Page 18

Eighteen

T he landing had been a blur.

Leonie barely remembered the descent—only flashes of strange sounds and the shuddering of the ship’s bones. She’d been released from the restraints by then, but her limbs had remained frozen, her mind too full of what had just passed between them—Karian’s face, his voice, the feel of his hand brushing her skin.

After that, there had been movement. Doors opening. The hush of corridors. She hadn’t known they were landing until the gravity shifted and her stomach gave that sickening lurch. The ship had touched down without a sound.

And then the doors opened to reveal a different world entirely.

Night on Luxar was like stepping into a dream.

She hadn’t known what to expect—red skies, black oceans, jagged cliffs lit by twin suns. But this... this was something else entirely. The air was cool and crisp, laced with salt, and it wrapped around her like silk. The sky above was impossibly vast, a velvet canvas scattered with thousands of stars, more than she'd ever seen in London. Two moons hung above the horizon—one silver and brilliant, the other a pale, ghostly blue.

And all of it was silent. Majestic. Unnerving.

She walked slowly beside Karian down the ramp of the Velthra. The ship still pulsed faintly beneath her slippered feet, as though breathing out the last of its journey. The cool metal hummed in her bones.

Karian didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

He was masked again. Armored. Regal. Unreachable.

The version of him who had shown her his face—his strange beauty, his quiet hunger—was gone now. This was the Marak. The lord of this world. Clad in a robe of black and silver, threaded with faintly glowing sigils. Silver chains and plates adorned his chest and shoulders, clinking softly with every fluid movement. His tentacles coiled and shifted beneath the hem of his robes, alive and watchful. One of them brushed the metal beside her foot, and she tensed, heart fluttering.

They descended onto a vast platform that floated above the ocean, a massive disc of gleaming white metal with no visible supports. It simply hovered, suspended in the night air, humming gently like a living thing. When she looked down, the sea was a dark, churning mass far below, reflecting the moons in broken fragments.

But it was the city beyond that stole her breath.

Isora.

It rose from the dark waters like a vision—towers of spiraling glass and metal, alive with light. Bridges arced between them like webs spun from starlight. Skyways curved through the air, connecting buildings that shimmered with pale fire. It looked like something built by gods, not beings of flesh and blood.

She couldn’t look away.

Then, she saw them.

The Yerak.

Lined along the far edge of the platform—hundreds of them—standing in perfect formation. Clad in shades of deep blue and silver, the colors of Karian’s house. Their hair black, their skin pale and luminous, their black eyes unreadable. They stood motionless until Karian stepped forward.

And then they knelt.

Every single one of them. Without hesitation. Knees to the ground. Heads bowed. No eye contact. No movement. It was a silence so total it felt like the world had held its breath.

Leonie swallowed hard. A chill skittered down her spine.

This wasn’t mere respect.

It was reverence.

They treated him like a god.

Karian said nothing. Gave no acknowledgment. He simply walked, and they stayed bowed, as though he were a force of nature passing through—a storm, a star, a myth.

And she was walking beside him.

Her hands curled at her sides. Her steps faltered. She couldn’t make sense of it—the man who had murmured her name like a prayer... was this . A being worshipped by an entire people. Feared. Obeyed. Her knees wanted to buckle. Her brain screamed at her to run.

But she kept walking.

Because he had shown her his face.

Because he had let her see the man beneath the god.

And she didn’t know what terrified her more—that he had power over millions… or that he might already have power over her .

They reached the edge of the platform, where a sleek craft awaited them—hovering, silent. Smooth as glass, sharp as a blade. It looked like it could slice the sky apart. A ramp extended without a sound.

Karian gestured for her to enter.

She hesitated, just for a heartbeat.

Then she stepped inside.

The interior was stunning. Pale metal that wasn’t quite metal. Soft curves. Glowing blue lights that pulsed like distant stars. The seat molded beneath her like it had been made for her body. She sank into it, stunned by the quiet comfort of it all.

He followed. Sat beside her.

Close.

The door closed with a soft hiss, sealing them into the quiet together. The hum of the engine deepened, and the craft rose, gliding away from the platform like a bird in flight.

Below, Isora glittered like a thousand diamonds scattered across black velvet.

She watched it grow smaller, more distant, as they climbed.

Beside her, Karian said nothing.

But his presence filled the cabin like heat. Like gravity.

She didn’t look at him.

But she felt him.

And in the silence, as they soared into the stars, she finally understood:

She would never truly be free of him.

And, terrifyingly…

She wasn’t sure she wanted to be