Page 34 of Galactic Sentinels, Vol. 1 (Chronicles of Pherebos #1)

Ileana.

Pherebos walks confidently to the center of the room, completely at ease among the others. He’s wearing dark pants and a matching jacket, which he hasn’t even bothered to zip up. A few braids keep his hair out of his face, revealing his pointed ears and those unmistakable violet eyes.

Honestly, at this point, I don’t even know who I want to win the auction—him or Prax.

When I first saw him, I spent a few minutes trying to figure out why he was here. I thought he wanted to sell me. So why is he now trying to buy me back?

And Wingo’s not with him. That worries me. Am I wrong about all this? Or has he already sold Wingo?

I try to make sense of it, but my thoughts are a mess. Nothing about this situation is clear anymore.

“Noviosk. Gentlemen,” Pherebos begins. “My name is Pherebos. I’m from the planet Asgarne. I’m here on a mission to retrieve the Human who escaped. I’m prepared to pay the price.”

He pauses, then gestures to the items he’s brought.

“These are Asgarne daggers. Ten of them. Double-bladed—our most iconic weapon. They’re difficult to master.

Each blade runs about fourteen inches, and the full weapon stretches close to three feet.

It weighs just over two pounds—light enough to move fast, heavy enough to matter.

On Asgarne, we train with wooden replicas first. Otherwise, the injuries can be… severe.”

The room shifts as everyone leans in to get a better look. One of the guards picks up a dagger and walks it around the room for inspection. The others eye the weapons with clear interest.

Manly turns to Noviosk, waiting for his reaction.

“Truth,” Noviosk says, voice low. “How did you get these?”

“There’s no industry on Asgarne,” Manly adds. “Everything’s handmade. Even weapons. Forged by their owners. It’s a long, grueling process.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Noviosk says, his tone sharper now.

“You didn’t give me time,” Pherebos replies with a smirk. “I made them myself. Would you like a demonstration?”

Pherebos steps forward and shrugs off his jacket, revealing his perfectly sculpted torso. Even now, I can’t help but be a little awestruck.

Noviosk leans back in his chair as two guards move to flank him, pistoblasters drawn. They look ready to fire if Pherebos so much as twitches the wrong way.

But Pherebos just lets out a quiet, amused laugh. It clearly irritates the Srebat, who waves the guards off with a flick of his hand .

Pherebos takes the dagger that was handed to him and steps into the center of the room. For a few seconds, he stands completely still, his expression sharpening into focus.

Then he moves.

He spins, fast and fluid, the dagger slicing through the air with a whistle. The twin blades shimmer under the bluish spotlights, catching the light with every motion. He moves like he’s dancing—graceful, precise, dangerous. Dodging, parrying, striking at invisible enemies with effortless control.

I’m on the edge of my seat, completely mesmerized. It’s like watching a storm contained in a single body.

Then, suddenly, he stops. He raises the dagger upright, holding it steady, and locks eyes with Noviosk.

My heart skips a beat. He’s not going to—

In one swift motion, he hurls the dagger—not at Noviosk, but behind him. It slams into the doorframe with a solid thunk , the only spot in the room where it could land without ricocheting off stone or shattering.

With a playful grin, Pherebos nods to Noviosk and calmly returns to his seat.

“Hmmm,” Noviosk says, unimpressed. “A fine demonstration. But as beautiful and rare as these weapons are, they’re not enough. We discussed something else, didn’t we?”

I’m not surprised. Ten daggers, no matter how exquisite, probably don’t compare to what Prax offered—his ship. That’s a much bigger deal. Still, I notice the men in the room seem far more intrigued by the blades than I expected .

‘’You mean the coordinates to Asgarne, right?” Pherebos replies, sounding almost bored.

The moment he says it, the room erupts. Everyone jumps to their feet. Noviosk’s eyes gleam with hunger, and the others aren’t far behind—each one radiating a kind of greedy anticipation that makes my skin crawl.

That’s when it hits me. He’s offering up his home planet. If he gives them the coordinates, these smugglers will strip it bare—every resource, every secret, every life.

“No!” I cry out, my voice cracking with emotion.

“You’re mine,” Pherebos says, locking eyes with me. “If I have to give up the coordinates of some random world to get you back, I’ll do it.”

“You’re despicable,” I whisper. “You know exactly what they’ll do with that information.”

“I do,” he says. “And I don’t care.”

“That’s the spirit!” Noviosk laughs.

Manly cuts in, trying to bring some order. “Just to be clear: the Asgarne weapons go to the sellers, and the coordinates go to Noviosk. Bully, as the seller, do you accept the terms?”

