Chapter 15 Lia
LIA
My mouth goes dry as I stare at the sealed wall. I stare at the sealed wall, then the alcove, then Rakkh’s profile—sharp, furious, absolutely willing to die fighting a ship if it means keeping me alive. And that thought—die—hits like a spearhead.
Because the ship isn’t sealing us in to protect us from the monsters outside. It’s sealing us in to protect me from—my gaze snaps to Rakkh. To Travnyk. To Tomas.
To the three of them standing in the violet light, like silhouettes in a story that ends badly.
The ship hums again, deeper. This time, the sound has a rhythm I can’t ignore. It’s scanning us.
The grooves in the wall brighten in a slow sweep, traveling from the floor to chest height, then across the chamber like a band of light measuring everything it touches.
It passes over Tomas first. He freezes, eyes wide. Nothing happens.
It passes over Travnyk. Travnyk’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t move. Nothing happens.
Then it reaches Rakkh. The moment the band of light touches his scales, the ship’s hum spikes—sharp, alarmed, wrong. The grooves flare blue-white.
Rakkh’s eyes flash to mine, and I see it—he feels it, too. The instant it shifts from “unknown” to “target.”
The air changes—thickens. The pressure increases. A thin seam in the wall behind him splits open. It’s not a door, it’s a vent. Something inside it warms, a dry heat building fast, as if the ship is drawing breath to expel it.
“Rakkh—!” Tomas calls, scrambling backward, nearly tripping over himself.
Rakkh doesn’t retreat. He turns slightly, putting himself between me and the seam, wings flaring to cover me, a shield.
“I told you,” he says, voice low and vicious. “Nothing touches you.”
The seam behind Rakkh widens. Heat rolls out. Not flame. Not lightning. Something more controlled. A hiss of pressurized air.
“Warrior—” Travnyk steps forward, lifting one hand—not toward the ship, but toward Rakkh.
Rakkh doesn’t look away from the vent.
“Stay back,” he growls.
The words aren’t a request. They’re a command born from the kind of fear he never lets anyone see.
My chest tightens so hard it hurts. The ship isn’t waking to welcome me.
It’s waking to defend me. From them. From him.
From the one male who has put his body between me and every danger since the moment he assigned himself to my side.
The vent behind Rakkh widens. The heat intensifies. I move before I can think. I dart forward and grab Rakkh’s forearm with both hands. His scales are slick with leftover ichor, slick beneath my palms as I yank hard.
“Rakkh—move!” I hiss.
He glances down at me—just a flicker—and in that flicker I see how much he hates that I’m afraid of this.
“I will not leave you,” he growls.
“I’m not asking you to,” I snap, voice shaking. “I’m asking you to stop it from killing you.”
His eyes widen a fraction. The ship hum grows higher and more insistent. The vent’s hiss rises, building toward release. My throat burns.
I pivot, half-reaching for the alcove panel again—for the grooves, for anything that might be an interface.
“Stop,” I whisper.
Nothing. The ship doesn’t even acknowledge the word. It’s not listening for language. It’s listening for something else entirely. Markers. Permission. Authority. A memory.
My hands shake as I press my palm to the wall—flat against the glowing grooves.
Instantly, the violet warms beneath my skin, reacting like it recognizes me. The hum changes—shifting away from the alarm frequency into something lower.
The vent behind Rakkh hesitates. It doesn’t close, but it… pauses. As if awaiting a command it can understand.
“Lia,” Rakkh says, voice rough. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, tears stinging hot. “But it seems to understand this. It understands me.”
The ship pulses once. I feel it—not as sound but as a pressure behind my ribs, a heartbeat answering mine. I swallow hard and try to shape my intent the way Calista taught me—focus, analyze, push down panic. Aside the noise. Focus on its purpose.
Protect us.
Not just me.
Us.
The impression from before flashes again behind my eyes—starlight, urgency, a woman’s will like steel.
Hold the line. Protect what comes next.
I don’t know her name, but I feel her purpose like a brand. And I realize, with a clarity that makes me dizzy, that this ship was built to recognize a threat. And in its eyes, Rakkh looks like one.
