Page 136 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

Dracoth

Humble Pie

M y chest swells. My heart pounds. His words reach deep into the marrow. I feel the same kinship he speaks of. Earned in fire and blood. Respect tempered in pain. The admiration of finally meeting a worthy opponent.

“You are the finest of our people, Krogoth Star-Eyes,” I growl, pulling him into a fierce embrace.

“I knew this day would come,” Krogoth whispers. “Though it nearly killed me to see it.” He laughs—a sharp bark—and turns to the gathered Chieftains.

“Yet I was wrong about one thing. Something Dracoth—and Vorthax—opened my eyes to.” He gestures toward the ancient Astranix Chieftain. “The rage in our blood. The Rush that scorches through our veins, demanding battle... demanding conquest. It was always there. In me. In all of us.”

His gaze flicks to Rocks—who nods, a knowing smile on her scarred face.

“I refused to accept it. Wanted to believe it was all Scythian corruption. But they merely twisted what already lived in us. What makes us great . They’ve bled for their desecration. And by Dagdorix, they will continue to suffer—until every scrap of their warped essence is cast into the void.”

His fangs flash. Fists tighten.

“To that end, I hereby reinstate the title of War Chieftain upon Dracoth, son of Gorexius. A leader and warrior—second to none.”

My heart stumbles in my chest. Behind me, I hear the breath of Chieftains caught in their throats.

He claps my back and turns to me.

“You will lead those whose bellies still burn for battle. The ones who crave war’s harsh embrace. Who seek death... and glory.”

He raises his voice.

“Let them return to the clan halls—heads high, ale in hand, telling tales of valor beside trophies of the vanquished.” His gaze grows distant, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “Let the next generation of trueborn listen, hearts swelling with pride.”

He turns back to the Chieftains, voice low but clear.

“ That is who we are. To deny it is to deny ourselves. The fire that burns in us—passion, fervor, vitality—it is bound to the blood. As are the chains of kinship that bind us. An unbroken legacy stretching through the ages. A path of light, holding back the dark.”

His words stroke the molten core of my blood. The Rush flares behind my eyes in a haze of crimson mist. Words not of flattery, but of wisdom. Of compromise. Of a path forward—toward recovery, strength, and redemption.

Every scar I’ve endured, every heart-rending loss... it has all led here.

To this purpose.

My father’s tarnished legacy— I will cleanse it. With fire. With fury. With honor restored to our sacred bloodline.

Silence clings to the chamber. The Chieftains’ stares press down like the Peaks of Scarn.

I bear them gladly. Proudly.

I step forward, slamming my fist to my chest. My gaze blazes into theirs.

“I accept this honor,” I growl, turning to Krogoth with a solemn nod. “And the High Chieftain’s faith.”

My fist trembles with power, raised before my face, the Rush spilling like red steam from my eyes.

“Those who burn for war—who ache for vengeance—follow me. I will rip the Scythians apart, piece by agonizing piece, and cast what remains into Arawnoth’s molten veins.

For what they took from us.

For what the Voidbringer is .

It will burn in our wrath.

It will know fear .

And when we are done, it will be nothing but a cautionary tale echoing through the galaxies—for all eternity.”

The Chieftains respond with thunderous fists to chests, heads dipping in solemn salute.

“Congratulations, babes,” Princesa purrs, voice light and irreverent. “How exciting. The beginning of the Dracie-Lexie-verse ,” she adds with a wistful little flourish, before her gaze lands on Sandra. “But first... time for a slice of yummy humble pie.”

“Hey, Greg,” Princesa turns, smiling. “I—there’s something I want to say...”

She takes a breath.

“I’m sorry.” Both women blurting over each other.

They stare at each other, mouths slightly parted.

“Wait—why the hell are you apologizing?” Princesa blinks, incredulous.

Sandra’s sapphire eyes drop to her fingers, nervously twisting. “What I said before... I didn’t mean it. I was just scared. Afraid something terrible was going to happen.”

“Oh, don’t lie, you rude bitch,” Princesa lets out a laugh, clearly relieved.

“You totally meant it. And it’s fine. Todd and I forgive you.

” She gives her sleepy grub a gentle stroke.

“And... I got you something.” She offers a wrapped gift, voice softening.

“You know... for always being there for me. And stuff.”

“Ah!” Sandra’s freckled face lights up as she tears the wrapping like a crazed venefex. “That’s so—”

Her joy withers into a narrowed glare. She holds up the gift—a long strip of bright, garishly multi-colored fur—with a frozen expression.

“Lexie?”

“Don’t you love it?” Princesa grins. “It’s a tartan scarf .” She runs a finger along the erratic lines. “See? It even has the little squiggly bits.”

