Page 14

Fourteen

T he chamber doors slid open without warning—seamless metal vanishing into the walls with a whisper like breath sucked from the room.

Leonie jolted upright.

It was one of them. The tall, silent attendants. This one was male—or at least, appeared that way. Like the others, he was slender and inhumanly graceful, dressed in deep blue robes that shimmered like water under moonlight. His skin had the same pale luminescence as the rest, and his black hair hung in a precise curtain down his back. His eyes—pure black, bottomless—reflected no light. No emotion.

But this time, he wasn’t carrying food or linens.

Instead, resting in his palm was a small, flat object. It looked like a polished river stone, silver and smooth, no visible seams or buttons.

He approached her without a word.

And then—he spoke .

But the voice wasn’t his.

It emerged from the space around him, a projection—not mechanical, not robotic, but something that cloaked the real sound beneath it. The tone was soft, neutral, and unmistakably human . English.

“You must be seated. There,” the voice said, as the servant gestured toward a sleek chair in the corner.

Leonie’s breath caught. The chair had gone unnoticed before—minimalist, almost elegant, with curved metal and padded supports. But now, as the order echoed through the room, it looked ominous.

She narrowed her eyes. “You keep calling me ‘human.’ I have a name. Leonie.”

The servant didn’t flinch. His face didn’t move. He neither acknowledged nor refuted her.

She stood taller, voice sharper than she intended. “I said—my name is Leonie .”

Still nothing.

A flicker of unease curled at the edges of her chest.

“Do you even have a name?” she asked bitterly, her tone defensive, but her palms were already damp.

Then the voice returned—calm, smooth, and matter-of-fact.

“The translator node will assist us from now on,” it said. “It was designed many millennia ago to allow communication between the Majarin and the peoples under their dominion.”

He held the silver object up slightly, allowing her a closer look. It pulsed faintly in his palm, as though breathing.

“It cloaks my voice in your language,” the servant explained, “and cloaks yours in ours . The Marak will hear you in his tongue. As you will hear him in yours.”

Not just a translation, then. A complete veil. A bridge between two species—one Leonie hadn’t even known existed a week ago.

“You will use it to understand us,” the servant continued. “And to speak with the Marak.”

The Marak. That’s all they ever called him. Never Karian. Never a name.

Leonie’s gaze flicked to the chair.

“Why do I need to sit there?”

The servant stepped to the side and touched a hidden panel on the armrest. There was a soft click—then smooth restraints slid free, like petals unfolding. Wristbands. Ankle clasps. A broad support across the chest.

They weren’t threatening.

But they were final .

Her pulse spiked. “Wait—what is that? What are you doing?”

“For your safety,” came the translation again. “The descent will be unstable.”

Descent.

She went cold.

“You mean we’re landing ? Where? Why didn’t Karian?—”

The servant drew in a sharp breath through his nose.

He looked directly at her for the first time.

Not with hostility.

But with something close . Offended. Stiff. Like she had committed a blasphemy without knowing.

He said nothing.

But his movements changed.

He stepped behind her with a new urgency. Not harsh—but no longer gentle. His hand gripped her upper arm, not painfully, but firmly enough that she felt it. A reprimand in action.

“Wait—stop, just talk to me?—”

He guided her toward the chair. She resisted, digging in her heels, but it was like trying to hold back a tide.

The moment her back hit the seat, the restraints hissed closed—cool bands snaking around her limbs, locking her in.

She gasped.

“What the hell is this?” she cried, twisting. “Let me out! I said let me out!”

The servant didn’t flinch.

“For your safety,” he repeated, the projection just as neutral as before.

Then he turned, and walked out.

The doors sealed behind him.

Leonie was alone.

Strapped down.

The hum of the ship had deepened. She felt it in her bones. Something massive stirred beneath her, preparing to shift.

They were landing.

But where?

Why hadn’t Karian told her?

She thought of the way he had looked at her. Touched her. The odd tenderness he had shown.

And yet—now this.

Held like a package. Like something fragile… or dangerous.

A flush of fury rose in her chest. But underneath it, deeper—colder—was fear .

Fear that she was wrong about him.

Fear that she was na?ve.

Fear that she might have misread everything.

How dare he.

How dare he make her feel like she mattered—only to leave her restrained and voiceless the moment it suited him.

But what scared her most?—

Was that she still wanted to believe in him.

And that was what truly made her feel helpless.