Page 29

CHAPTER 29

T he wind over the mountains bit at his armor, thin and sharp, cutting through the seams like teeth. The air was colder here than he preferred—but he welcomed it. Cold sharpened the senses. Heightened focus. Made everything clean.

He stood at the edge of the jagged cliff, the Lyxai concealed behind him, cloaked in rock and shadow. His helm adjusted the light spectrum in the thickening dark, translating the falling dusk into layers of color, heat, movement. Below, the valleys were already drowning in night. Mist clung to the stone like old skin.

With a thought, he deployed his wings.

They unfolded with a mechanical hiss, the armored panels separating and rising on thick hydraulic joints. Beneath the metal plating—tightly coiled and protected—lay the true structure: webbed, leathery, powerful. Built for maneuvering in vacuum, for slicing through the sky like a blade.

He launched.

The wind caught him instantly, a familiar rush. His legs tucked in, wings flaring outward, catching the current as he dove low, then tilted, rising again on an updraft. His body moved with practiced ease, every calculation seamless. The wings hissed as they adjusted, sweeping in closer as he narrowed his descent.

Calm.

Steady.

Resolute.

He had done this a thousand times before. On Vokar. In enemy airspace. On blood missions over the deep worlds of the Dead Zone.

This was just reconnaissance.

Below, the land opened into sparse ridges and fractured forest. Remote. Isolated.

A blessing.

Less chance of detection. Fewer Nalgar.

The settlement came into view—half-carved into stone, its buildings angular and brutalist. Square windows glowed faintly from within, the light yellow and flickering. Crude radiant coils, not plasma-based. Primitive tech by galactic standards.

He zoomed in.

Two Nalgar moved through the open courtyard—fast, deliberate. He could see their long limbs, their broad, cloaked forms. Their speed was uncanny. Every motion coiled with potential violence.

But he wasn’t afraid.

He was Hvrok.

One of the only species that could match the Nalgar in direct combat.

Once, their peoples had been bitter enemies—brutal wars waged over blood rituals and trade routes. But that was before Vokar fell. Before his own kind obliterated themselves in a final act of madness.

Now, Hvrok and Nalgar shared an uneasy neutrality. A truce of silence.

He circled lower, wings retracting slightly, then dropped into a field on the edge of the settlement, folding them tight to his back.

He moved like a shadow.

Across the stones, into a narrow alley.

Hunting.

The dwellings here weren’t sealed. Why would they be? Nalgar didn’t fear intrusion. Their hearing was sharper than any alarm. Their bloodlust meant most didn’t risk entering their domain.

But Kyhin was not most.

He slipped into an empty structure, silent.

His armor’s sensors swept the space—nothing. No heat, no movement. The quiet hum of the radiant coil in the corner. Stone walls, metal shutters. A spartan bedroom and a crude common room.

No food. Of course. Nalgar drank blood. Sustenance in the literal sense.

But there—on a hook near the entrance—was a coat. Thick, pale, fur-lined. Bigger than her size, but close enough. He grabbed it. It would do.

Maybe… she’d like it.

He didn’t let himself linger on that thought.

He moved to leave.

And then— voices .

Low. Laughter. Two Nalgar. Male and female. Coming closer.

He stilled.

Footsteps followed—light ones. Slow. Human.

His nostrils flared behind the mask. That scent. Undeniable.

Human.

The Nalgar keep humans here? As blood sources?

He considered the possibility for a moment, rage flickering behind his thoughts. They were close—ten spans, maybe less. He could kill them before they screamed.

But then what?

Others would come. This wasn’t Vokar. He had no backup. No second escape ship.

And she was still up there, waiting.

Sylvia.

He clenched his fists, every instinct demanding violence. But reason held firm.

He slipped out the rear exit, into the alley. Darted through shadows. Scaled a wall, then dropped low again, moving past the edge of town.

Once clear, he opened his wings again.

They flared wide with a hiss of metal and membrane.

He leapt skyward, catching the wind in a powerful thrust, shooting up into the night.

Snow flurried below. The wind screamed over the cliffs.

But his mind wasn’t on the cold.

Not anymore.

He found his thoughts drifting—unwelcome, but persistent—back to her.

To the small shape wrapped in blue, those jewel eyes fixed on him with a flicker of trust. The scent of her skin. The feel of her pulse beneath his fingers. The fact that she hadn’t pulled away.

He should be focused.

This was survival.

But still?—

As the Lyxai came into view again, perched against the dark rock, half-shrouded by mist and shadow, he felt it rise in him like heat.

He wanted to go back.

Not to the ship.

To her.

And he would.

He folded his wings in and dropped fast, vanishing into the mist.