Page 23 of Ravaged By the Reaper

HAKTRON

Ipace.

Hard steps. Measured. But each one drips with the tension of a coiled strike. I’ve worn grooves in the floor outside the sealed chamber, but it doesn't help. Doesn’t bleed the pressure out. Doesn’t distract me from the maddening silence on the other side of the damn door.

She’s in there. Alone.

With him.

Malem’s voice might be piped through some encrypted line I can’t access, but I feel him. Like static in my skull. Like blood in my teeth. That man is poison laced in protocol, venom polished into diplomacy. Every syllable he utters, I imagine curling around her throat like a leash.

And I’m just… standing here.

The urge to rip through the chamber door and pull her away burns down my spine like wildfire. Every muscle in my body is keyed up, jaw tight, fists clenched until the armor creaks.

But I don’t move. Not toward the door, at least.

Because she asked me not to.

Trust me, she said.

Stars help me—I do.

But that doesn’t make the waiting any easier.

A technician passes, eyes wide before flicking away. They can smell it on me—the rage simmering just beneath my skin. Like ozone before a lightning strike.

"Status?" I bark at a passing ensign.

The kid flinches. “Still secure. Chamber sealed. Comms encrypted per Amara’s protocol.”

“Time?”

“Seventeen minutes in.”

Seventeen. Feels like a lifetime. I nod once, dismissing him, and return to pacing.

The chamber’s outer wall pulses faintly with activity. Lights blink across the interface, the only sign that something is happening behind it. But the soundproofing is flawless. I can’t hear a damn thing. Just the pulse of my own blood pounding behind my ears.

I run a hand over my scalp. My claws nearly spark against the plating at my temple. My fingers itch for Bloodfont. My blade lies strapped to my back, cold and patient. But it won't help here. Not unless Malem crosses a line.

And Amara, she knows that line.

She’s walked it before. Walked it right up to death’s door and dared it to blink.

I slam my palm against the wall, teeth grinding. Not enough to dent it. Just enough to keep myself from combusting.

I hate this.

Not the waiting or even the helplessness.

I hate that I care this much.

She used to be a wildcard. An asset. Then a nuisance. Then a necessity. Then—somewhere along the line—a match. And now?

She’s the storm I kneel before. Not because I’m weak, but because I’ve never seen anything stronger.

She holds her power in silence. Wields it with words sharper than any blade. And Malem—Malem will test every limit she’s found. Every scar she’s earned.

“Captain Haktron.”

I turn sharply. Commander Yentil stands there, face set, voice even.

“She asked me not to interrupt,” I say before he can open his mouth.

“I know.” He folds his arms. “But I’ve never seen you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like a Reaper trying not to rip the galaxy in half.”

I snort, short and sharp. “Takes effort.”

“She’s earned it.”

I look at him then. Really look. The lines of his face, the set of his jaw. He’s scared. Not just for her. For everyone. For the fragile thing she’s trying to build out of shattered loyalties and decades of bloodshed.

“You’d follow her, wouldn’t you?” I ask.

He doesn’t hesitate. “To hell and back.”

“She’s already been there.”

“Which means she knows the way out.”

That hits. Deep.

I nod once. “Then keep your people steady. If this falls apart, it falls fast.”

“And you?”

“I’ll hold the line.”

The comm panel next to the chamber flashes. My pulse jumps. But it’s just a status update—encrypted call still active. No breach. No distress.

But stars, I feel it.

The undercurrent. The weight of the moment. Like the universe is holding its breath.

Trust me.

I suck in air, sharp and bitter. The station stinks of tension—burnt wiring, ozone, sweat, and fear. My armor feels too tight. My skin itches with restraint.

I press my forehead to the cold metal of the door.

“You better be winning in there, Amara,” I mutter. “Because I can’t stand out here forever.”

But I will.

If she asks.

Because that’s what this is now. Not war. Not conquest.

It’s loyalty.

And stars help anyone who ever threatens her again.

She steps through the door with the calm of dawn after a storm—pale, steady, magnetic. My ribs tremble at the sight of her composure, like the hum of armor shutting after battle. I brace myself, sure I’ll need to hold her up, but she stands alone, unwavering.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” her voice is low, honeyed, but bleeding steel. “I bring terms.”

Silence snaps sharp—like a stiletto through the stale command bridge air. My jaw clenches against the surge of adrenaline threatening to make me lunge forward. But I don’t move. I only watch.

Malem’s hologram shimmers behind her. He’s still there, the Crown Prince of Carnage, and somehow… still listening.

She lays it out clean.

“Coalition fleet will withdraw—empty-handed. Those bounties on my head? Consider them erased. And Commander Karag,” she inclines toward Malem, voice steady as midnight glass, “I grant you one privilege: you get to live.”

A bead of ice slides down my spine. I swallow, throat dry.

There’s a slow ripple of incredulous laughter. Panaka’s drink clinks—his amusement raw, like he’d never expected victory, just entertainment.

