Page 38 of Galactic Sentinels, Vol. 1 (Chronicles of Pherebos #1)

Ileana.

I'm lying on the bed, watching Pherebos as he stands in front of the bay window. He’s been lost in thought for what feels like forever—silent, tense. I want to go to him, to tell him he’s not to blame, that he doesn’t have to carry all that guilt. But I can’t bring myself to move.

The story he told me… it’s horrifying. The pain he went through—it’s more than I can wrap my head around.

And yet, I feel relief. Because now I know: Pherebos is exactly who I believed he was. A good man. Maybe he made a mistake that cost his loved ones their lives. Or maybe it was his sister, Silmarwen. I don’t know. But it doesn’t change how I see him.

Time slips by—minutes, maybe hours—until he gently shakes me awake.

“Ileana, it’s time. Daylight’s not far off.”

I drag myself out of bed, feeling like I just closed my eyes. After days of sleeping on the filthy floor of a cage, the one night I get a real bed is also the night I have to leave it behind to run for my life. Typical. Life really knows how to kick you when you’re down.

Pherebos slings his bag over his left shoulder, positioning it so he can reach into it without taking it off. Then he pulls out a thick pencil and starts drawing on the bay window.

I stare at him, completely baffled. What the hell is he doing?

“Here,” he says, handing me a small flask. “Open this and rub the oil all over your skin. We don’t have much time.”

I pop the lid open—and immediately gag. The smell is awful, like something that’s been rotting in the sun for days.

“Pherebos? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“I’m dead serious,” he replies, calm and focused. “Let’s do this. I’ve got an enzyme marker—it’ll eat through the polymer on the bay window. Shouldn’t take more than ten minutes before the panel comes loose and gives us a way out.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I have to admit, the smell is pretty awful.”

“I’m counting on it,” he says. “We’ve got three kilometers to swim through unknown waters. This niank oil won’t dissolve, and the stench should keep predators away. Hurry!”

I feel a wave of nausea, but I do what he says. I smear the oily paste over my tunic and every bit of exposed skin. The smell is absolutely revolting—like rotten eggs mixed with something worse .

While I’m trying not to gag, Pherebos packs two nutrition bars, a water purifier, and a few other essentials into his bag. When I’m done, he takes the flask and coats himself too. Judging by the greenish tint to his face, he’s not enjoying it any more than I am.

Suddenly, a loud explosion shakes the air, followed by the sound of people running.

“That’s the signal!” Pherebos says. One of the ships at the landing strip must’ve blown up—accidentally or not, it’s our chance.

My brain’s still foggy, and I can’t quite keep up with how fast everything’s happening. I watch him pour the rest of the oil over himself with a grimace, then step up to the bay window. With a simple push on the lines he drew earlier, the panel gives way, revealing the outside.

We’re close to the sea now. It’s barely dawn, but I can see we’re several meters above the dark water. I glance at Pherebos, anxiety tightening in my chest.

“I’ll go first. You follow right after. We have to move—now!”

He pulls me into a fierce kiss, holding me tight for a few seconds… then he jumps.

A moment later, he waves up at me from the water, urging me to follow. I think about everything he’s done to get us out of here—and the fact that he’s terrified of water.

I don’t hesitate. I leap as far from the edge as I can. The water swallows me whole, shocking me fully awake. Thankfully, it’s warm.

Pherebos is already beside me, motioning for me to follow .

“We’ll head a little south, then cut southwest. I’m looking for a marker on the wall. Let’s move—we need to make the most of the diversion. The guards should all be at the landing site.”

We swim side by side as the last shadows of night give way to dawn.

Then, something catches my eye to the right. There’s someone standing at a bedroom window, watching us. Shirtless, freshly out of bed.

It’s Prax.

Even from this distance, his golden eyes lock onto mine.

“Pherebos!” I call out, alarmed.

Pherebos stops and looks up at my former handler.

“Shit,” he mutters, stepping in front of me protectively.

Prax stares at me, clearly trying to make sense of what he’s seeing.

I freeze in horror as he pulls the remote for my restraint collar out of his pocket. No—he’s going to shock me—

But instead, he presses a button, his eyes locked on mine.

There’s a soft click , and I feel the collar loosen and slip into the water. My hand flies to my neck instinctively.

He did it. Prax just set me free.

I smile at him, overwhelmed with gratitude .

Next to me, Pherebos touches two fingers to his forehead—a universal sign of respect and remembrance. He won’t forget this.

“Come on,” he urges. “We’re way too exposed this close to the complex. We need to move—and pray to the Waves we find the landmark I’m looking for. If you see anything above the surface, let me know!”

We swim in silence. My limbs are getting heavier with every stroke. I’m not used to this kind of effort. All I can see is the endless sea stretching out in every direction.

“I see something!” I call out.

“Don’t slow down—we have to hurry!” Pherebos pushes me forward. “They’ll figure out we’re gone soon and send drones after us.”

“But didn’t they just get attacked?” I ask, panting. “They’re probably too busy dealing with that.”

Then I hear it—another explosion from the landing pad. It was all a distraction. Just a cover to make our escape look like something else. Once they realize what’s really going on, they’ll check everything. They’ll see the opening in our bay window.

And they’ll know we’re missing.

I’m struggling now. My arms feel like lead, and Pherebos notices.

“My Faskaya… I’m asking too much of you. I’m sorry. Come here—hold onto my back. I’ll swim for both of us.”

“Is there still a long way to go? ”

“No. I can see the marker rock. The platform we’re heading for is just a few meters behind it. Hang on, Ileana. Once they realize we’re gone, Noviosk will know I lied to him—about everything, including the coordinates for Asgarne. His wrath will be… beyond anything you can imagine.”

