ignore.
“He hasn’t eaten,” Julia said in greeting, her voice quiet but edged with concern. She stared through the window out into the garden, where Calstar knelt at the base of his daughter’s statue, his frail hands resting against the smooth stone. His presence there had become a ritual, one that seemed to drain more from him each time.
Roan followed her line of sight, his expression unreadable, though a shadow flickered behind his pale gray eyes.
“I’ll contact my grandmother. She needs to know, though I suspect she already does. There isn’t much that she misses.”
Julia nodded, relieved that he didn’t dismiss her concern. Without a word, he reached for a dish towel and began drying the plates she had just washed. She blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard.
“You do dishes?” she asked, half-teasing, half-genuine in her curiosity.
He smirked, though the expression was fleeting. “I wasn’t always a soldier,” he said, setting a plate aside. “Besides, if I don’t help, I’ll have to listen to my grandfather’s lectures on being useful.”
Julia chuckled, shaking her head as she rinsed another bowl. Their hands moved in sync—hers washing, his drying, an oddly intimate rhythm that neither of them seemed willing to acknowledge. When the last dish was put away, Roan set the towel aside, then turned to her, his gaze steady and unreadable.
“Come with me.”
Julia tensed, caught off guard by the quiet intensity in his voice. “What?”
“Plateau isn’t safe for you,” he said, stepping closer. “Or for my mother’s people. The longer you stay, the greater the risk.”
Her pulse quickened, not just at his proximity but at the urgency beneath his words. “Have you met others like me?” she suddenly asked, searching his face.
Roan hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Yes.”
Her breath hitched. “Who?”
He exhaled slowly, his glance drifting to his grandfather as he recounted the memory.
“He was on my warship.”
Julia raised a surprised eyebrow at his comment. His lips twitched with rueful amusement as he recounted what happened.
“He had just freed a prisoner and was sprinting down the corridor with a group of rebels. He stood out from the others—more disciplined. It was obvious he had military training, but there was something different about him—an air of control and command. What surprised me was that he carried the staff of a Gallant Knight. Seconds later, he was gone, but not before he gave me an odd salute.” He raised two fingers, mimicking the movement. His lips quirked slightly as he finished recounting the memory. “He disabled an entire warship. My warship. And he did it with a confidence that was… unnerving.”
Julia’s heart pounded. Josh. He was alive. She fought to keep her expression neutral, but something in her must have betrayed her.
Roan’s gaze sharpened. “You know him.”
She hesitated, then smiled, a secret curving at the edges of her lips. “Maybe.”
Roan’s entire posture changed. His jaw tensed, his breath subtly quickened, and something flickered in his pale gray eyes—something primal, possessive.
“Julia,” he murmured, stepping closer.
The air between them grew charged, heavy with unspoken things. She tilted her chin up, meeting his gaze with quiet defiance, daring him to make sense of what was happening between them.
And then he kissed her.
It wasn’t careful like before. This was different—demanding, searching, a clash of emotions neither of them fully understood. His hands slid to her waist, pulling her against him, and she let herself be drawn in, let herself feel.
Because in that moment, everything—her mission, the danger, the war raging across the galaxy—faded into nothing but him.
When they finally parted, breathless, he rested his forehead against hers, his voice rough with something she couldn’t name.
“Come with me.”
Julia closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the war within herself. Then she exhaled, her answer lingering in the space between them.
And in that moment, nothing felt more inevitable.
* * *
The soft whisper of the wind through the garden suddenly gave way to a low, mechanical hum—growing louder, sharper. Roan stiffened, his lips still pressed against Julia’s. His body tensed at the unmistakable sound of a Legion military transport broke through his desire .
His breath left him in a slow exhale as he pulled away from Julia, his gaze locking onto hers.
She heard it too. He was too late. He had been discovered.
Julia’s wide eyes flickered with a mix of understanding, fear, and something else—determination.
“Stay inside,” Roan ordered, his voice low but firm. “Find somewhere to hide.”
Julia hesitated before she gave a tight nod and turned away from the window. He watched her disappear inside her bedroom before he stepped out of the front door of the hut into the garden where his grandfather was already standing, his cloudy gaze fixed on the sky.