“Not at all!” Bully snaps. “This deal’s completely unbalanced. The split is fifty-fifty between Vagantu and the buyers. That means five daggers for Noviosk, five for us. And fifty percent of the profits from Asgarne—minerals, women, anything we can get our hands on.”

Prax stays silent, visibly uncomfortable. He looks sickened by the whole conversation, while Bully and Noviosk argue over how to divide the spoils of a planet that isn’t even theirs.

Pherebos seems disinterested, like he's not really concerned about the fate of his people.

I keep thinking how I could have been so wrong about him. Selling out an entire planet?

‘’Four daggers and 80% of the profits for Vagantu!’’ Manly finally pipes up. ‘’The other daggers and the remaining twenty percent to the vendors. Is everyone cool with that?’’

‘’Well, what about us?’’ a human asks Pherebos. ‘’My brother and I brought you the Asgarnian. We thought...’’

‘’You thought wrong!’’ Manly jumps in. ‘’You're neither buying nor selling. You have no rights in this transaction.’’

‘’Just leave it,’’ Noviosk says with a wave of his hand.

‘’I'm feeling pretty generous today. I'm giving them each a dagger to thank them for bringing Pherebos here. That is, if the deal goes through. I still have a few questions, though, before we finalize this sale. Pherebos, what's your deal here?’’

‘’What do you mean?’’

‘’Why are you offering me this deal?’’

‘’I have no living family left on Asgarne. There's no one I care about or who cares about me’’.

‘’Truth,’’ says Noviosk, to whom the answer seems to fit. ‘’Continue... the coordinates of Asgarnes...’’

‘’I've never given anyone the location of my home planet.

Here's a digital medium. On it... umm...

sorry, give me a moment to collect myself.

I was saying that on this digital medium, there are the coordinates of an unknown world.

I remember the last time I was in this spot with my best friend, right next to his birthplace.

That was right before he almost lost his life.

Anyway, let me continue. On this disk, there's a world that the Confederation and the Coalition both ignore. ‘’

‘’TRUTH!’’ Noviosk jumps to his feet, his eyes shining with desire. ‘’It's a done deal!’’ he says.

I'm appalled. He's done it. He's handed over an entire people to a bunch of lawless looters. Even Prax looks taken aback by the deal. I look into his golden gaze, and he offers me a apologetic grimace.

I don't blame him, though. He did everything he could to get me out of there. He even said he'd give up his ship and business. Still, he made a solid deal, and it's set to be pretty profitable. Even if his partnership with Bully seems a bit shady.

The rejected buyers leave the room, and soon all that's left is Pherebos, my two salesmen, and the master of the house. Noviosk, who's a big guy with his arms crossed over his muscular chest, looks pretty pleased.

‘’Pherebos, you're still my guest here until we've checked all this out, of course!’’ he says. My instincts have never steered me wrong, but I've been cautious as hell to get to where I am.

‘’I get where you're coming from, but I'm thinking of turning down your offer. After all, my two chauffeurs are waiting to take me back to my ship. As for Asgarne, it's weeks away and...’’

‘’I insist!’’ Noviosk interrupts, unyielding .

It's clear that this is less of an invitation and more of an order.

“I see. Well, I hope you won’t keep me waiting too long before I can enjoy my purchase,” Pherebos says with that nonchalant smile of his that still manages to irritate me.

“Yes, you can,” Noviosk replies. “I’ll have a room prepared for you near my office.

We’ll have plenty of time to talk—about you, and about Asgarne.

Your pilots will be released; they’ve been well compensated with the daggers.

Once everything checks out, I’ll have someone escort you back to your ship.

As for the coordinates, it’ll take a few days to verify.

I’ll send a message to my nearest base, and someone I trust will investigate. ”

“Then I’ll take you up on the invitation,” Pherebos says. “Just have my travel bag forwarded—it should still be on the brothers’ ship. You can inspect it if you want. There’s no weapon inside. Come on, Ileana. You’re with me now.”

A few moments later, we’re walking down a corridor I recognize—it leads to Noviosk’s private quarters. He’d already told Pherebos we’d be dining in our room tonight, since he had other plans. I knew that already.

I’m relieved. That Srebat terrifies me, and his uncanny ability to detect lies doesn’t help.

The two guards stop in front of a standard composite door. The heavy wooden one is clearly reserved for the master of the house .

“We’ll bring a meal for two within the hour,” one of them says. “We’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

We’re not exactly prisoners, but we’re not free either. Pherebos’s wry smile says as much.