Chapter 11
Morgan looked down at herself—the deep charcoal underdress, the black overdress with its violet embroidery, the dark metal belt resting cool against her waist. She felt like a prop in an elaborate ritual, dressed for a part she didn’t know the script for.
Relax, she thought dryly. Sure. Easy.
She sat, more out of reflex than intention, lowering herself onto one of the cushioned seats. The fabric welcomed her with a softness that felt unreal.
A soft tone sounded—a chime so delicate she wasn’t sure she’d truly heard it.
The door slid open, and another attendant entered.
This one was shorter than Raeska, slightly broader through the upper body, with long silver-black hair bound high at the back of her head.
Her eyes were the same deep, glimmering black.
She carried a tray.
Morgan tensed instinctively. The attendant did not speak—not even through the translator stone. She merely inclined her head, placed the tray on the low table in front of Morgan, and stepped back with a curiosity that felt almost childlike.
Morgan managed a faint, grateful nod. The alien bowed once more and departed, the door sealing behind her.
Morgan stared at the tray.
The food was beautiful—strange, but beautiful.
Jewelled slices of fruit that glowed faintly from within, their pale flesh flecked with violet threads.
Soft, warm breads with crisp edges and fragrant steam rising from their layers.
A small bowl of something that looked like honey but darker, thicker, with a scent that reminded her faintly of chocolate and something floral.
And a cup of tea, its steam curling upward with a scent she couldn’t quite place—herbal, sweet, and calming.
She hesitated.
It can’t be any worse than what the Majarin fed you. And you’re not dead yet.
She reached for one of the glowing fruits, the flesh cool beneath her fingertips. The first bite melted on her tongue—sweet, bright, slightly tart, with a texture somewhere between pear and peach. Her shoulders loosened a fraction.
The bread was equally surprising—soft inside, crisp outside, subtly spiced.
She lingered over the honey-like substance last, dipping a piece of bread into it. It clung to her fingers, thick and warm. When she tasted it, the flavor bloomed across her tongue—rich like dark chocolate, sweet like wildflower honey, with an undertone she couldn’t name but instantly wanted again.
The tea washed it all down with gentle warmth.
For a moment—just a moment—she allowed herself to feel something close to grounded. Not safe, not comfortable, certainly not relaxed, but grounded enough to remember that she still inhabited her own body and her own mind.
She leaned back in the cushioned seat, the feast half-finished on the tray before her.
He will come when he comes, Raeska had said.
Morgan wasn't sure whether the thought sent fear spiraling through her chest or something else entirely.
Time became difficult to grasp. It drifted in a slow, uncertain rhythm, stretching until she felt suspended inside it.
The faint glow from the walls, the soft trickle from the garden, the perfectly tempered air—everything around her remained steady while her thoughts churned restlessly beneath the surface.
She moved from the cushioned seat and wandered a few steps, tracing her hand along the cool stone.
The weight of the garments seemed to shift with her movements, every fold of fabric a reminder of how meticulously she had been prepared.
It all felt intentional, as though every detail in this room existed for a purpose she hadn’t been told.
A tight, uneasy feeling gathered beneath her ribs.
This is crazy.
She crossed the chamber again, trailing her fingers over the violet embroidery at her waist, then stopped near the garden’s archway.
The mist drifting from the foliage carried a faint sweetness, calming at first, but now it only heightened her awareness of how carefully curated her surroundings were.
She pressed her fingertips lightly against the stone, steadying herself.
They dressed me with such care. Fed me beautifully. Soft hands, soft voices… as if all of this were kindness. But I was taken. Moved like a possession from one place to another.
The thought slid through her with a quiet, unwelcome clarity.
She had been removed from her world because she muttered one frustrated, careless line at a dinner table she hadn’t wanted to attend.
I’d rather be abducted by aliens.
She closed her eyes briefly.
To her, it had been sarcasm.
To them, it had been permission.
The luxurious surroundings didn’t mask the truth. This was still captivity, even if softened by silks and warm water and attentive attendants. The contrast made it worse, as if she were being coaxed into surrender rather than forced.
And yet… another thought nudged at the edges of her mind.
If they hadn’t taken me, I would still be trapped in that narrow future my father insisted was mine.
A silent treaty of obedience in exchange for privilege, scripted obligations disguised as opportunity.
She stepped away from the archway and returned to the seat, forcing herself to sit again even though her pulse urged her to move. She wrapped her arms loosely around herself and let her gaze drift across the chamber.
She needed something—anything—to anchor her, but the room remained unchanged, as if holding its breath alongside her.
Her thoughts circled back to Raeska’s words, calm and cryptic.
The Vykan will come when he comes.
Morgan’s fingers curled around the edge of the cushion, the fabric soft beneath her tightening grip.
Eventually, she rose, unable to stay still any longer, and crossed toward the archway that led into the small garden beyond her chambers.
Warm air greeted her as she stepped outside. Moisture hung in the space like a fine veil, carrying a faint floral scent she couldn’t identify. Soft bioluminescent plants lined the garden walls, their leaves edged in violet light, the colors shifting subtly as though the foliage breathed.
At the far side, a waterfall poured in a slender ribbon from a carved stone lip above, its flow gentle and constant. The water spilled into a shallow pond ringed by smooth, dark tiles. The surface rippled with delicate patterns each time the stream met it, sending concentric circles outward.
Morgan approached the pond, her steps slow and hesitant.
Beneath the water’s surface, small creatures darted in quick bursts of movement—fishlike at first glance, sleek-bodied and graceful.
But their coloring made her pause. Lilac.
Not a soft blush, not a hint—fully lilac, a shimmering violet sheen that shifted with their movements.
They flashed between water-grown fronds that curled like translucent feathers, their colors blooming in hues she had never seen in any earthly ecosystem.
Something inside her loosened as she watched them.
The quiet hum of the Bastion faded, her own breath evened out, and the tension in her shoulders eased.
For a moment, the garden felt separate from everything else: separate from alien politics, from claims and rituals, from the cold halls and the fear that had stalked her since the night she disappeared from her balcony.
She let herself be pulled into the rhythm of the pond, the gentle patterns on the water, the strange fish weaving between the leaves like threads of living light.
This is madness, she thought, though the words carried less heat now. My life on Earth is gone. Everything familiar… it’s all out of reach.
They are never letting me go.
The evidence was everywhere around her—technology she couldn’t comprehend, creatures from two species working in seamless coordination, star-travel so advanced it made Earth’s sciences feel primitive.
If they wanted to keep her, then humanity had no power to stop them.
A shiver crept across her skin.
She exhaled slowly, watching the lilac creatures flicker like dancing lights beneath the water. The sight steadied her in a way she didn’t expect. Beauty had a way of breaking through fear, even briefly.
But the moment didn’t last.
A shift moved through the air—so soft she almost missed it. A faint stirring, like a change in pressure just behind her. The back of her neck tingled as the tiny hairs rose, a ripple of awareness sweeping down her arms.
That deep, instinctive feeling told her she was no longer alone.
Slowly, very slowly…
she turned.