Page 18 of Galactic Sentinels, Vol. 1 (Chronicles of Pherebos #1)

Ileana

I look around. It’s not as bad as I imagined. The energy dome that keeps the atmosphere breathable is higher than I expected. It gives me a false sense of freedom—but still, it’s better than having it press down just above our heads.

Colorful plants and shrubs grow all around the ship, and a few spindly trees sway gently in the artificial breeze. The composite living complex nearby seems to float above the wilderness. It looks like it’s all on one level. Pherebos was right—this place isn’t very big.

I scan the area, searching for natural hiding spots under this “bell of life,” as Pherebos calls it. But I don’t see any mountains or cliffs in the distance. Just flat terrain.

“Is there anywhere around here I could hide?” I ask.

“No... why would you want there to be?”

“But what if the Confederation is looking for me?” I say, my voice tightening. “Henri won’t stop until he has proof I’m dead. You know that.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Pherebos says firmly. “Your death, I mean. As for finding you... no one knows we’re here except my friend Akifumi. We’re alone, and we’ll stay that way. No one will find you here. No one.”

His words are meant to reassure me, but instead, my blood runs cold.

What if I’ve just traded one psychopath for another?

I’m completely at his mercy, trapped in this artificial world with no way out. Pherebos has been kind, thoughtful—even charming. But I know better than to trust a pretty face. I’ve been with a man who was beyond reproach in the eyes of the world. And he turned out to be a monster.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I’ll never trust blindly again. Not ever. Even if Pherebos stirs something in me that Henri never did.

Henri... he was powerful, mature, and probably would’ve taken care of my sister. It felt like the rational choice. The safe one.

What a mistake.

Pherebos is nothing like Henri. I can’t help but watch him when he’s busy doing something else. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, muscular… He’s got a great body. And when he looks at me with those deep violet eyes, I feel completely drawn in.

But it’s just a body. Sure, it’s more attractive—more youthful—than Henri’s ever was. But that’s not enough. Not anymore. Until he proves who he really is, I’m not letting myself fall for anything.

Still, here I am. Completely isolated with him on a tiny planet. Totally at his mercy .

How am I supposed to get out of this if things go wrong?

As Pherebos leads me toward the complex, giving me bits of information along the way, I scan the area for potential hiding spots—just in case. There’s a patch of bushes nearby that might work, but it’s not deep enough to keep me hidden for long.

Pherebos points to a spot on the outer wall. “To access the inside of the complex, just place your hand here,” he says. “No palmprint recognition. The site’s empty, so there’s no security.”

I follow him inside. The walls are a pale green, slightly translucent. It’s not dark, but the lighting is soft—just enough to see clearly.

“This is the communal living area,” he explains. “Dining space is to the right, rest and relaxation to the left. At the back, you’ve got hygiene facilities and a treatment room with a regeneration chamber. We’ll get your shoulder fixed up as soon as possible.

“There’s a hallway to the right with four rest quarters, and another to the left—same layout. I’ve taken the room at the end of the left corridor. Wingo usually hangs out in the common areas.”

“Can I choose where to sleep?” I ask, surprised.

“Of course you can!” Pherebos replies with a smile. “There are eight rooms available. Well—seven. I took the one facing the sunset and the mini-lake. I was alone, so… ”

“No worries,” I say quickly. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take one on the opposite side, to the right.”

“Make yourself at home,” he says, bowing slightly. “In that case, I’d suggest the one at the end of the corridor. It’s the biggest, and the only one with access to both the front and back of the complex. I think it used to be occupied by a couple.”

He seems relaxed about it all. Still, I can’t help but think—if I sleep in a different room, I won’t really be able to escape him if he ever decides to hurt me. He hasn’t done anything inappropriate since rescuing me from Jaga-18, but I’ve learned not to take anything for granted.

I turn right into the corridor and walk past the first two doors on purpose.

The rooms on the left open onto the lush greenery behind the complex.

From the last room at the far end, I can also see the SIL, partially hidden by the bushes.

That’s why I choose it—so I can keep an eye on the only way in or out of our little world.

The room is simple, probably like the others. A bed, a storage chest. There’s a control panel by the door that lets you adjust the transparency of the walls, and you can even open the doors fully to the outside.

I don’t have any personal belongings to unpack, so I head back to the common area.

Wingo bursts in like a whirlwind, tongue lolling to the side.