Yentil bursts into applause—short, fierce. Others follow. The room fractures into chaos. Adversaries meeting eyes, mouths hanging open. Some are grinning. Some are reeling.

I... say nothing.

I don’t need to.

Because what she’s done is bigger than words. She didn't just broker peace. She commanded life—hers, mine, ours.

I step forward, boots echoing like rolling thunder. I can taste blood in my mouth, smooth and metallic. I reach her side and for a moment all I want to do is pull her close and never let go. But I don’t.

Instead, I kneel down—gesture born of loyalty, not obligation. It’s how Reapers honor warriors, and gods help me, she earned it. My armor shifts, breathing metal and ember. I’m bigger than her—built for war. But this moment? Still hers.

“Thank you,” I rasp. Not aloud—just inside. I keep my lips glued shut.

Her eyes flick over me, softening. For a heartbeat, the world dissolves. Then Yentil storms over, voice triumphant.

“I’ll need to draft the official dispatchs—Alliance liaison, you’re going to fight to keep this as a public piece, not a recorded secret.”

She gives a flicker of a smile. “Do it. Let the galaxy know peace can be born in fire.”

We turn to Malem.

Silence lines his features until he finally nods. Not defeat. Acceptance.

Then he dissolves from the holo like smoke evaporating, leaving the throne of hate empty in his wake.

The room breathes again.

I rise, standing tall, chest tight, mind full of thunder.

She watches me, expression unreadable. I think she might smile, but restraint keeps her lips flat. Or maybe she’s waiting—for what I’ll do.

What I will protect.

So I step forward, gently loop my arm through hers—half instinct, half devotion. The metal mesh of my gauntlet presses into her skin and I feel warmth.

No words.

Just the press of my shoulder against hers.

And in that quiet exhale, I know—this isn’t over. Not yet.

But now we walk the dawn together.

Night drapes the station in muted greys, but in our quarters, the air shimmers with something heavier—relief, fear, something born from survival.

The overhead lights hum low, sickly yellow, giving every scar and dent in this room a confessional glow.

Gamma’s distant sirens still murmur—the wounded station isn’t healed—but right now, none of that matters.

I stand by the viewport, gazing at the fractal of stars beyond, the void always drawing me, reminding me how small we are. And how strange it is that I want something more than survival now.

She slides in beside me, graceful and silent, even in uniform—the same IHC-blue that frames her figure like a constellations in motion. The scent of her is soft, familiar. Sweat and jasmine. Hope made flesh.

She doesn’t say anything. Just stands close enough that my shoulder brushes hers.

I finally turn to her.

“You didn’t win by outsmarting him.”

It comes out rough, steady. My jaw clenches. My voice carries the gravel of battle-dust and raw reverence.

She tilts her head, curiosity flickering in those eyes that shake systems. “Then what did I do?”

I step closer. The distance between us collapses. I can feel her breath, soft and warm, and my steel breath hitches.

I smile. Slow. Dangerous.

“You broke him. Without ever drawing blood.”

Silence, heavy and full, enveloped them. It was a silence filled with the hum of the station, the glow of the spotlight, and the steady rhythm of her heart against his own.

She closes her eyes, leaning in until her temple rests against my own. “There’s more than one way to conquer a warlord.”

My laugh is low and rumbling, more animal than human, reverberating against the steel of this room—and through her bones. A growl starts in my throat and shakes with something too old to name.

Then a soft, guttural growl breaks from me, low and rumbling deep in my chest. It’s not a sound I make lightly. But right now, everything around us softens. Shadows on the wall dance in the faint glow—a private spotlight on two warriors who’ve torn the world apart and built something of their own.

I reach down and brush a hand over her scarred cheek. The metal of my gauntlet warms in her presence—and so does my heart, even though it’s not supposed to. Not for me.

“You were the blade,” I whisper. “Forged in fire, tempered in doubt… the only one who could cut him down and leave him standing.”

She smiles, a slow exhale of laughter, more breath than sound: “Then you’ll always be my guard.”

I groan, half-laugh, half-throat-deep laugh, and let my forehead rest against hers.

The hum of Gamma shakes the walls, and I close my eyes. I feel her there—steady, alive, too dangerous and too precious.

Out in the void, guns still wait. Orders still wait. History still waits. But here—in this moment—we are something new.

Her fingers lace through mine at my side. Calloused under the glove, warm. Her warmth burns through the steel of my armor, through the cold histories I carry like chains.

I pull her closer. Feel her lean into me. Not for protection, not for safety, but because she knows I’m here. And because she knows I would burn the galaxy to keep her breathing.

I don’t say that—can’t. Words are cheap in halls built on blood. But I hold her closer. Bone to bone. Heart to heart.

After a while, she murmurs, “Stay.”

Not as an order. More like a prayer.

My answer is silent. It’s a promise delivered in the slow press of my lips to her hair. The hush of the damper between heartbeats.

Outside, Gamma groans, healing and wounded. Inside, we find something resembling peace. Not clean—but ours.

And tomorrow, we walk back into the breach.