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Fifty-Three

T he light in the private dining chamber was low and golden, pulsing softly in imitation of the twin suns beneath the Luxari skies. The domed ceiling shifted with ambient hues of violet and deep blue, casting delicate warmth over the obsidian walls.

It was quiet. Still.

Karian sat across from her, wrapped in the silence that so often followed their mornings together.

Leonie was eating—her breakfast procured from Earth by his logistics network with unnecessary haste, as if some part of him feared she might wilt without it. She didn’t know the effort it had taken to get her that coffee. Those pastries. Those little things from a distant blue planet.

But as he watched her now—sitting comfortably in his sanctum, her fingers delicate as she held the flaky, fruit-filled pastry, her lips curved in subtle pleasure with each bite—he knew he would have done it a thousand times over just to see her like this.

Human food was strange to him. Cloyingly sweet. Lacking any vibratory energy or biochemical potency. Nothing more than nostalgic decadence. But she loved it. And that was enough.

He himself ate from darker bowls—obsidian dishes laced with living etchings that pulsed faintly in his presence. Raw flesh of Sualk, still warm, lay neatly alongside the pale ribbons of Kolik, a translucent meat known for its density and regenerative qualities. He sliced methodically, eating without mess, without pause.

Beside his meal sat a single, radiant Oulia crystal, pulsing with internal light. He lifted it gently, fingers gliding across the smooth facets. Within, the raw energy shimmered—deep-ocean power harvested from places so pressurized, even Yerak bone would collapse like paper.

Only the Marak could retrieve them. Only he could breathe that depth.

He inhaled the luminous energy, drawing it slowly into his lungs. It entered his bloodstream like fire and calm all at once.

When he lowered the gem, Leonie was watching him.

"You don’t have to hide it, you know,” she said with a small smile. “I’ve seen way weirder things lately.”

He inclined his head slightly. “Still… some rituals are not easy to witness.”

“You’re the one drinking a rock,” she teased.

He allowed the corner of his mouth to lift—barely. But she saw it.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said after a moment. “About the mate-bond.”

He looked up fully. She set her cup down and met his gaze without flinching.

“I’ll accept it,” she said softly. “But I don’t want the fanfare. No shining banners or bowing masses. I don’t want to be worshipped like some divine creature. That’s not who I am.”

“You are divine to me,” he said.

“I want to be human,” she insisted. “Respected, yes. But as Leonie. As me . Not as an ideal.”

He studied her for a long moment, then inclined his head.

“It will be as you say. No ceremonies. No public adoration. Only truth.”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she smiled again—soft, but full of something fierce. He loved that about her.

“I’ve been walking among the Yerak,” she added. “With the guards. I’ve seen how they live. How they work. How they fear you.”

“They should,” he said simply.

“But do they need to?” she asked. “I mean… all the time?”

She leaned forward. “They work themselves to exhaustion. I saw children pulled from their games because of training cycles. You give them everything—shelter, safety, food, structure—but not time.”

“They do not ask for time,” he replied. “They were not bred to.”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t need it.”

Karian sat in silence.

He felt the weight of her words echo in him—not like thunder, but like dripping water against stone. Small, persistent, undeniable.

She wasn’t wrong.

“They could have more,” she said gently. “More time. A bit more freedom. I know you can’t change everything. I know your rule is about balance and security. But small things add up.”

Her eyes searched his, wary and hopeful.

After a moment, he sat back.

“We will reduce their working schedules by ten percent,” he said.

Leonie blinked. “Wait—really?”

He nodded once. “It will be implemented immediately. The shipyards and mines will adjust. It is a sacrifice—but one I am willing to make.”

He watched the way her face lit up. That rare, glowing joy. But then, something else: a sly little grin tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Clever girl.

“You’ll ask for more,” he said softly.

She didn’t deny it. Just sipped her coffee and arched one dark brow, eyes full of promise.

“And you’ll give it,” she murmured, “eventually.”

He exhaled, quiet amusement blooming beneath his stern expression.

“Yes,” he said. “Eventually.”

And to his own surprise, the thought did not bother him.

It pleased him.