Four Legion battle transports hovered above the island, scarred and predatory, their weapons gleaming ominously against the daylight. A fifth, sleeker transport descended toward the ground, landing with a force that sent dust spiraling into the air not far from his starship.
Roan’s jaw clenched as his grandfather turned to him, the old man’s expression unreadable at first. But then Calstar smiled—a sad, knowing smile.
“Grandfather…” Roan started, but his voice trailed off at the look in the older man’s eyes.
“There is nothing to fear,” Calstar said softly, placing a gentle hand on Roan’s arm. “Even when all seems lost, hope will come when you least expect it.” His focus sharpened, as if seeing something beyond the moment. “Do not fight what is about to happen. I am ready… and so are our people. Your grandmother knows. She will stand with you.”
Roan’s throat tightened.
Calstar’s riddles were usually playful, but this time, a bone-chilling certainty vibrated in his voice. Roan had the odd sensation that his grandfather had a vision of what was to come—and was trying to reassure him. Before Roan could demand an explanation, heavy boots pounded against the stone.
He turned, his breath slowing as he met the steely gray eyes of General Coleridge Landais.
His father.
Dressed in his black Legion uniform, Coleridge moved with cold precision, every inch of him hardened by war. His scarred face was as unreadable as ever, silver hair cropped short, his steely stare like a blade honed to a razor’s edge.
The tension between them stretched tight as a tripwire.
“Roan.”
His father’s voice held no warmth, no acknowledgment of blood ties.
“What are you doing here?”
Roan met his father’s stern stare without flinching. “Visiting family.”
Coleridge’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes darkened.
“My sources tell me you are hiding one of the strangers.”
Roan remained silent. He knew it would be fruitless to deny it. Dorane had been correct in his assessment not to trust anyone. He would discover who had betrayed him… and return the favor. His chin lifted and he raised an eyebrow. His father’s lips curled in displeasure.
“You are a disappoint. One I should have dealt with long ago. Secure him.”
The order came with a flick of his wrist. Roan held still as four soldiers moved instantly. He tensed as two of them seized his arms. Their grips were iron shackles, unyielding.
He didn’t fight. Not yet. His grandfather’s soft early warning had cautioned him that there would be a time and a place to resist—hopefully away from Julia and his grandfather.
He stiffened when his grandfather’s shaky voice cut through the rising tension. His attention flickered to his grandfather’s face. The old man was staring back at him with love and regret. Confusion filled Roan.
“You are the one who is a disappointment. Nia warned you that your greed and desire for power would bring downfall to you and your brother. That is why?—”
“Stay out of this, old man.”
Coleridge’s glare locked on Calstar. Roan frowned when he noticed the intense hatred that filled his father’s eyes. There was also a warning.
Calstar didn’t so much as flinch.
“You come here, accusing your son,” Calstar continued, voice strong despite his failing body. “But we both know it was your brother who committed the greater crime and you who let him.”
Coleridge’s face remained blank. “The Legion?—”
“Not the Legion… my daughter, Coleridge. We both know what really happened to my Nia.
“What are you talking about?” Roan could feel the question being ripped from his throat.
Calstar turned, this time looking directly at Roan.
“Tell him,” Calstar murmured to Coleridge. It was an order.
Something twisted deep in Roan’s chest. “Tell me what?”
“Who really killed your mother.”
Roan felt as if the world tilted. His breath came fast and sharp, his body suddenly coiled tight as steel wire. He turned to his father, searching for a denial, for anything that would make the words false.
But what he saw—was fury.
Not denial.
Rage, a guilty rage.
Coleridge’s hand flexed—a brief, telling motion. The cry of warning froze on Roan’s lips when his father pulled the laser sword from his hip. Before Roan could warn his grandfather, there was a flash of burning blue light followed by the scent of seared flesh.
Roan’s world narrowed to the crimson pool spreading across the stone. His chest burned, his lungs locked as if the very air had turned to glass inside him.
No…
Not him. Not like this.
The weight of everything he had never said crashed into him. He had wasted time. He had thought he had more.
He saw his grandfather’s knowing smile, the warmth of his voice, the wisdom in his words. And then?—
Nothing.
