Chapter 22
The mist above the garden darkened so swiftly that it stole her breath. One moment, the world shimmered with violet twilight, the next it shifted—heavier, denser—like a concealed hand pressing down on the bastion.
She stepped toward the open clearing by the pond, her instincts prickling. The waterfall’s soft murmur continued, but everything else held unnaturally still.
Then the sky split.
A shape tore through the mist—sleek, metallic, silent.
Not a ship like in any human film, not even the wildest sci-fi imagination.
This one looked alive. Its silver hull curved like blade edges meeting in angles too precise for Earth-born design, each surface catching the dim light and fracturing it into shimmering shards.
Its triangular form warped faintly at the edges, as though reality struggled to render its shape fully.
The vessel hovered above the garden, suspended in the heavy air, and something uncoiled from beneath it—a length of black metallic cable, rippling as if infused with its own intelligence.
Then they descended.
Six of them, one after another, armored from head to toe in dark plates that glinted like obsidian. They hit the stone pavement with deadly grace, straightening in perfect unison. Their helmets were angular, primal, with narrow slits of cobalt light where eyes might be.
A seventh figure followed.
Larger. Broader. Moving as though the air bent around him.
Another Vykan?
Cold dread slid along her spine.
He walked forward with controlled, predatory steps, his silhouette so similar to Kyrax’s it made something deep inside her rebel.
How dare he? Kyrax will destroy him.
Morgan stumbled back instinctively—then caught herself. Running wouldn’t help. Running was pointless. Her pulse pounded in her ears.
She pushed the thought outward, frantic and focused.
Something’s wrong, Kyrax. Something’s happening. Intruders.
The reply came instantly.
I hear you. Hold on.
Shock rippled through her—he had answered, truly answered—but she had no chance to dwell on it.
Because the largest intruder reached her.
He extended a hand and seized her by the arm, his grip vice-tight. Pain flared. She twisted, kicked, fought with her newfound strength—but it was like striking a wall. He hauled her toward him with effortless power, his other hand reaching to grip her neck.
A Vykan. It had to be.
She choked on a panicked breath.
I can’t get free—oh god—
“Isshyr,” a voice thundered behind them.
The world cracked.
Kyrax materialized at the edge of the garden, a living storm in metal and shadow, fury radiating from him in waves that made her vision blur. The translator stone in her pocket vibrated in warning, straining to carry the violence in his tone.
“Isshyr,” he said again, colder than the void between stars. “You dare enter my domain?”
The intruder’s helmet turned, revealing the faint red glow of his eye slits. His voice slid through the translator like ice.
“You left us no choice.”
A ripple of tension tore through the air, so sharp Morgan felt it across her skin.
“You have trespassed,” Kyrax said. “And you attempted to take what is mine.”
Isshyr’s hand tightened around her throat, cutting off her breath. Panic surged—sharp, blinding. She clawed at his wrist, desperate, vision swimming.
And then the world flashed white.
She didn’t see the movement—only the aftermath.
Isshyr’s severed hand struck the stone at her feet, plating still intact, blue Vykan blood splattering in a wide arc. Morgan wrenched herself backward as Isshyr staggered, clutching the stump at his wrist, shock shuddering through his immense frame.
Kyrax stood beside her now, his blade drawn, its edge humming with sizzling energy. He didn’t look at her—his entire focus was on the intruder.
“Because you are Vykan,” he said, voice razor-thin, “I will not kill you.”
He pressed his boot against the fallen armored hand, grinding metal and bone into the stone.
“But I will take this as restitution.”
Blood pooled beneath the severed limb, bright cobalt on the pale stone.
Isshyr hissed through his helmet’s vents. “You will regret this, Kyrax.”
“No,” Kyrax answered with terrible certainty. “I will not.”
He raised his blade in a silent command.
“Leave my sight. If you ever enter my bastion again, I will raze yours to the ground and cleanse every corridor with your blood.”
Isshyr glared, fury radiating from him—and then he stepped back, grabbing the hanging cable as the ship above lowered it once more.
His soldiers retreated instantly, disciplined even in defeat.
The cable yanked upward, carrying Isshyr into the depths of the mist, the ship dissolving into half-light as if swallowed by the sky itself.
Silence fell.
Only the waterfall continued its quiet song.
Blue blood stained the stones. Morgan’s knees threatened to give way. Her lungs burned as she sucked in air, one sharp breath after another.
Kyrax turned toward her.
And the garden felt suddenly very small and quiet.