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“Sure. I want to check on the troops,” I say, ripping the burned power cell out and toting it with me as evidence against the use of my Storm.

Vybron steps in front of me. He won’t touch me because I’m Royal, and he knows it. Most just think I’m an extra-skilled Rogue. “I know what you did.”

“I overloaded a power cell. You did not see how I did it.” I look him in the eye until he relents and turns away. It’s difficult to tell if he does so because I’m Royal, my power scares him, or he just doesn’t think it’s worth the fight. “I controlled it. As you wanted.”

Vybron nods. “Just be careful about who sees it. The people need a leader. You are different, Aura. I always hoped it’d be you who would change life for us, Rogues.

But you can’t do that if you’re dead or jailed.

I would not put it past your father to protect himself over all others, including you. ”

Right. I am a tool that either serves its purpose or is considered useless and thrown away.

“Don’t remind me.” I jump down and shake off the thoughts of my father’s agenda, then drop the busted cell on the ground. I know he only pushes me to bond with a princess from another mothership to serve his need to stay in power.

I hustle through the downed Nebs, buried under a dirt wave from the crashed berserker, to the dome where Tro’si and Oalo are hunkered down. I tap the dome, Oalo drops it. They both sit at the bottom of the trench, looking distraught. Tro’si hugs himself.

Hiking down the edge to them, I sit in the dirt and offer them each a hand. “I won’t hurt you.”

When they take my hands, I feel their trembling through their fingers, confirming my concerns. “Do you know why I do not shake?”

They don’t reply, and I think they’ve zoned out.

“I have seen this all over the universe. This same kind of battle. It will get easier if you remember why you fight. You defended your people today. Yes, lives were lost. And we will honor them. But we must keep fighting in their memory so their sacrifices are not forgotten.

“Then, we will look at our failures and focus on fortifying what needs improvement. That is how we grow, and we learn to win. Deep breath, then focus on what’s next.”

Tro’si and Oalo each take a deep breath and let me help them up. Then, I give them a pat on the back and motion them out of the pit. I spend the next hour talking with other troubled Vinym. Most weren’t ready for such conflict so fast. But no one ever is.

As I trudge back to my ship, hidden under a shield of her own, and meet up with Blaize and Fieri, my boots rattle the flood of ammo shells. “Good day.”

Blaize grins and swipes a foot through a puddle of metal casings, making a clinking sound. “Music to me. Hey, do we have any ice cream? I’m hungry.”

“Blaize,” Fieri is furious. “Head in the game. We still have a mess of Neb soldiers to clean up. Your mess, Aura.”

“At least I don’t make a short-barrel low-velocity kind of mess, ya feisty boner-killer,” I retort. “We won.”

Fieri’s face darkens. “You’re lucky that I still respect your Storm is something different. Otherwise, I’d have half a mind to cut off your balls and strap them to your weapon; since you think they’re so big that you have to tell everyone about it.”

Blaize snorts. “Ooh, Aura. You’re pissing off Gruntpa.”

Fieri glowers at Blaize then slides the look back to me. But as Vybron calls to him, a smile cracks on Fieri’s face. He offers me a fist. “Good job today, Aura. Just don’t make me remind you of your least favorite song.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“The sound of me kicking your ass.” Fieri turns to Blaize. “And no ice cream for you. You let him do that. No Amphiran, not even a Rogue as fucked up in the head as you, should ever let a Royal risk themselves for others. Especially not the one who might actually be able to save us.”

Fieri picks up his radio to respond to Vybron and stalks up Allele’s ramp.

“He used to be more fun before we transferred to your ship.” Blaize shifts between his boots, his rifle still hanging across his chest. “It’s not you. It’s just his sense of duty that’s changed.”

“He thinks I’m something I’m not.” I just want to save our people from the rule of the kings and elders who have forgotten the value of our Storms.

Allele speaks through my implant. Aura, you can be. Please board to restock and replace that damaged armor plate on your shoulder.

I glance at my gray armor and see I do, in fact, need a repair.

Blaize leads the way up the ramp and grabs another plate from storage. He sits me down on a medical bed while Fieri checks the scanners. I can tell they’re both a little unnerved by my tactic, but I have no desire to hold back when life is on the line.

If I have a resource that could prevent the annihilation of innocents and allies, I will use it. Because if I don’t, I fear the guilt will destroy me if containing my Storm doesn’t. It’s why I always try to find a way to let it out.

“Do you ever get tired of this life?” I ask him.

Blaize takes in a deep breath as he dabs paste over a bullet burn mark on my shoulder, then collects a new armor plate. “What do you mean?”

“The perpetual space travel from one battle to the next and the next. I mean, sure, I can sleep in the ditches and eat freeze-dried food while enemy fire is all around us. But sometimes, I want to just dock for a while, you know? Look at something other than stars and enemy ships.”

After a moment, Blaize sighs. “You have no idea.”

Blaize finishes the replacement and leaves to restock his ammo with a slump to his body that’s uncommon to him.

I lean forward and savor the few moments of relative calmness after battle.

I will soon be on edge again, pending another explosion, and the Nebs will no doubt try to get what they want somewhere else.

It is a never-ending cycle. If it isn’t the Nebs, it’s the Novarks for stealing goods or the Denarso for taking females.

I’m not sure how much longer I can hold it together. Even now, I feel unbalanced and chaotic, like a nest of poisonous Firespines has invaded my chest. Being a prince doesn’t mean shit when biology and Storms have needs that can’t be fulfilled.

Why don’t you let Amphirans see this side of you? Allele asks. You are only ever this emotional with allies.

Because that’s not what leaders do. I don’t care about being an heir to my father’s throne. I care about the ones who raised me and managed to give me everything when we had nothing. I want to be a symbol of strength, not power. And I’m not emotional.

Being offended is in that category, Aura. Why don’t you talk to your friends about how you feel?

I ignore her jab but know she’s trying to keep me humble, reminding me not to be prideful like my father. I asked her to help me when she saved me. And she knows more about our people than anyone.

The medical bed is cold beneath my hands. I don’t have friends.

Everyone on your crew is your friend. Their Storms are pure, or I would not have let them walk my halls.

How do you know they aren’t deceiving you? How can you trust your Storm not to lie to you?

I am older than all of you.

Fair enough.

Talk to Blaize.

Allele…

I know when an Amphiran is too powerful for his own good. You must share the burden with a mate, or you will nova. Until then, get your friends to help you stay calm.

So what if I do nova? Maybe that’s safer. Maybe I could take out a Neb mothership. One final useful action. I could inspire others and be a martyr.

But you will be missed. And because I see potential in you, and something special, something rare that your people need. Do not abandon them because your life is messy. That’s just life.

Your life isn’t messy, I say.

Not even when you taped that letunica to my roof when we worked on Vargas Three, so I had to listen to that damned whistling with no way to stop it?

I chuckle, thinking back to the prank. You eventually found it and zapped it off.

I would miss your teasing, Aura. Talk to your friends. Your father’s matches are not advised. They do not have compatible Storms. Go to the Alien Bride Race like you’ve planned. Find a mate you want. Give your people what they need.

And what’s that?

Hope .