Because he’s a warrior. Because he’s Zmaj. Because the last time this ship was active, the enemies were something else entirely—something the Zmaj fought, something the Urr’ki feared, something humans only know as old stories.
Perixians. Clones. Invaders.
But he’s not Perixian—why is it doing this? Why is it perceiving him as a threat?
I press harder against the wall and force my mind into a single, sharp thought.
He is not the enemy.
The ship’s hum wavers. The blue-white alarm flickers. The heat from the vent fades a fraction—not gone, but receding.
Rakkh watches me like I’m doing something sacred and dangerous all at once. His hand slides up my arm, not to pull me away this time, but to steady me—gentle, careful, as if he’s afraid he’ll break me with it.
“Lia,” he murmurs, and hearing my name like that makes my heart twist. “Do not—”
“I have to,” I whisper. “Because if I don’t, it’ll hurt you.”
The words leave me raw. The ship hums again. A tone sequence rolls through the chamber—lower, less alarm, more… recalibration. The vent seam behind Rakkh begins to close, as slow as a blinking eye. It doesn’t fully seal, but enough that the heat stops building.
Tomas collapses against the wall, shaking, his breath loud. Travnyk lowers his head, watching the ship like a living predator he’s finally learned to read.
Rakkh doesn’t relax. Not even a fraction. His gaze stays locked on the vent until the seam smooths completely shut. Then he turns to me.
The violet light paints the planes of his face in shadow and sheen, making him look like something carved from moonstone and war. His hand comes up and cups my cheek—careful, huge, warm. There’s no possession or dominance in his touch. It’s relief so violent it shakes him.
“You put yourself between me and it,” he says, voice hoarse.
I blink fast, trying not to cry like a child. “It was going to—”
“I know,” he cuts in, and his voice is rougher than anger. “And you still did it.”
My throat closes.
“I don’t want you hurt,” I whisper. The truth feels too big in my mouth. Too exposed. “I can’t—”
He leans in, forehead nearly touching mine, breath hot against my lips. His hearts beat hard enough that I feel them even here, even though we aren’t pressed together.
“I do not understand this ship,” he murmurs. “But I understand this.”
His thumb drags lightly along my cheekbone, wiping away wetness I didn’t realize had spilled. My body goes tight in a way that has nothing to do with fear.
Tomas makes a faint sound, like he’s trying to remind us he exists. Rakkh doesn’t look away from me.
“From now on,” he says, low and lethal, “you do not touch it without me.”
“It tried to kill you,” I say with a laugh that’s almost hysterical—breathless.
“It tried to take you,” he corrects. “And anything that reaches for you like that is my enemy.”
The ship hums softly, almost as if it objects. I swallow, eyes flicking to the sealed corridor—still seamless, still closed. To the alcove with the hidden tool. To the grooves that warmed under my palm like skin.
And then, faintly, deeper in the ship, another sound answers.
A sequence of clicks—rhythmic, repeating—like a system unlocking a chain of doors one by one. Somewhere ahead, something is opening.
The violet glow shifts forward again, pulsing down the deeper corridor like a beckoning hand. My stomach drops. Rakkh follows my gaze and goes utterly still.
“What,” he says slowly, voice dangerous, “is it calling you to?”
I stare into the dim violet hall, skin prickling, heart hammering like I’m back under twin suns facing a poison I can’t name.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
And that’s the worst part. Because I don’t think the ship is asking anymore. I think it’s deciding.
The hull hums, steady and certain. The light pulses again. And in that pulse I feel it—faint, eerie, fragmented—like an old recording waking from a long sleep. Not a voice. Not a face. Only an impression—words pressed into metal and time:
Authorized.
My breath catches. Rakkh’s hand tightens on mine, grounding me so hard it almost hurts, but the ship doesn’t care.
The corridor ahead brightens—inviting and cold.
I realize, with a dread that tastes like metal on my tongue, that whatever is buried in this ship has been waiting a long time to speak.
And it just found the only person it thinks has the right to listen.