Page 18 of Koha’vek (Cyborg Guardians Spinoff)

General Vyken Dark

The High Council chamber flickered into focus around me, though I wasn’t physically there. My holographic projection stood alone at the center of that massive hall, facing eight councilors whose expressions were as carved and polished as the stone walls behind them.

I’d seen more honest faces on the battlefield.

Councilor Lin-Har gave a nod. “General Dark. The Council has reviewed your evidence, the reports from Cyborg Protector Blackwood, and the supporting records from your internal systems. Your recommendation has been considered.”

She didn’t look pleased.

None of them did.

I waited.

Councilor Gavarn was the one who finally said it. “We recognize the presence of the Mesaarkan deserter colony in the Colorado wilderness. We are aware of their associations with Earth citizens and the risk posed should that knowledge become widely known.”

There it was: the thing they wouldn’t say out loud.

Not the ethics.

Not the lives.

Just the risk.

Councilor Na’shuri folded her hands. “The Mesaarkan Empire remains… sensitive. Under the terms of our peace agreement, we are obligated to return escaped combatants upon request. To grant public asylum to known deserters could violate the treaty and reignite hostilities.”

“In short,” Gavarn added, “we won’t touch this. Not officially.”

I felt my jaw tighten, but I didn’t speak. Not yet.

Lin-Har leaned forward slightly. “However, Cyborg Command will continue its independent patrols of the affected region. No action will be taken against the Mesaarkan colony as long as it remains peaceful and out of sight.”

A legal shrug.

Cowardice, wrapped in protocol.

Councilor Rios cleared his throat. “Unofficially, we understand there may be a need for discretion. For coordination. That falls under your command’s internal affairs.”

There it was—my assignment.

I stood straighter.

“So, you're asking me to contain the situation?”

“We’re trusting you,” Na’shuri said, “to ensure that nothing escalates.”

In other words: clean it up, keep it quiet, and don’t make us look bad.

I took a slow breath. “Very well. I’ll maintain oversight through my team. But understand this—if they are harmed without provocation, I will make noise you can’t ignore.”

Lin-Har’s eyes narrowed, but she gave a short nod.

“See that you don’t make it harder than it already is, General. This peaceful coexistence is still new.”

“I know exactly how fragile peace is,” I said. “That’s why I’m holding onto it with both hands.”

The Council went silent.

Then the hologram cut.

I stood in the quiet of my command center, fists clenched behind my back, watching the glow fade from the transmission crystal.

They’d decided by refusing to make one .

And that meant the real responsibility landed squarely on us.

On me.

Raven

The secure transmission came through just after nightfall.

I was alone in my office, the lights low, a half-empty cup of coffee cold on my desk. When General Dark’s hologram flickered to life in front of me, I didn’t need to hear the words to know the answer.

Still, I waited for him to say it.

“It’s a no,” he said flatly. “Not officially.”

I exhaled. “But?”

“They don’t want another war with the Mesaarkan Empire, and granting asylum to a group of deserters—especially those bonded to human citizens—could give the emperor grounds to claim we’re sheltering traitors.”

I leaned back in my chair. “So, they’re washing their hands.”

“Pretty much,” Dark said. “But you’re not.”

I raised a brow. “Me?”

“The Council won’t interfere. That gives us space. Thin, narrow space. But I’ m making it yours.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you’re the liaison, protector, and watcher over that colony. You keep them safe. You keep them quiet. And if anything goes wrong—if someone leaks, if someone dies—it’ll be your neck on the block before theirs.”

I rubbed my temples. “Of course it will be.”

Dark’s expression softened. Just barely.

“I know what I’m asking. It’s not fair. But you're the only one I trust who can walk the line between duty and decency without stepping in it.”

He paused.

“And Koha’vek trusts you.”

That landed deeper than I expected.

I thought about Ava, standing next to him, choosing him without apology.

I thought about Veklan and the look on his face when I told him peace might be possible.

And I thought about the children in that colony, wide-eyed and barefoot, born into the remnants of a war that wasn’t theirs and a planet that might never call them its own.

“They’ll need resources,” I said quietly. “Food. Medical support. Weather shelter.”

“You’ll get what I can spare,” Dark said. “Unofficially, of course.”

“Of course. ”

He gave me one last look. “You’re doing the right thing, Raven. But don’t expect a parade.”

“I’m used to thankless,” I said. “But I’m not used to hiding the truth to protect it.”

“Get used to it,” he said. “Because that’s what peace looks like right now.”

The hologram winked out, and I sat there for a long time.

Just me, the cold coffee, and a hundred unspoken promises I’d now have to keep.

I didn’t rush the ride.

Didn’t have to. The air was clear, the sky bright, and the horse trail that led to Koha’vek’s cabin held no threats.

But I still watched the trees.

Old habit.

When I pulled up, Koha’vek was already outside, chopping wood like the world hadn’t just made him a shadow citizen on the edge of legality. Ava was sitting on the steps, skin kissed by sunlight, shelling a handful of wild beans into a basket.

They both stood when they saw me. No words, just the weight of the moment hanging between us.

Koha’vek didn’t ask if I had news.

He knew I did.

I dismounted slowly and retracted my helmet as I approached.

“I spoke with General Dark,” I said.

Koha’vek’s jaw flexed once. “And?”

I glanced toward the trees, then back to them. “The Federation isn’t ready to make a formal declaration.”

Ava’s brows drew together. “Meaning?”

I gave a small smile. Not the kind that reached my eyes.

“Meaning you won’t be receiving a welcome ceremony anytime soon. No registry. No Federation ID chip.”

Koha’vek tilted his head. “But?”

“But you’re not going to be disturbed,” I said evenly. “You’re not on any watchlists. Your location isn’t being shared. You’ll be left alone.”

I held Koha’vek’s gaze. “As long as you remain peaceful. And quiet. That’s important.”

Ava stepped forward. “So… they’re pretending we don’t exist.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

Koha’vek’s throat worked. “And if someone comes asking questions?”

“Then they won’t be coming from the Council. That much I can promise you.”

He gave a short nod. “Understood. ”

I pulled a small packet from my vest and handed it to him—encrypted supplies access, satellite sync maps, and a code chip for the com link to contact me directly.

“No one’s going to say it out loud,” I said. “But as long as I’m stationed in this sector, you’ll have eyes watching your back.”

Ava blinked rapidly. “You’re taking a risk, aren’t you?”

“Not yet,” I said. “But the day might come when I do. If that happens, just remember this conversation.”

Koha’vek extended his hand—not the war-grip of the Mesaarkans, but open-palmed, the way humans do when we’re being honest. I took it.

“Thank you,” he said. “For seeing more than scales.”

I nodded. “You and I both know monsters come in many skins.”

As I turned to go, Ava’s voice stopped me. “Raven—if things change… if they ever decide we’re not worth the silence—will you warn us?”

I looked over my shoulder, met her eyes, and gave her the only promise I could.

“Before the wind even shifts.”

Then I mounted up and rode out, the trees swallowing the path behind me, and the silence holding far more meaning than anything the Council ever said out loud.