He staggered, muscles tightening, breath coming too fast, too sharp.
And then?—
Rage. Pure, black, unstoppable.
“NO!”
He lunged, blind with fury, but the soldiers were already on him, iron grips locking down as his father turned the blade in his direction. The soldiers yanked him back, forcing him to watch as his grandfather crumpled to the stone.
Roan stared down at his grandfather, breathing in and out through his nose. His eyes were locked on the blood pooling around Calstar. It had all happened too rapidly. He looked up when his father turned the glowing blade in his direction. The cruel intention radiating from his eyes. Roan lifted his chin, defiance burning in his own.
A sharp gasp cut through the chaos. Roan’s head snapped around as Julia stepped forward from the garden. Her eyes flashed with fierce determination.
“STOP!” Her voice snapped out the command.
Coleridge turned to her, his eyes cold and distant, his gaze assessing her as if she were a specimen. The moment his father realized who she was, Roan felt a palpable shift in the air, a sudden silence heavy with tension.
“This?” Coleridge murmured, stepping toward her with a sneer on his lips. His father’s leer swept over her, slow and assessing.
The sneer on his lips remained, but there was something else flickering behind his pale, predatory eyes. Not just recognition. Interest.
“You are the Ancient that is supposed to bring the downfall to the Legion?” Coleridge scoffed, his voice laced with something else—something calculating.
He stepped forward, circling her like a wolf sizing up a rival predator. “I expected something… different.”
Julia remained perfectly still, her expression steady, face unreadable. Roan saw the subtle way her shoulders shifted, the controlled way she inhaled.
And for the first time, he saw something unusual in his father’s expression.
Uncertainty.
Julia barely spared his father a glance. Her focus was on Calstar. She slowly advanced, her head held high. She stopped next to his grandfather and knelt on one knee, ignoring everyone and everything else but Calstar. With a gentle touch, she reached out and caress his forehead. Roan could sense her grief even if he couldn’t see her face. Sorrow and regret pierced him when she moved her hand gently over his grandfather’s eyes to close them.
“Thank you for your guidance and support, my friend. I will never forget you. Hope will come. I swear it,” she murmured.
“Touching.”
Blind fury rose in Roan when his father scoffed at Julia’s quiet promise. He could feel the pressure of the guards’ hands intensify as they sensed his muscles bunching beneath their grasps. He ground his teeth, a low growl rumbling in his chest when Julia stood and faced his father. Everything inside him wanted to protect her from the cruelty of the man who had raised him.
His fury faded to pride and deep respect when Julia stared back at his father with the same regal calm with which she had first faced him—and he saw a flash of uncertainty cross his father’s face again.
A heavy, charged moment stretched between them, thick with unspoken words and simmering tension. A muscle twitched in his father’s jaw before his expression hardened, and with a sharp movement, he lifted his hand.
“Escort her to my ship.”
Soldiers’ hands shot out to seize Julia, but stopped short, their expressions shifting from aggression to hesitation as she leveled a cold, piercing glare at them. With a regal lift of her chin, she stepped forward.
Roan had expected Julia to resist.
Instead, she lifted her chin and walked forward on her own, her movements graceful, measured. She gave the soldiers no reason to touch her.
Coleridge’s lips parted slightly—a flicker of something unreadable in his expression.
Roan had seen his father crush men with a glance . He had seen him break wills without a word.
But Julia? She walked past him as if he was nothing.
And his father hesitated. Just for a second.
Roan didn’t flinch as his father turned back to him, his lips curling into a familiar, twisted mocking expression.
“You can watch as I destroy your mother’s home world just as I destroyed Jeslean. When I’m finished, your grandmother will have joined her husband and daughter,” his father taunted.
Something inside Roan broke. No, not broke— exploded .
The ice in his veins turned to molten steel. The quiet, controlled soldier inside him died in that moment—burned away in the same fire that had just consumed his grandfather’s life.
The guards holding him felt it—the sudden coil of sheer, murderous intent. Their grips tightened, muscles tensed, anticipation crackling in the air.
But Roan didn’t move. Not yet.
Because his father wasn’t going to die today.
No. Not today.
But very, very soon.