Chapter 9
Serna
We ran.
Branches whipped at my face. Roots tried to trip me. The humid air burned in my lungs, but I didn't slow. Couldn't slow.
Because Riuondo Barkaze was alive.
And if he was alive, then everything I thought I knew for the past century was a lie.
The pieces fell into place as we pushed through the dense foliage, Cullen keeping pace beside me with impressive endurance. Seven candidates had competed in the Prime trials. Seven of the most capable beings the Alliance could produce. And now only two remained.
The pattern was unmistakable once I saw it.
Kaell'inth Zir'naex—shuttle accident. Threnara Serac—died in her sleep.
Vextaral Morvan—killed by a wild animal.
Sollix Van-arstan—lab explosion. Melthis Vaelara—murdered by a robber.
Five deaths over a century, each one tragic but explainable. Accidents. Bad luck. Random violence.
Except none of them had been accidents. I knew that now.
"They're all dead," I said, the words barely above a whisper as I stopped against a massive tree trunk. "All the other candidates. Riuondo killed them. Systematically eliminated everyone who could challenge his claim if something happened to me."
Cullen's expression shifted to understanding. "That's what Persico was warning about."
"A century of planning." The full horror of it washed over me. "If he kills me now or forces me to abdicate, he's the only candidate left. The Council would have no choice." The idea made bile rise in my throat.
We started moving again, climbing higher as the jungle thinned into rocky terrain. The foothills rose before us, and somewhere beyond them was the research station. Our only hope.
I was acutely aware of Cullen beside me as we climbed—the fluid way he moved, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the coiled strength in his frame.
When he'd kissed me in the jungle, something inside me had ignited like a star going nova.
I'd spent a century mastering control over my emotions, my desires, my fears.
It was what had won me the trials. What had made me Prime.
But I couldn't control what I felt when I looked at him.
And that terrified me.
"Serna." His voice was quiet, concerned. "You okay?"
I realized I'd stopped moving. "I'm fine."
"You're not." He moved closer, and his hand found mine. "Talk to me."
You. You're what's going on. You're what I can't control.
"I'm thinking about how many people have died because of Riuondo's obsession," I said instead. It wasn't a lie. Just not the whole truth.
Cullen studied my face, and I knew he saw through me. But he didn't push. Just squeezed my hand and said, "We're going to stop him."
I wanted to believe him. But I'd seen what obsession could do. What a century of planning could accomplish.
"Come on," I said, pulling my hand from his before I did something foolish. "We're almost to the foothills."
We climbed higher, the jungle giving way to rocky terrain dotted with scrub vegetation. The twin suns were beginning to set, casting long shadows across the landscape. We'd need to find shelter soon, somewhere we could rest before making the final push to the research station.
The attack came without warning.
One moment we were navigating between two large boulders, and the next something massive exploded from the shadows with a roar that shook the ground beneath our feet.
Caphik.
The creature was enormous—easily twice my height and three times as broad.
Its body was covered in thick, mottled fur that ranged from deep brown to rust-red, and beneath that fur I could see the ripple of powerful muscle.
The head was ursine, with a broad snout and massive jaws filled with teeth like daggers.
But the eyes were feline—red and predatory, tracking our movements with terrifying intelligence.
And covering its back and shoulders were quills. Hundreds of them, each as long as my forearm and wickedly sharp.
"Blasters!" Cullen shouted, already drawing his weapon.
I had mine out a heartbeat later, both of us firing at the creature as it charged. The energy bolts struck its hide and dissipated harmlessly, absorbed by fur so thick it might as well have been armor plating.
"It's not working!" I yelled, diving to the side as a massive paw swiped through the space where I'd been standing. Claws as long as my fingers gouged furrows in the rock.
Cullen rolled in the opposite direction, coming up with a blade in his hand—one of the crude knives he'd fashioned from the ship's wreckage. He moved like a warrior, like someone who'd spent years in combat.
But the caphik was faster than something that size had any right to be.
It pivoted, tracking Cullen's movement, and lunged. He managed to slash at its face, drawing a line of dark blood across its snout, but the creature's momentum carried it forward. A massive paw caught him in the chest and sent him flying backward into a boulder with a sickening crack.
"Cullen!"
