Page 78

ADRIANA

“ I ’ve seen Colossus so many times in the holo-vids,” I say, my voice tinged with awe.

“In person it’s so much more…” I struggle to describe the view as the Imperator punches through the atmosphere, flanked by an armada of hundreds of brilliant, gleaming Reavers that encircle us protectively, dancing in a ballet of precision.

Doman is at my side, his crown resting on his thick golden locks, his bright blue eyes staring out at his kingdom.

“One day it will be ours,” Doman rumbles, squeezing my hand tight in his.

I catch Gallien and Titus in the reflection of the reinforced viewing glass at the front of the bridge.

They stand behind me like a wall, clad in their formal white robes accented with gold which covers them to their necks.

Even in the ceremonial wear, the hilts of their Orb-Blades dangle at their belts, ready to be drawn and activated in a blink.

Colossus. The home planet of the Aurelian Empire.

Our rivals, yes, but the splendor of their ancient city is overwhelming, an endless tapestry of marble spires and grand edifices, all converging towards the Arena of the Gods, the heart of their civilization.

Debates are different here. On Pentaris, you can get away with snide comments and feuds.

Here, insult is met with a challenge, and many a triad has bled out in the sands of the Colosseum.

The planet is like a massive version of Old Earth, with mountains that scorn the heavens and would tower over even Mt. Everest, the tallest peak on the ancient home of humanity. Vast oceans that would swallow up Etherion’s, forests untamed and wild that stir memories of my distant home.

The grand arena dominates the city, marble stone hewn walls rising up around the pure white sands where history was made.

It was there that Queen Jasmine’s triad cut down the cruel General Asmod and won the throne, and it hits me that soon I will be wedded there, that trillions of people all through the universe will be tuning in to the holo-vid feed to watch me united with the royal triad.

I won’t be giving them the second part of the show, no matter how traditional it is.

I’m still not used to the cultural norms of Colossus.

There are no young here, the youth going straight from the cryo-chambers to Academy, and the city belongs to adult triads who have served their century of service.

Retired soldiers grow their harem, and there is no stigma or taboo against sating their lusts in public.

Previous weddings between humans and Aurelian triads have been sealed in the Arena of the Gods, the triads publicly claiming their mates.

It would be a slap in the face to Pentaris. Unlike Bruton’s Mate, Evelyn, I’m not going to be mated in front of the baying crowd. The thought of thousands of sets of eyes staring at me while Doman and his triad ravage me is so obscene I can’t understand how Evelyn agreed to it.

Or can I?

Banishing the thought from my mind, I allow my gaze to drift upward, tracing the intricate tapestry of streets and expansive boulevards that carve through the cityscape.

My eyes are drawn northward, toward the regal silhouette of the palace rising on the hills.

Formidable walls, stark white against the cerulean sky, with brilliant flags flying proudly.

Each of the flags dancing in the wind is emblazoned with the same emblem of Titus’ gauche necklace, which he refuses to part with even in his most formal wear, going against the customs of the species.

If you showed Colossus to a human from our history, before the age of space travel, they would tell you it was a city made by Gods.

It looks like a place without sin. Underneath the veneer of purity, stark reality festers. Deep below the majestic palace, the symbol of the Aurelian species’ vast wealth and power, a helpless pregnant woman is trapped and alone.

My jaw clenches.

I’m not leaving this planet without her.

Beyond the palace, farther north, a structure is rising from a snowcapped mountain peak.

Huge ships tow ropes attached to massive marble blocks, and Aurelians are like ants working to construct the base of the spire that is destined to pierce the skyline.

It will be the tallest structure on Colossus, created to celebrate my union with Doman’s triad.

I’m not foolish enough to think it is a tribute to me.

It is a brazen challenge to Obsidian—defiance against his lurking presence, daring him to try and knock it down.

Even as he masses on the Aurelian borders, even as he fights desperate guerrilla battles, he cannot defy the overwhelming might of the Empire.

It’s an obscene waste of money and raw materials.

