Chapter 10
Zirene
The royal spaceport of Destima had never felt so vast.
Thousands of Destima citizens filled the plaza below the ceremonial platform—a sea of faces stretching toward the distant perimeter walls.
Warriors stood rigid in formation. Civilians clutched loved ones to their chests.
Elders leaned on younger shoulders, their eyes bright with the memory of wars past and the terrible knowledge of wars to come.
Through his shadow reach, Zirene sensed every Aldawi on the moon. Thousands of shadow signatures pressing against his awareness—fear and resolve and desperate hope tangled together into a collective weight that threatened to crush him.
His people. His burden. His reason for leaving everything that mattered.
His ceremonial armor sat heavy on his shoulders—obsidian plates etched with the ancient sigils of his bloodline, the mantle of sovereignty he’d worn for centuries.
His shadow coiled tight against his body, contained, controlled.
Projecting the strength they needed to see. The certainty they needed to believe.
It was a lie.
Beneath the mask of the Sovereign, Zirene was fracturing.
Selena stood beside him—close enough to touch, too far to hold.
Her Beacon regalia glowed soft gold in the morning light, orangish yellow spots shimmering across her skin like scattered starfire.
The swell of her belly pressed against the ceremonial robes, visible even through the formal draping.
Kaede’s daughter. Their future. Growing inside the woman he loved while he flew toward death.
He wanted to pull her into his arms. Shield her from the thousands of watching eyes. Pretend for one more moment that duty wasn’t ripping them apart.
Instead, he stood straight. Kept his gaze forward. Played the part his people needed.
The clan arrayed behind them in formal positions—Kaede a controlled pillar of lethal stillness, V’dim and Z’fir synchronized in their calm, Xylo’s gentle presence anchoring Odelm’s quiet devotion, and Zyxel coiled uncertain at the edge, still finding his place in their constellation.
His clanbrothers. The males who would guard his Nova while he was gone.
Trust them, he told himself. She chose them. They will not fail her.
But the thought rang hollow. Not because he doubted them—never that. Because he doubted himself.
The Shadow-Nova bond that connected him to Selena still hummed between them, but it was different now.
Thinner. Strained by his own foolishness, his own fear, the distance he’d insisted on keeping between their minds.
He’d refused to let her bind their mental shields together.
Kept her at arm’s length when she’d wanted nothing more than to share his burdens.
He’d damaged what should have been unbreakable.
Dimstar. The word echoed in his mind—an old Aldawi insult, reserved for males who couldn’t see what was right in front of them. Males who let their ego and oversight cloud their judgement. Males who neglected and hurt the ones who loved them.
That was him. A dimstar Sovereign, leaving his Nova when she needed him most.
But time wasn’t on his side. The Quaww weren’t going to wait for him to mend what he’d broken. The Verya weren’t going to pause their hunt while he rebuilt the trust he’d let erode through caution and duty and the crushing weight of the crown.
If he wanted a future—any future at all—he had to go. Now. Before the borders collapsed. Before the hunters found what they were seeking. Before everything he’d built turned to ash.
Small bodies pressed against his legs.
Zirene looked down, and his chest cracked open.
Nocrez and Neazzos clung to him—his sons, their black and dark-blue striped fur pressed against his ceremonial armor, their small paws fisting in his cloak.
They were the spitting image of him, just not fully matured—bulkier than their sister, radiating the lethal feline danger common to the Aldawi.
The silver streaks in their fur marked them as Selena’s, proof of the impossible union that had created them.
They didn’t fully understand what was happening. They knew their father was leaving. They knew the word ‘war’ made the adults go quiet and hold them tighter. Beyond that, it was all abstract—a storm on the horizon that hadn’t yet touched their world.
“You’ll come back.” Nocrez’s voice was fierce—not a question. An order. His amethyst eyes, so like his Beacon’s own, burned with the same stubborn fire that had defined the Aldawi bloodline for millennia. “You always come back.”
Zirene dropped to one knee, bringing himself level with his sons. The crowd faded. The weight of sovereignty faded. In this moment, he was just a father saying goodbye.
“I will come back.” He gripped Nocrez’s shoulder with one paw, Neazzos’s with the other. Solid. Steady. A promise made with his body as much as his voice. “But while I’m gone, you have a duty too. Do you understand?”
