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The doors hiss open, and I can’t suppress my gasp and instant fear as I see the void before us.

Empty space yawns. I draw in a huge breath, but there’s no air rushing out of the doors, and as I force myself to step closer, I see the insides of the stealth ship.

It defies and confounds my senses, not quite transparent, the stars beyond are blurry and warped.

Cal, dressed in a polo shirt and shorts as if he’s going to a day in the country walks on nothingness and enters our ship.

He glances down at his watch, then cracks his knuckles and yawns. “You’re a few minutes late.”

“Had to shake an escort,” answers Titus, his voice growly and low, affronted by Cal’s nonchalance.

Then I hear it. The cry of a newborn babe. The hair rises on the back of my neck, and a tremble rushes through my body.

From down the corridor, the doors to the med-bay opens, and Fay is wheeled out, the elderly Aurelian doctor pushing her wheelchair. She’s sweaty, her hair a tangled mess, but there’s a glow in her tear-stained cheeks as she cradles the newborn tight against her.

In her arms, he looks made of porcelain, so fragile and precious.

The newborn doesn’t even look real. He’s a tiny little angel, a cherubic statue carved of marble. None of the black blood of his father courses through his veins. He goes perfectly silent, this tiny, innocent creature that could grow into a scourge that tears the universe in half.

When Fay sees my triad, she clutches her baby tighter against herself like one of us is going to rip him from her hands.

The doctor wheels her into the stealth ship, and the air ripples as the door closes shut, sealing her from us. My heart is pounding out of my chest.

“Tell me it’s over. Tell me your parents won’t suspect us.”

“It’s over.” Doman’s voice is pure certainty. “I’m their son. Their firstborn. The only person they trust as much as they trust each other. The doctor will be blamed, and he’ll never be seen again. Neither will Fay. Or the child. They’ll live out their lives somewhere safe. Somewhere far away.”

His voice has that calm rumble that soothes me. It works all too well. I stare up at him, so noble, so proud, a God among men who risked everything for me, for our future.

I put my hand against my heart, feeling my pulse slow, then quicken once more, and this time, not from fear.

Staring up at my towering triad, I feel I’ve known them forever. They used to be so alien to me, conquerors who would take an innocent prisoner for their war. Doman went against his own family. The triad went against their own Empire, to do what was right.

Now I feel so close to them, and the only thing that looks out of place on them are the obscene black rings that pulse and suck in the light.

“I’m ready.” The words spill past my lips. It sounds so right. Visions of the three men rush through my mind, and I remember when Doman first pulled off the ring and tasted my scent, going mad with lust, barely keeping control.

I’ve been aching for this for so long, but I was never able to give myself to them. Not fully.

Now, I’ve never been so certain.

I reach to pull the ring from Doman’s finger, and he curls his hand into a fist.

“I’m sorry, Adriana.” His voice is a rasp. Titus turns, silent, and walks through the door into the cockpit. Gallien follows, unable to look me in the eye before he turns his back to me.

I’m alone with the crown prince, and I stare up at a stranger. His face is a cold mask.

“What have you done?”

“What I had to. My race is dying, Adriana. We’re killing each other off. I’ve watched so many of my friends cut down, so many mangled to the point they can’t even make it to the cryo-bays… this could only end one way. My blade. Now I have the leverage to finish this.”

“Secure coms-link open.” Gallien’s voice cuts through my confusion, a cold order from the cockpit. Doman turns, his robe swishing as he marches to his triad.

I follow, instinctively, the understanding slowly creeping through me.

I feel like I’m in a trance, hoping I’m wrong, when the holo-vid feed grows in the middle of the room.

Doman presses me to the side of the room, out of view, then stands directly in the center of the bridge, Titus and Gallien flanking him.

Obsidian appears. Life sized, nearly as tall as the ceiling. Half of his head is a red, burnt mess, mangled with blisters and scars. His thick black mane is sheared, nothing hiding the brutal mass of burnt flesh.

His eyes are untouched.

Two, black, endless pits.

“Doman. Your trickery nearly had me.” He smiles. No, it can’t be called that. A smile has warmth. His lips only curl up ever so slightly, showing off bright white teeth that are far too sharp.

“How did you survive?” Doman asks him nonchalantly, as if the two of them are discussing the weather, and not the explosives rigged to destroy the War-God when he personally shifted into one of the factories producing the cyborg soldiers.

“My wolves smelled the refined uranium. They bore the blast. You nearly killed my brothers, Doman.” He opens his palms, showing the base of his forearms, where his black blood pounds through his veins, obscene against his ivory skin.

“They will recuperate in my veins. It will take years, but I will be whole once more.”

“Why are you telling me this? Why don’t you hide your weakness?”

Obsidian’s curled up lips extend into a snarling grin.

“Because I know the only reason you would open a line of communications with me, authenticated with royal DNA. You want to end this, as it was always meant to end. You’re tired of hiding in your mother’s skirts.