Sandra stares. “You tried to fabricate... tartan ?”

“I mean, I know you’re a bit disappointed I couldn’t fabricate the Loch Ness monster.” Princesa offers with a sheepish shrug. “But this is kind of the next best thing, right?”

An Earth creature worthy of battle?

“Tartan?” Sandra repeats, blinking.

“Yep.” Princesa nods confidently.

Sandra flutters the garish fabric—an eyesore so bright it could attract orbital fire. “Lexie... this isn’t tartan. It’s wrapping paper.”

“Okay, rude .” Princesa scoffs. “But it matches those gnome clothes you like to wear,” she says, gesturing to Sandra’s red-and-yellow leather-and-fur outfit.

“Balloon patterns? Spirals? These weird shapes?” Sandra presses, still stunned. “Tartan is supposed to have straight lines.”

“That. Is. So. Hurtful, Sandra,” Princesa sniffs, eyes shimmering with exaggerated grief. “Those are Klendathian runes for Besties . Eternity . And...” she lowers her voice to a whisper, glancing away, “ Ginger .”

Runes of my people? Impressive.

I narrow my eyes, examining the symbols. Suppressing a grin. Beasts . Oblivion . Fireball . Repeated dozens of times across the garish strip of fur.

“Ginger?” Sandra snorts. “You just couldn’t help yourself.” She bursts into laughter. “You’re such a cow, Lexie.”

Without warning, Princesa throws her arms around her, pulling Sandra into a breathless hug.

“Uff!” Sandra lets out a startled noise.

“I’m sorry I called you Double Agent Red Squirrel,” Princesa mumbles into her tunic. “You were trying to help me all along, and I was too blind to see it.”

She pulls back, her eyes gleaming pools of mercury. “Thanks for helping me realize what really matters.” Her voice quivers with raw emotion, the same grief and gratitude blazing through our bond.

“Lexie...” Sandra breathes, holding the garish scarf to her chest like a sacred weapon. “I’m just glad we’re all safe. That the fighting’s over.” She smiles sweetly between us.

“I hope so too...” Princesa’s words trail off in a whisper, her attention turning to Krogoth and Rocks. They stand conversing among themselves. Rocks side-eyes us frequently, sending unease rippling through Princesa’s side of our bond.

I press a hand to the arch of Princesa’s back.

“Come,” I say softly.

“But me and Todd are too stuffed for another slice of humble pie,” she mutters, even as she moves.

Krogoth and I exchange a solemn nod of respect. Rocks’ hand darts instinctively to her impressive Elerium necklace, the other over the gentle rise of her belly.

“Hail, High Chieftain and Chieftainess,” I say, inclining my head. “Your union honors you both. Such strength is only born from a bond forged in the fiercest fire.”

“Thank you, Dracoth,” Rocks’ voice is warm, her smile radiant. “But it was all Krogoth,” her hazel eyes flicker to him with affection, “I was just trying not to throw up.”

“You’re too modest, Pebbles,” Krogoth says with open pride. “It was your love that brought me back from the brink.” He places a gentle hand on her shoulder. She meets it with her own.

Princesa’s brow arches. Her lips draw into a tight line. I shoot her a silent glare. She breathes out slowly, then speaks. “I agree with Big Chief Krogs.”

My eye twitches.

“You are far too modest, High Chieftainess Rocks,” Princesa continues, her tone syrupy with deference.

“When the bond was slamming me into the ground like an abandoned banana on the highway, you stood there completely unfazed. Statuesque. Regal. I mean, considering how much worse Krogs’ injuries were, that’s honestly awe-inspiring. ”

Rocks’ eyes narrow—barely—but I catch it.

“That’s because Rocks is a fighter,” Sandra cuts in with a grin. “She’s taken down venefexes, hydraliths—even Klendathians during the Proving. And I’ve seen what those beasts look like in Star City. I’d run a bloody marathon to escape one.”

“An impressive feat,” I growl, inclining my head with respect.

“The first off-worlder to survive the Proving,” Krogoth beams, pulling her closer as if reliving the triumph. “She even slew Xyronath the Shadowstalker. This cloak?” He lifts the edge of thick white fur draped across her shoulders. “Woven from the beast’s very hide.”

My eyes flick between them. How could such a small female achieve such a legendary feat?

Xyronath —a monster spoken of in hushed tones.

The terror of every Prospect attempting the Proving.

The old stories said it was better to leap from a cliff than face its endless hunger. Jaws that swallowed warriors whole.

“He loves telling that story,” she says, pale skin flushing, fingers brushing across three claw marks that speak of her honor. Her voice is soft. “I... got lucky. If it weren’t for Cupcake, I wouldn’t have made it.”

Cupcake?