The wealth of Colossus would be appalling if it wasn’t so artful, each thoroughfare a masterpiece of urban planning, the simplest back alley and building like threads of a tapestry, flawlessly integrating into the capital city.

On the outskirts, in the hills, verdant hills are dotted with sprawling estates, each boasting an azure pool, where, as we descend closer, I watch the marble figures of the alien species doing lengths in the sun.

All this beauty. All this perfection, and Obsidian wants to crush it underfoot.

If he gets his way, the palace will fly the black flag of his emblem, and women will be bought and sold in auctions, given to his men as property.

He won’t stop with Colossus. He would pierce the human territories, tame the Toad Kingdom, spread his conquest until the entire universe belongs to him.

A chill runs through me. It’s awe inspiring, so different from the small, dingy government buildings where officials reside on the five planets of Pentaris.

Our governance is spread out in mobile spaceships, and some staff spend years at a time “up high,” as we call it.

The goal of the Pentaris system is to have federal governance outside of the nationalism and pride of each planet.

Here there is no shame, no modesty. It is a city that celebrates might and honor, that does not hide its pride. Warlike strength mixes with sheer decadence.

There are no children on the streets of Colossus.

When an Aurelian is born in the cryo-chambers, he is given his blade and sent straight to Academy, preparing for war.

Once they serve their hundred years in the army, some spread out into the universe, but others come back to the home planet to celebrate centuries of retirement in debauched hedonism.

I’ve prepared myself mentally for the sights that await me in the streets.

Some women will be leashed and collared, clad in pleasure dresses so sheer they show off every inch of their bodies.

Others will be nude. The knowledge that every woman came here voluntarily, that some risked journeys of years just to get here just to be the little pleasure toys of the brutal alien species makes it somehow worse.

Aurelians thinks of humanity as helpless creatures designed to serve, and it’s no surprise that an entire third of them broke off to follow Obsidian, who promised to restore their place as rulers of the universe, owning women as property.

The beauty and art of Colossus is nothing like the hungry faces of Fanatics I saw in the Rift.

Masses of branded troops, religious intoxication in their features as they listened to words of war of their Priests.

There is raw youth and drive for conquest, whereas here, in the late-stage Empire, the facade of control masks the melancholy of the dying race. Under the grandeur is a deep sadness.

The vast estates are mostly empty, the buildings of the city maintained like skeletons without meat.

There are more humans than Aurelians on this planet, servants and harem women.

This planet once pulsated with life, but each year, more Aurelians fall in battle, their bodies so ravaged that even the cryo-bays cannot recreate the next of their line.

The war against Obsidian has only hastened the decimation of the population.

Above, massive orbital batteries have none of the beauty of the city.

They are spartan grey, orbiting above the atmosphere.

Each has enough firepower to destroy a warship.

The Orb-Disruptors of Colossus, once concentrated around the home planet, have been moved strategically in the territories, forming a ring where Obsidian cannot penetrate.

That reassures me—there won’t be a fleet of jet-black warships appearing above in a blink, launching Orb-Beams and nuclear missiles to obliterate the planet.

On this planet, there are no Aurelian cleaners, no alien chefs or servants.

On this planet, there are only warriors.

I’ve studied this society long. Serve your century, or your bloodline ends with you.

It’s not just honor or the thought of an estate that makes the alien species fight.

Those who do not serve are cast out of the society and forbidden the cryo-chamber rebirth.

Unless you fall in line, your genetic legacy ends with you.

I turn away from the viewport of the bridge and swell with pride as I look at the forty-odd members of my staff present on the bridge.

They will accompany me to the surface. All have changed since leaving our territories.

One woman holds a pole bearing the five-pointed flag of Pentaris.

From each of the planets, they have all evolved differently, some with the tall, willowy figures of Virelia, others the squat, powerful physiques suited to Magnar, but we all share a common bond—a hardened resolve, etched with new lines of experience.

We all look older. We all went through hell to get here, and we all keep our chins up, filled with the same pride, because we’re not just politicians and bureaucrats anymore.