He groaned, trying to push himself up, but I could see he was hurt. Blood ran from a cut on his forehead, and he was favoring his already injured left side.
The caphik turned toward him, sensing weakness. Preparing to finish what it had started.
No.
Something primal surged through me—not fear, not panic, but pure Vaktaire battle fury. The kind of rage that had made my people legendary warriors across the galaxy.
I dropped my useless blaster and grabbed a fallen branch from the ground. It was thick, solid, about the length of a quarterstaff. Not ideal, but it would do.
Because a quarterstaff was my weapon. Had been since I was old enough to hold one.
"Hey!" I shouted, spinning the staff in my hands, feeling the familiar weight and balance. "Over here!"
The caphik's red eyes locked onto me, and it roared—a sound that vibrated in my chest and made my ears ring. Then it charged.
I waited. Counted the seconds. Watched the way it moved, the rhythm of its gait, the slight favor it gave to its right side where Cullen had cut it.
Three meters.
Two.
One.
I moved.
Not away—toward. Sliding under its initial swipe, using my momentum to drive the end of the staff up into its throat. The impact jarred my arms, but I felt the satisfying give of vulnerable flesh. The creature gagged, stumbling, and I was already moving again.
Spin. Strike. The staff cracked against its knee joint, and the caphik's leg buckled.
It swiped at me with its other paw, and I ducked, feeling the wind of its passage ruffle my hair. Too close. But close was where I needed to be—inside its reach, where those massive paws couldn't generate enough force to crush me.
I drove the staff into its ribs, once, twice, three times in rapid succession. Heard something crack. The caphik roared in pain and rage, trying to back away, but I pressed forward.
This was what I'd been trained for. What I'd spent decades perfecting. Combat wasn't about strength—it was about precision, timing, understanding your opponent's weaknesses and exploiting them without mercy.
The caphik reared up on its hind legs, trying to use its full height and weight to crush me. I saw the quills on its back bristle, preparing to launch.
I dropped low, sweeping the staff in a wide arc that caught both its hind legs. It crashed down hard, and before it could recover, I was on it.
The staff became a spear. I drove it down with all my strength, aiming for the soft spot at the base of its skull where spine met brain.
The wood punched through fur and flesh and bone.
The caphik convulsed once, its red eyes going wide with shock. Then it went still.
I stood there for a moment, chest heaving, the staff still buried in the creature's skull. Blood—dark and thick—pooled around my feet. My arms trembled from exertion and adrenaline.
"Holy shit!"
I turned to see Cullen staring at me, his expression somewhere between awe and disbelief. He was on his feet now, one hand pressed to his ribs, but his eyes were locked on me and the dead caphik.
"You just—" He gestured at the massive corpse. "With a stick."
I pulled the staff free, the wood slick with blood. "A quarterstaff," I corrected, my voice steadier than I felt. "My favored weapon."
"I can see why." He limped over, wincing with each step. "That was... I've never seen anything like that."
I looked at him, at the blood on his face and the way he was holding his ribs, and felt something fierce and protective surge through me. He'd fought bravely, had drawn first blood even though he was outmatched. Had bought me the seconds I needed to find a weapon.
"I'm Vaktaire," I said simply, meeting his eyes. "We are warriors."
Understanding flickered across his face—not just of what I'd done, but of what I was. What my people were. The legacy of combat and honor and strength that ran through my veins.
He smiled, despite the pain he was clearly in. "Yeah. You definitely are."
I moved to his side, supporting him as we looked down at the dead caphik. The creature's blood was already attracting smaller scavengers—insect-like things that skittered out from the rocks.
"Can you walk?" I asked.
"I can manage." He straightened, trying not to show how much it hurt. "We need to keep moving. If that thing heard us, Riuondo's people might have too."
He was right. The fight had been loud, and sound carried in these foothills. We needed to find shelter, tend to Cullen's injuries, and figure out our next move.
But as we started climbing again, Cullen leaning on me more than I suspect he wanted to admit, I couldn't shake the feeling that everything was changing. That the careful control I'd maintained for so long was slipping through my fingers like water.
Because when I'd seen that caphik about to kill Cullen, I hadn't thought about duty or politics or what was best for the Alliance.
I'd only thought about saving him.
And that terrified me more than any enemy ever could.