2. Thyros #3
Xandros didn’t hesitate. He gestured toward the corridor with a sweep of his arm, then turned and strode off with that measured, arrogant confidence that only the top of a hierarchy possessed.
I followed, and the others fell into step around me.
My curiosity was aroused, but the pull I was experiencing was turning into an ache I knew I wouldn't be able to put off much longer.
They brought us to a hangar two decks down, a vast, echoing space lit by surgical blue floodlights.
Half the bay was cordoned with mag-shields, and security personnel were stationed at every junction.
The focal point was a ship. It hovered in the grip of tractor arrays, not so much docked as dissected, machinery fused with bone, a hull that looked grown instead of built.
The design was wrong in every possible direction; asymmetrical, void-black, with surfaces that shimmered and crawled as if it were under constant molecular repair.
For a moment, even Zapharos lost his composure. “What in the name of the Great Abyss is this?”
It was magnificent. But it was also wrong, a wound in three-dimensional space, even standing still.
Xandros shook his head, unable to keep the challenge out of his voice. “You tell me. You are the gods. Us mere mortals have never seen anything like it, alive or dead.”
Zapharos circled the observation deck, eyes locked on the ship. “It’s a hybrid. Organotech, but not like anything… it looks… self-healing. It's not made from metal or alloy. It’s… protein chains, carbon-silk.” He stopped. “There’s no registry?”
“None,” Xandros nodded darkly. He was silent for a beat. “We found… people aboard.”
That got all of ours’ full attention. “People? What species?”
“Two who were held in captivity, and four others.”
I was starting to lose patience with his mysteriousness. If he was going to fill us in, he’d better do it quickly.
He pulled out his palmtop, and a holovid appeared of a creature in front of us, a being I had never seen before.
I leaned forward despite myself, arms crossed, eyes narrowing as the image resolved into a single figure.
The head was distinctly square, broad and geometric, as if carved from living stone rather than being born.
High, flat planes spun across the forehead, and a strong, angular jaw gave the face a severity that suited ceremony more than battle.
Emerald-green skin stretched smooth and luminous over those hard lines, catching the light like polished armor.
Not the soft green of some fragile jungle world, this was deep, vibrant, almost metallic, the color of venom or ancient weapons left too long in starlight.
The features themselves refused to settle into one thing or the other.
Its cheekbones appeared sharp enough to cut, yet softened by a refined, almost delicate curve.
The lips were full but firm. The overall impression was androgynous in a way that felt deliberate, dangerous, like the being had been forged to blur every line an enemy might try to draw.
Neither male nor female in the way mortals understood it. Both. Neither. Something older.
Pale orange eyes stared straight out of the projection, large and unblinking, the sclera threaded with faint red veins that made them look like they had already witnessed too many endings.
Long, flowing hair cascaded past the square jawline, metallic strands caught the light like threads of liquid sunlight woven through silver.
It wore expensive-looking ceremonial robes that had to be heavy, deep crimson shot through with gold that shimmered as if it were alive.
What looked to be sacred patterns glowed faintly across the fabric, fractals and spirals that hurt to look at directly.
I could almost feel the weight of them, the ritual power stitched into every thread.
I felt the flaw inside my chest stir, hot and restless, and the old ache flared brighter than it had in centuries.
Whatever this species had been bred for, whatever secrets their sharp heads guarded, it was old.
Older than most of the lies the universe told itself.
During my long lifetime, from all the worlds I was forced to absorb, I had never even heard as much as a whisper about the creature.
And from the stunned expression on my brothers’ faces, I assumed the same went for them.
Something in those orange-veined eyes looked back at me like it already knew exactly what kind of weapon I was. I exhaled slowly through my teeth.
“Interesting,” I muttered. “Very interesting.”
“Do we know the species?” Dravok hadn’t blinked since entering the room.
Xandros shrugged. “Nothing in the logbooks, nothing in the old Imperial bestiaries. Not even a story or sketch from the Rim. I was hoping you might know.”
“What language do they speak?”
Ashley shook her head. “No language any of our translators picks up."
"You said there were others?" I prodded, feeling the pull become nearly irresistible now.
Xandros paused, then nodded. “That’s the other thing. There were four humans on board.” He flicked up the next image. The way he made the word humans sound made me think he wasn't fully convinced that they were.
He showed us three cells, each filled with a human male, before the universe around me stopped spinning.
The flaw in my chest went from a dull pain to a sharp, living wound.
The female was exactly as she had always been in my dreams. It wasn’t in her looks, because they had always differed; it was in the way she held herself, the way something emanated from her, that made my aura flicker.
