Chapter 3 DRAVOK #2
I felt something… a presence… to distract myself, I added, "I despise diplomacy. And retrieving prisoners is not my vocation. As for Nythor—" I paused as my irritation coiled tightly. "The fool went where he should not have."
As if summoned by the thought, pressure flared behind my eyes. Fragments slipped through my mental wards, jagged, incoherent. Thirty-two over nine—collapse isn't mass—don't extract yet—the wound learned—it's listening—
I severed the connection with a growl. But something else was still there, lingering and growing stronger.
Daryus gave me a questioning look, and I felt compelled to explain, "Oracle word-vomit," I stated flatly. "Ratios without anchors. Geometry pretending to be prophecy."
Daryus ignored me, since my words probably made as little sense to him as Nythor's did to me. "You're certain the Cryons are involved?"
"I'm certain something wearing their authority is," I replied.
"Zapharos saw them, his… Aelyth…" I stumbled over the word, because it wasn't one I thought I would ever use again.
"Was sold by the Cryons to the Ohrurs, assisted by the Moggadesh.
" I glared at Daryus because all three of these species were his responsibility.
"I think you need to clean house." I rose.
"While I retrieve him, I'll gather intelligence and keep you informed. "
He didn't try to hide his fury. It would have been hard to.
His archenemy had aligned itself with two races he thought were under his control.
He was seething. He needed to be, to clean the corruption in his midst. Grudgingly, he inclined his head, "I'm in your debt.
" And after a pause, "I'll assign an escort. "
I stopped. "Observers?"
"Safeguards."
"A babysitting committee," I corrected. "To watch what I do."
"They're for your protection."
"If they follow me," I warned, "they'll slow me down. If they interfere, they'll die. That will complicate your governance."
A long pause followed. Daryus inclined his head. "Proceed alone then. But know that I will help in any capacity I can."
The doors opened, and before I could respond, my eyes fell on her.
Her! The bond snapped into place with violent clarity, no slow awareness, no gradual pull.
One instant, the universe was ordered, hostile but manageable; the next, it reoriented around a single point of gravity that had nothing to do with the Dark Abyss.
No.
Absolutely not.
That was not supposed to happen.
I turned despite myself. She stood straight across from me, half absorbed in a data slate small enough to fit in one hand, a palmtop device, one that the Pandraxians preferred.
She looked up as if she'd felt my attention the way I'd felt her existence, and for a fraction of a second, the universe forgot how to breathe.
I had seen a human before. I had an idea what they looked like. I had stood beside Ella in the Hall of Seven and watched Zapharos unravel himself willingly. This was different.
Her hair was a soft, impossible shade of blonde, wavy and thick, twisted into a loose bun that had surrendered to physics.
Strands escaped along her neck and temples, catching the light as she moved.
Her eyes—stars above and below—blue. Not pale.
Not sharp. Deep. Endless. The kind of blue that suggested oceans that could drown worlds if they chose to.
They took me in with frank curiosity, no fear, no awe.
Her body didn't help matters. Full breasts, generous hips, proportions that made absolutely no evolutionary sense, yet somehow aligned perfectly with my vision.
My mouth went dry; heat coiled low and sharp in my gut with a ferocity I had not felt in eons.
By the Shattered Void of the First Collapse, who in the name of Ashfall Prime was she, and what catastrophic error had placed her here?
"Oh—Doctor Phillips?" Emperor Daryus' voice ripped me back into reality, glancing past me with polite distraction. "Did you need something?"
Doctor.
Phillips.
Daryus cleared his throat, far too pleased with himself. "Dravok. This is Doctor Phillips, from Earth." No Frygg, I thought darkly. "She is assisting me in gathering data on the Dark Abyss," the emperor continued. "She's quite the expert in her field."
My gaze snapped back to her. Expert. A human.
Aelyth.
"Doctor Phillips," Daryus went on, "this is Dravok, one of the Arkhevari I told you about."
He had told her about us?
We stared at each other.
Too long.
Too intensely.
My mind went out to probe hers, but there was nothing.
Only blackness. Confused and infuriated, I tried again, deeper, harder.
Nothing. It was like encountering a brick wall.
This had never happened to me. The bond hummed—tight, insistent, furious—and I wanted to tear it out by the roots.
What good was it if I couldn't even read her mind?
I was ready to sever every single nerve ending in my body, but then Nythor chose that moment to invade my skull.
Thirty-two over nine—negative curvature sings when observed—don't pull yet—distance lies—the wound listens—
I hissed under my breath and shook my head, words slipped out of me before I could stop them. "…thirty-two over nine… curvature collapse… don't extract yet…"
Doctor Phillips and Emperor Daryus stared at me in silence. I closed my mouth. Damn it. Damn Nythor. "Sorry," I apologized stiffly. "Oracle nonsense. It happens."
She blinked, and then the most distracting thing happened: she smiled. Not kindly. Interested. "Oh," her eyes lit up like she'd just been handed a puzzle she'd been waiting her whole life to solve. "That's not nonsense."
Every muscle in my body went rigid. Even before she stepped closer.
"It's a predictive ratio. He's describing spatial asymmetry at the event horizon, thirty-two over nine is the variance factor between observed mass and actual gravitational influence.
" I stared at her. She didn't seem to notice.
"The wound listens isn't metaphorical," she continued briskly.
"It's feedback. Observer effect amplified by singularity resonance.
I read something similar in one of the pre-Collapse Pandraxian archives.
Thank you for letting me access those, by the way, Your Imperial Highness. "
Daryus inclined his head smugly.
I did not take my eyes off her. "You can decipher that," I questioned, baffled.
She finally looked at me again, one brow lifting. "Yes."
"That is Arkhevari cognition," I snapped. "Fragments pulled from a damaged Oracle mind."
She shrugged, utterly unimpressed. "Math is math. Trauma just makes it… messy."
That should not have been possible. Coincidence, I assured myself. It had to be a coincidence. I narrowed my eyes. "Try again."
Her lips curved. "Gladly."
I let another fragment slip, testing her. "…event horizon drift… memory behaves like mass… extraction destabilizes the anchor…"
She didn't even hesitate. "Your Oracle," she pronounced oracle with such a level of distaste, as if the word were a slap in the face for her, "is telling you not to remove him yet," she elucidated calmly.
"He appears to be acting as a stabilizing node.
If something disturbs him too early, whatever's being examined could respond violently. "
The room went very quiet. I stared at her as if she'd just rewritten reality in front of me. "That's impossible."
She smiled, infuriatingly pleased. "I'm always right." Then she winced as if thinking of something.
I tried to probe her again. Again: Nothing. Frustrated, I wanted to punch a wall.
"Statistically speaking," she added, "I'm wrong often enough to stay humble. This just… isn't one of those times."
Uppity. Confident. Brilliant.
And bonded to me.
No.
Absolutely not.
This was not fate.
This was not prophecy.
This was not happening.
And yet, the bond pulsed again, warm and unyielding.
Ashfall Prime, take me.