I would accept your challenge even if the blast had taken my sword arm.

Because it is Fated, Doman. It is Fated that we stand across from each other in the killing fields.

It is fated that I will rule on the throne of Colossus, or they will devour the universe. ”

The words cost him. He coughs, and wipes his lips contemptuously, black, thick blood staining the back of his hand like he spewed out chunks of his lungs.

The War-God is degrading, failing before my eyes, yet when I see those twin black orbs, all I can think of is the endless nothingness of being trapped in the Rift.

Even rotting, he is deadly.

“I have no interest in your prophecies. Come to the Arena of the Gods and face me. End the bloodshed with one death.”

The smile is gone from Obsidian’s twisted face.

“You are a child, Doman, born to a throne and luxury. I was born to wolves. You don’t even know what you’re up against. I’ve seen them spread their wings, open their maws that can devour an entire warship in a bite. That is where your Reavers go, princeling. Into their bellies.”

Doman and Gallien keep their faces blank, ignoring all provocation. Titus cannot. He grits his teeth, the vein in his neck bulging. “Enough talk. You will come to Colossus. You will face us.”

“No. You will come to Obsidious. You will fight me on the black sands. I trust your word of honor, Doman, that you would not lay a trap if I dueled you in your capitol. I do not trust the viper with the crown. You will come to Obsidious, and you will bleed out on the black sands. Or… there is another way.”

His rasping voice is as if each word is sandpaper against his vocal cords.

“There is no other way,” answers Doman. I watch, nothing more than a spectator, my mind racing for words that can stop this, but I feel like I’m in the gravity well of a black hole, spinning faster and faster around the vortex of nothingness.

“Join me. Join me, against the true enemy.”

“Madness,” spits out Titus.

“Do you know the average age for an Aurelian entering the cryo-bay, to release life and create anew? Two thousand years ago, when the galactic war raged, it was six hundred. Aurelians with thousands of years of life before them, relinquished for the next generation. Five centuries ago, the average age was eight hundred. Do you know it today? Fifteen hundred. Old men, with grey beards, sitting in their villas and reminiscing. The Aurelian Empire is soft, and weak, and it must be burnt down. Join my ranks. You are the crown prince. Enough will follow you to end this without your death.”

Obsidian’s voice has a strange, hypnotic pull to it. It reminds me of Aeris and her visions.

“No.” The single word, said by the crown prince, cuts like a knife.

Obsidian closes his eyes slowly, then opens them, and they seem to draw in all the light. “Then I will not fight you.”

“Coward.”

“You’re just a little boy, Doman. When I kill you, I’ve signed her death warrant. Your mother will avenge your death.”

Doman brings his smart-watch to his lips. “Now,” he says, so low I can barely make out the word.

Obsidian stumbles like Doman cut his legs out from under him. His eyes go wide as a beast, and he reaches out, grabbing for something outside of the holo-vid feed to get his balance.

“End,” orders Doman through his smart-watch, an instant later, and Obsidian snarls, his teeth extending into fangs, black fur sprouting through his skin before he gets control of himself.

“Take the ring off her finger. Give her to me. You have no right!” He yells out the command, booming, and my legs grow weak.

“We will not harm her. She is out of reach of my parents. Face me, War-God. If you win, you get her back. If I win, this madness ends.”

Obsidian goes silent. A beast chaining itself, regaining control. “Let me feel her again. There’s no reason to keep us apart, not in our minds.” The proud War-God is reduced to near begging, eyes wide, stress painted on his hard features.

“No.” Doman pauses, letting Obsidian feel the power imbalance. “Return to Obsidious. We meet you there, in the Arena of Blood. And every man will see that their War-God is mortal.”

Obsidian shakes his head. “The journey is long, and dangerous. You have my Mate. She’s in danger every second you keep her.”

“And your son.”

This time, Obsidian breaks. Doman’s signal to Cal removed the ring only for an instant, and he didn’t have time to learn that he is now a father. I see it, something I didn’t think possible.

Fear.

Naked fear, clear in the War-God's eyes.

Doman never moves. His face remains like a statue.

“When I open a communications link, you will guide us through the Rift, to the killing fields. My brother Cal will never leave her side, not until we are done. Betray us and he slits her throat. We end this, as it was always meant to be, and I swear to you, if you strike me down, she will not be harmed.”

The fear is gone. It is replaced by disbelieving joy, just for a flash, before his mask of strength returns.

“I accept, Doman. I accept, Titus. I accept, Gallien. The universe will mourn the three princes. I await you.”

His voice is a rasp.

“Soon, Obsidian. Prepare your troops. We move within hours.”

The feed ends, and the War-God disappears, giving me an unobstructed view of the coldness of space. I stepped back without realizing it, my back to the wall, the icy chill spreading through my body as I stand in a room with three strangers who played me like a fool.

Three strangers who could be dead in the black sands before the day’s end.