“Hey! Want to go for a run with me?” he asks, bouncing around excitedly .

“Running? No, not at all, thank you!” I laugh, holding up my braced arm.

“Wingo, give Ileana a break,” Pherebos calls from the catering area. “We’ll show her around later. And as long as she’s wearing that shoulder brace, she’s off-limits.”

Our little furry friend looks sheepish and gently rubs against my leg. I smile and give him a pat on the head.

Pherebos hurries over to a tablet—similar to the one installed aboard the SIL—and taps a few commands. A few seconds later, “It’s A Kind of Magic” blasts through the complex.

I recognize it instantly. I know every song by this band—my parents used to play them all the time back on their home planet. Wingo, of course, starts wiggling his hindquarters to the rhythm, wandering around like he owns the place.

Pherebos glances at me, amused, and smiles.

“Ileana, why don’t you go get that shoulder fixed? It’ll probably take a few hours, but you’ll be back on your feet before sunset.”

I nod, though I’m not entirely sure. I want my arm back, fully functional. But to do that, I’ll have to undress in front of Pherebos so he can remove the composite brace that’s been holding my shoulder together these past few days.

I follow him into the treatment room. The regeneration sarcophagus looks exactly like the one we had on Jaga-18. The sight of it stirs something complicated in me.

That machine healed my sister’s broken body more times than I can count. But it’s also the same one that let Henri hurt me—again and again—without anyone ever knowing.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Pherebos says, trying to calm me. “You’ll be asleep before you know it, and when you wake up, your shoulder will be good as new. And while you’re napping in there, I’m going to make you some pancakes!”

I can’t help but ask, “Pancakes?”

“I’ve got dehydrated milk, powdered eggs, cereal flour, and water. I even picked up a solar pan on the black market.”

I stare at him. He’s talking about a recipe from my home world—well, my parents’ home world. I was born on BN-35, so I’ve never actually had the chance to try them.

Then Pherebos turns to me, holding a small laser stylus.

“Take off your shirt,” he says gently. “I’ll cut away the shell holding your shoulder together. Once it’s off, you can lie down on the inner surface of the chamber. When you’re ready, just let me know and I’ll close it.”

I nod and look away as he carefully cuts through the composite brace.

I flinch when his skin brushes mine. A warm shiver runs down my spine. I glance up at him—and his violet eyes are locked on mine, intense and unreadable .

That brief contact seems to have shaken him too. But it was just a touch—barely grazing the skin of my neck. How can something so small feel so overwhelming?

My breathing falters. I look away, focusing on the chamber instead.

“That’s it,” he says, his voice a little rough. “The hull’s cut. Call me when you’re ready.”

I gently pull the two halves of the shell apart with my good hand. But the moment I do, a sharp jolt reminds me—my shoulder is still broken, and the weight of my arm is pulling painfully on it.

I quickly lie down and use my right arm to pull the lid of the chamber over me, shielding my naked body.

“Pherebos,” I call out, hesitantly.

He’s there in two seconds. I can’t see him, but I hear his voice just before the sarcophagus closes.

“Sleep well, my sweet.”

I wake up feeling rested. Peaceful. My body feels amazing—light, whole. But then reality crashes back in. I’m still on the run. And my sister is still gone.

The lid opens halfway. Pherebos is careful to preserve my modesty.

“Ileana,” he says gently, “while you were out, I used the replicator to make you two cellulose-based outfits. They’re not exactly high fashion, but—”

“It’s perfect!” I cut him off, smiling. “Thank you. Really.”

“I left everything on the stool for you. I’ll wait for you in the common area. ”

I slowly lift the lid and spot the outfit he left for me. It’s simple, but thoughtful. Cellulose—the main component in plant cell walls—can be used to fabricate clothing with the right plans and a replicator. It’s not hard to make.

But the fact that he thought of it? That surprises me more than anything.

I gently lift the lid and immediately spot the outfit Pherebos left for me.

It’s a thoughtful gesture. Cellulose—the main component of plant cell walls—can be used to fabricate clothing with a replicator and the right schematics.

It’s not hard to make, but the fact that he thought of it? That surprises me.

I slowly slip into the long tunic and knee-length shorts.

The fit is decent in length, but the waistband on the shorts is too loose—I’ll need to tie it with a string to keep it in place.

The color is... hard to define. A dull, washed-out tone.

The replicator clearly isn’t great at reproducing precise hues.