Her thick dark hair was pulled back into a practical braid, loose strands framing a face that belonged on temple walls and battlefield banners alike.
Defined cheekbones, a strong jawline that spoke of stubborn will and harder training.
Her eyes—intense, sharp, missing nothing—swept the room with the quiet calculation of someone who had learned early that the universe rewarded the observant and punished the careless.
She wore simple black pants and a fitted black shirt, the kind of functional clothing that screamed readiness.
Holsters rode low on her hips, empty now, but clearly well-used.
The faint outline of reinforced gear and concealed blades told me she had been heavily armed until very recently.
A warrior’s practicality layered over something far older.
Her body moved with athletic grace, every step controlled, every turn precise.
Athletic, yes—trained well, I could already tell—but there were curves beneath the functional layers that she clearly hated.
The way she shifted her shoulders, the subtle tension in her posture, said she viewed them as an inconvenience rather than an asset.
I found them… distracting in a way that had nothing to do with weakness and everything to do with the heat flaring behind my ribs.
A faint scar traced just beneath her right eye.
In the dreams, none of the visions of her had ever borne a mark.
During the most recent vision, she had worn flowing golden dresses that shimmered like captured starlight, her hair had been loose and wild, and every line of her had radiated the kind of effortless harmony that made temples fall silent.
Here, now, she looked like a goddess trying very hard to pretend she was only a soldier.
Space itself seemed to bend slightly around her as she paced, subtle, almost imperceptible, noticeable only in the way the light refracted a fraction differently near her shoulders, the air grew heavier with quiet promise.
She did not notice it. I did. The flaw inside me surged forward like a starving thing finally given a name.
Her.
For one heartbeat, the universe forgot how to breathe. Recognition slammed into me. My hands flexed at my sides. The executioner’s calm I had worn for eons cracked like thin ice. She was here. Real.
Not a vision. Not a dream.
Whatever secrets her bloodline carried, whatever temple or order had trained her in the dark, none of it mattered. Because she was mine. Before I could stop myself, I stepped forward. The others noticed, but I didn't care.
Zapharos stared at her like a puzzle he needed to solve. “She looks human.”
“Genetically, yes.” Xandros agreed. “We've tested her and the others’ DNA."
His hesitancy caught my attention despite the urge inside me to tear this ship apart and find her, hold her in my arms. I had no idea where that came from. But it was there. Strong enough that I had to acknowledge and admit to it.
"What are you not telling us?" Nadine, observant as always, prodded.
"She speaks the same indecipherable language as the other species. She responded curiously towards Ashley?—"
Ashley interrupted Xandros. "She talked to me like I was supposed to understand her language. When I didn't, she looked at me like… an aberration." Ashley shook her head.
The meeting had thrown her off guard, and, from all that I’d heard about her, that was no easy feat.
"Interesting." Nadine nodded like she was already forming a theory.
The image changed back, rotating through the three human males, all dressed the same way as the unknown female. It took every ounce of self-control in me not to scream at Xandros to turn the holovid back to her.
Fortunately, before I made a fool out of myself, Ashley turned the holovid back to the female, but not because of me; she was watching Ella. “You recognize her?”
Ella's voice wavered between awe and disbelief. “She looks just like—like the old Earth mythologies. All those figures painted on some of the ruins we found.”
Dravok and Zapharos watched me. I could feel them probing at my mind, but I closed it off. They wouldn't get anything from me. One thing I knew with brutal certainty: the war that I'd always prepared for was here, and it had something to do with the mystery female in the cell.
Xandros stepped closer to the holovid, studying the female with less clinical detachment than before.
“We don’t know what or who she is, only that she is some kind of soldier.
She understands the ship's tech. She fought, hard.” His words made me ball my fists.
They better not have hurt her. The thought surprised me, but then again, it didn't. Some things are just destined to be.
One thing I knew with absolute certainty, though. “She’s not a soldier, she’s an executioner.”
Ashley arched a brow, interested. “Like you?”
“Worse,” I replied, and felt the full weight of the flaw inside me bloom open.
We were fighting so hard to keep the Dark Abyss at bay and the Harrowed One contained within it, but I sensed that it wasn't just us staying the final battle. My gut told me that Naeris was part of it, whether she knew it or not. “She’s the reason the Darkness hasn’t won. ”
Nobody spoke. Even Zapharos was silent, for once.
I turned to face Xandros, now with a purpose that almost felt holy. “I want to speak to her."
He hesitated, but I could see he would obey. That’s the thing about the edge—every empire, every faith, every memory—eventually, they all bow to it.
“Now,” I doubled down, a whisper, but it cut deeper than any order I’d given before.