Neazzos nodded solemnly, his quieter nature showing in the way he leaned into Zirene’s touch rather than demanding reassurance.
“Protect your mother,” Zirene continued, his voice rough. “Protect Meti. Help your clanfathers. You are Aldawi princes. That means you carry our people’s strength with you, even when you’re scared.” He squeezed once, hard enough to make them pay attention. “Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, Father.” In unison—two small voices carrying enough conviction to make Zirene’s throat close.
He pulled them both into his arms. Held them against his chest, breathing in their scent—spice and something sweeter, the particular fragrance of cubs who still believed their father could conquer anything. For a moment, he let himself believe it too.
Then he released them. Rose to his full height.
Meti hadn’t moved.
She stood pressed against Selena’s side, her silver-streaked fur catching the light, her dark amethyst eyes fixed on Zirene with an intensity that made his shadow curl uneasily.
His daughter—sleeker than her brothers, elegant like her aunt Masmi, with silver fur that marked her as something rare among the Aldawi.
The future Beacon. The heir to everything he was leaving behind.
And she was looking at him like she knew something the others didn’t.
“Meti.” He crouched again, extending his paw.
She didn’t come to him. Didn’t cry or cling like her brothers. Those too-old eyes just watched, cataloging, processing. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.
“The shadows are scared.”
The words hit Zirene like a blade between the ribs.
She could sense it. Stars above, she could sense his shadow’s fear—the primal terror of separation from his bonded, the ancient instinct screaming at him not to leave his mate, his Beacon, his Nova vulnerable.
Cubs weren’t supposed to be able to read the shadow this clearly.
They weren’t supposed to understand what it felt.
But Meti had never been an ordinary cub.
“Sometimes,” Zirene said carefully, “shadows have to be brave even when they’re scared. Just like you. Just like all of us.” He reached out, brushing a claw gently through her silver-streaked fur. “Will you watch over the shadows while I’m gone? Make sure they don’t get too frightened?”
A long pause. Then Meti nodded once, deliberate and solemn, and tucked herself back against Selena’s side.
Zirene rose. Turned to face the crowd.
The amplifiers carried his voice across the spaceport, bouncing it off the polished walls of the seaside terminal, carrying it to every Destima citizen ear in the plaza.
He spoke the words a Sovereign was supposed to speak—promises of protection, assurances of victory, declarations that the Aldawi Empire would not fall to Quaww aggression or Verya schemes.
The words felt like dust in his mouth.
Not because they were lies—he meant every syllable.
He would protect his people or die trying.
But the speech was armor, and the armor didn’t fit anymore.
It pressed against the parts of him that had grown softer since Selena crashed into his life, since their constellation formed around her like she was gravity itself.
He finished. The crowd roared—a thunder of voices and stomping feet that vibrated through the platform. Fists raised. Declarations of loyalty shouted into the morning air.
Zirene barely heard any of it.
His attention had already shifted. Back to Selena. Back to the one goodbye that would break him.
She met his gaze as he turned. Those luminous eyes—ocean blue-green, shifting with emotion that matched the fluctuations of her bioluminescent spots.
She was trying to be strong. He could see it in the set of her jaw, the way she held herself upright despite the weight of Kaede’s daughter growing inside her.
But the Shadow-Nova bond between them—thin and strained as it was—told him the truth.
She was terrified.
He closed the distance between them in three strides. Protocol demanded restraint—a formal bow, perhaps a press of foreheads, something dignified for the crowds. Something befitting a Sovereign and his Beacon.
Zirene didn’t care about protocol.
He pulled her into his arms.
She came without resistance, molding against him like she was designed to fit there.
His shadow curled around them both—involuntary, possessive, desperate.
Tendrils of darkness wrapped around her waist, her shoulders, anywhere they could reach.
Her hands fisted in the back of his ceremonial cloak.
Her face pressed into the junction of his neck and shoulder, and he felt the hot splash of tears against his fur.
Let them watch. Let every Aldawi—every being—in the empire see how their Sovereign loved. He was done pretending it made him weak.
“Find me in the dreamscape.” The words came out rough, low enough for only her to hear. His voice cracked on them—a vulnerability he’d never show anyone else. “Every night, Nova. I’ll be there waiting.”