I shudder. I’ve already seen how terrifying the Srebat can be under normal circumstances. I don’t want to meet the version that’s furious.

I move behind Pherebos and wrap my arms around his shoulders. He starts swimming again, strong and steady, toward the small rock I can now make out in the distance. My left hand throbs, but I keep quiet. I don’t want to worry him.

When we finally reach the rock—about fifty meters away—I let go. My hand is completely numb, and there’s a dull ache radiating up to my elbow.

“Ileana? What’s wrong, my Faskaya?”

“It’s nothing. Just… pain in my hand.”

“Let me see.”

I hesitate. I already know it’s bad—I can feel it.

Pherebos gently takes both my hands and inspects them. It doesn’t take him long to find the problem.

There’s a flat, finger-length organism stuck to my palm. It’s clearly the cause of the pain. He tries to remove it—but it won’t budge.

At the same time, I hear the high-pitched whine of a drone circling nearby .

“Let’s get to cover!” Pherebos says, grabbing my hand and pulling me along as we move toward our destination.

The drone veers off for now, but it’ll probably circle back—closer—on the next pass.

When we finally reach the boulder, I see it’s about three meters wide, bare of any vegetation, and less than two meters tall. We slip past it and head toward a rocky outcropping about a hundred meters away. That’s when we spot a small opening.

“Ileana, can you wait here for a couple minutes?” Pherebos asks. “Stay hidden behind this rock while I check the platform.”

I nod and watch him go. His movements are stiff, strained.

I wonder if that creature affected him too.

My own left arm is throbbing. I still haven’t looked at the leech latched onto my hand.

I remember reading about these things—some are harmless, others…

not so much. The numbness in my hand and the sharp pain crawling up my shoulder make me fear the worst.

A few minutes later, Pherebos returns, looking grim.

He tells me the flat island is a no-go. It’s submerged under a few centimeters of water—and swarming with those same creatures. Probably drawn by the warmth.

“What about the opening in the rock?” I ask. “It looks hollow inside.”

“Let me go first. If it’s full of those bugs, it’ll be a problem.”

“Pherebos, the drone’s coming back!” I warn him, urgency rising in my voice .

If we’re spotted, we’ll end up in Vagantu’s prisons—and not in the relatively ‘decent’ conditions I knew. It’ll be worse. Much worse.

My Asgarnian climbs up to the narrow opening, just eight inches above the waterline, and slips through with practiced ease. Seconds later, his hand reaches back through the gap—and pulls me in.

“It’s dry. You can come,” he says.

Inside, we find a round chamber with a surprisingly smooth, flat floor.

“That’s weird,” I murmur. “It looks like a…”

“An egg,” Pherebos finishes.

And he’s right. It’s calcified, ancient—probably decades old. But even though it’s cramped, we both manage to squat inside.

“You’re right. It’s the perfect hiding spot. But the creature that laid this must’ve been enormous! And how is it even above the waves?”

“It must be resting on a rock formation. But you’re wrong—it’s not a bird. SILMAR would’ve known right away.”

“Then what is it?”

“There aren’t many options,” he says darkly. “If the creature wasn’t from the surface, it had to come from deep underground.”

Damn. This thing must be nearly a meter and a half tall. Whatever laid it must be massive.

“At least it seems peaceful. We swam through its territory and weren’t attacked,” I say .

“Maybe the niank oil really works. Too bad it didn’t repel those leeches. Let me see your hand.”

I glance down. The thing looks like it’s burrowed in deeper than before.

Pherebos pulls out his light pencil and sets it to the lowest setting, illuminating the slimy yellow tongue-like creature on my palm. Then he takes out the same pen he used to cut the bay window and draws a black line across the parasite.

Nothing happens.

The pain pulses through my arm. I’m starting to lose hope—until the thing suddenly convulses and detaches itself with a sickening squelch.

I check the damage and grimace. The flesh is necrotic, already sunken in. It’s a flesh-eater. The good news? No bleeding. The bad? Whatever it left behind is probably still eating away at my muscle.

“Check if you have any others!” Pherebos orders.

“I don’t think so. It doesn’t hurt anywhere else.”

“Check anyway!”

He inspects every bit of exposed skin. Finally, he seems satisfied.

Then, hesitantly, he asks, “My Faskaya… do you think you could do the same for me?”

“Of course.”

He exhales deeply and hands me the torch and the pen, then struggles out of his jacket.

When I see his torso, my heart nearly stops. He’s covered in them. Dozens. He must be in agony.

I close my eyes and get to work. Every second counts. Whatever’s in that pen—it works. One by one, the parasites fall to the ground, twitching. The smell is almost worse than the niank oil.

When I’m done with his chest and back, I can see the pain etched into his face.

He zips up his jacket and moves toward the exit.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I ask.

“I need to fix the torch outside—to signal Wingo.”

The leeches must’ve messed with his brain too.

‘’Pherebos, you can barely see anything in this light. Do you really think it’ll be visible from the SIL? It’s orbiting over six hundred miles away!’’

‘’I know how far it is. But if we don’t try, we’ve already lost. This mini torch is incredibly powerful. The SIL is in the perfect position to catch the signal. It’s a laser beam—undetectable in daylight. I just need to mount it somewhere on the shell and leave it until Wingo locks onto it.”

“The only problem is… the exit’s below us. You’ll have to go back into the water.”

“I’ll be quick. I’ll try not to get spotted by the drones. Ma Faskaya… I’m sorry. You’ll have to wait here in the dark. I’ll be back soon.”

Before leaving, he kisses me—desperate, or maybe I’m just feeling desperate myself. Alone, in this ancient egg—or whatever giant creature laid it—with my hand half-eaten by a flesh-eating slug.

What a mess!