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Fifteen

T he restraints bit into her wrists and ankles—not painfully, but unrelenting, as though the chair itself had no intention of releasing her, ever. Leonie had long since stopped struggling. Her muscles trembled faintly from the earlier panic, and now, bound and helpless, all she could do was wait. Her breath misted faintly in the cool air, and the silence—the absence of any voices, footfalls, or familiar sounds—wrapped around her like a coffin lid.

Her heart beat hard in her chest. The room was too quiet. Too still.

And then… the ship began to move.

It started as a subtle vibration in the floor beneath her feet. Just a hum. But it deepened almost immediately—intensifying, resonating through the frame of the chair, through the bones in her spine. The lights overhead flickered, and the temperature dropped slightly. Something was building.

A thrumming pulse filled the air, low and rhythmic, like the ship itself had a heartbeat.

Leonie’s eyes widened. She strained against the restraints instinctively, trying to sit forward—but she couldn’t move an inch. The pressure against her chest, her limbs—it was unyielding.

Then came the first boom .

It was distant, muffled, but deep. Like thunder striking underwater. The room shuddered in response.

She gasped. “What the hell is going on?!”

No one answered. Of course.

Another shockwave struck—closer this time—and the lights dimmed almost to nothing. She was trapped in a cold metal chair in the dark, alone on a ship in the middle of God-knew-where, and now it sounded like the ship was under attack .

A jolt snapped through the chamber. Not just a tremor this time, but an impact. Something had hit the vessel. Hard.

The walls shivered. The air thickened. Alarms didn’t blare—but perhaps that was worse. The silence implied that either the systems were too advanced for such primitive things… or they didn’t bother alerting the cargo .

Her heart pounded. She began to sweat.

What if this is it? What if I die here?

She imagined the ship torn open, her body ejected into the void. Cold. Silent. Forgotten. No Alfie. No Earth. No chance.

Her mouth was dry as she whispered, “Please don’t let this be how I die.”

And then… the vibrations began to slow.

The hum softened. The booms ceased. The lights returned, gradually, casting an eerie, sterile glow across the ceiling. The pressure in the room lifted slightly.

It was over.

But the stillness that followed was worse .

She sat perfectly still, limbs aching from tension, breath shallow, waiting.

And waiting.

Time passed in long, agonizing minutes. Her thoughts spiraled—toward home, toward the surgical ward, toward the cup of tea she never got to finish. She thought of Karian. He should have told me. He should have warned me. He left me here.

Then—

The door opened.

Bright light flooded the chamber.

And there he was.

Karian.

But this was not the Karian who had touched her hair, who had spoken in soft tones through a translator. Not the being who had shown strange patience and restraint.

This Karian radiated something far colder. Violence . Power .

He stepped into the room like a storm wrapped in flesh.

His armor was like living metal, black as the void, threaded with subtle lines of iridescent silver that pulsed with internal energy. It clung to his massive frame, accentuating the rippling strength of his chest and arms. His pauldrons arched outward like crescent blades. His cloak whispered behind him, fluid and soundless.

His mask was different now—sharper, deadlier. War-shaped.

He looked like a conqueror .

Leonie’s blood ran cold.

She flinched before she could stop herself. Even the sound of his boots—those perfectly silent steps—made her stomach twist. The presence of him filled the chamber like a crushing wave, and she was still strapped down. Trapped.

This wasn’t just an alien.

This was something ancient . Weaponized .

He held the translator stone in his gloved hand.

Leonie’s voice scraped its way out of her throat. “You…”

She swallowed hard. “You knew this was going to happen. And you didn’t tell me.”

He said nothing.

His silence was worse than anything.

She thrashed once against the restraints, a sharp burst of anger rising over the fear. “You just left me here. Strapped down. While your ship shakes apart—while I’m locked in like a lab rat.”

Still, he didn’t answer.

It was like talking to a statue made of iron and wrath.

Then the stone pulsed.

“For your protection,” came the familiar filtered voice—his voice, now cool and absolute.

Leonie’s eyes burned. “I don’t want to be protected like this. I want to be informed . I want to be treated like a person , not some kind of helpless thing !”

Her voice cracked—but she didn’t look away from him.

For a moment, he simply stood there, massive and unmoving, a monolith of dominance and silence.

Then—at last—he raised a hand.

With a sharp gesture, the restraints hissed and pulled away, receding into the chair like water evaporating into air.

She leapt to her feet immediately, her limbs stiff, her wrists sore. She rubbed them furiously, breath unsteady.

They stared at one another in tense, heavy silence.

“I returned,” came his voice again, filtered but low, steady. “As I said I would.”

She shook her head. “No. You didn’t say anything. That’s the problem.”

Something shifted.

A muscle in his jaw, maybe. A subtle lift of his shoulders.

Then—slowly—he stepped closer.

Not threatening.

But not comforting either.

He extended the translator toward her.

She took it, reluctantly, fingers brushing his.

Then he gestured to himself.

“Karian,” he said. Not through the device—this time, his voice was unfiltered. Deep and quiet, in the alien tongue, but the way he spoke his name carried meaning . Recognition. Identity.

And then?—

His gloved hand lifted.

He reached for the edge of his mask.

Leonie’s breath caught again. She couldn’t stop staring. Her heartbeat surged in her throat.

And he began to remove it .