Chapter Twenty-Two #2
The crowd's murmurs grew louder.
Come on. You can do this.
I gripped the railing, my heart pounding while Tydalos advanced. I never played wargames or was in the military, but even I could see how bad his troops were positioned. "He's losing," I whispered to Parker.
An aggressive push drove a few of Zephyron's units into a simulated whirlpool. Repeated jets of cold water blasted him in response, drenching him from head to toe. He flinched, coughing as the chill soaked deep into his robes.
"C'mon, Love," I muttered under my breath, willing him to recover.
But the cycle had already begun. His hesitation and temporary paralysis led to more losses, and with each lost unit came another firehose-level water blast. The once-unshakable warrior who took out Zerlites with a rock looked... Human. Vulnerable.
Tydalos' voice rang out, calm and smooth. "You appear uncomfortable. Perhaps the desert has melted your brain."
Zephyron gritted his teeth, his hands moving faster, but his strategies remained linear. Tydalos' forces darted and swirled beneath the waves as if flying around someone on the ground.
Parker's camera tilted slightly, capturing every drop of water and sweat rolling down Zephyron's face and brow.
Another unit fell, followed by another blast. He gripped the platform railing to steady himself, and I wanted to hold him and tell him it would be okay, but I couldn't with the galaxy watching.
Parker whispered beside me, "He's unstoppable on land, but not on water."
"No," I said. "He'll recover. He has to."
He didn't.
Tydalos ignored the trial-winning artifact, picking off enemy units one by one. Zephyron's gasping breaths carried across the chamber. Brody recorded it, I'm sure, for eventual playback on Earth and throughout the Empire.
Once done, Zephyron stood alone as a commander without an army.
Tydalos' soldiers swam around the glowing artifact.
Instead of grabbing the treasure, he intentionally sacrificed a unit, sending it into the maw of a giant reptilian whale-like creature.
A blast of cold water pelted him with the force of a waterfall, and he smiled.
I didn't need to see through Brody's camera to know the shot: on one end, Tydalos smiling with confidence, and on another, Zephyron's haunted look.
"Leadership isn't brute strength," Tydalos said smoothly.
"It's adapting. Thriving in any environment, not just your own.
" He paused. "Who would be best for Thomas?
Someone liquid in thought or one stuck in the sand, unable to move forward?
The empire needs people with imagination, like our Human partners. "
Zephyron said nothing, his eyes burning with a mixture of anger and humiliation. He stepped back, his head held high, but defeat hung over him like chains. Parker's camera stayed on as well. His gaze lingered on me, and he would have turned it off if I had asked.
Instead, I watched as Zephyron turned and left the arena, his shoulders rigid with tension. He hadn't looked at me once.
***
Time moved forward, and with it, my pregnancy. I was well over two months with my body looking almost eight months along. My belly had grown round and firm, with every step feeling like work. My back protested most of all.
Zephyron did everything a Volardi Alpha was supposed to do. He attended medical check-ups, made love, and brought food from Earth. Pickles and ice cream were a stereotype, and yet I craved them with a thick, spongy Sudo flower with a green banana taste.
Yet, my man was 'robotic,' which may not be the nicest term since Axios and Solis were dear friends. I tried everything to pull him out of the funk, stressing that someone not used to water would panic. In his mind, true Volardi warriors do not 'panic.' My words made his losses heavier.
I wasn't the only one who noticed.
Our palace home, once bustling with activity and even laughter, turned quieter.
Television shows and movies from Earth no longer played.
The older Sandari medic who'd been a steady presence since my pregnancy officially left, even if he hadn't really been attending to me.
I couldn't shake the feeling that it had something to do with Tydalos driving a wedge between the Volardi and Sandari.
One evening, I wandered the palace gardens, enjoying the rare cool air. Karel walked beside me, foot claws tapping against the stone walkway. His long ears twitched, catching every sound as flowers, trees, and twigs rustled in the wind.
"Things are getting worse, aren't they?" I asked him, my voice heavy. A jeweled implant clipped to his ear translated my words. Winning the race and my, uh, royalty allowed him a small piece of Volardi tech.
He nodded, his ears folding back slightly. "Many Sandari have turned to Tydalos. He allocates water freely, and they see him as a provider. Some, like I and my tribe, still believe in Zephyron."
"You do?"
"Yes. Not all leaders need to be perfect. Sometimes the ones who stumble are worth following. They have humility." He smiled, baring canines. "Words from my father."
Thoughts on how our dads might get along came to me. If I can find him. He sent a message saying he was okay and then nothing more. A problem for another time.
"I guess the water's enough to make people like him?"
"Correct. Although Tydalos' gift isn't without cost. The orbital satellites destroy Zerlites who crawl out, yet scar our land. Patches of the desert have turned to glass. It makes farming harder, and dunes no longer shift as much. If it continues, it could disrupt our ecosystems."
"And the others don't see this?"
"They do, but they see water now, not the consequences later." He breathed out, and his ears flattened in shame. "We cannot care for our planet."
"Don't feel bad. We Humans messed up our environment, too." I sighed, resting a hand on my swollen belly. "And you? How are you holding up?"
He perked up. "I'm doing well. My village is small, but winning the race gave us opportunities.
Seeds for several seasons, a hut for visitors, and hardy saplings that will grow to provide shade years from now.
My elders say they haven't seen potential like this in many cycles.
" He smiled. "We're grateful to you for the victory. "
"Well, we both won."
"Yes, but with your help, I did."
"Likewise," I said.
We stood quietly, the desert stretching out before us, soft winds shifting the dunes. I thought of Zephyron—his strength, his conviction—and how hidden they were now. He hadn't tried to control the Sandari. He let them be their own people.
Most Volardi marked off their land, built high, and barred native entry. Not him. He listened, learned their names, and attended their festivals.
Now they like someone else more.
***