Page 2 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)
“The prey thinks she’s trapped the hunter,” I muse, allowing a rare smile to crease my lips. Her boldness pleases me. But her claim over me—her challenge —is but a faint ember compared to the roaring inferno of my molten heart.
The door to the war room hisses open at my approach, and I’m surprised to see Ignixis and Jazreal already seated. Their gazes shift from the large metal table, which displays a large glowing blue star chart.
“Ah, excellent. The happy couple has arrived. Later than hoped, of course, but young love conquers all—an inferno of passion that even time must heed,” Ignixis signs, gesturing with his withered, runic hand. “Please, take a seat.”
I hardly hear the old gas-cloud, my gaze lingering on Jazreal, seated with his back straight and chin raised, radiating confidence. He refused me, declined my call to arms, yet here he sits at this table. Ignixis has done what I could not.
What did he offer? What did I fail to see? My fists tighten at the thought, annoyance burning beneath my skin.
“Don’t look so surprised, young Dracoth,” Ignixis titters, his smirk barely hidden beneath the hood of his void-black robes. “Did you truly think I slept, idly waited for your inevitable return? Resting on my hands and feet while you plodded across the surface of Klendathor?”
“War Chieftain,” I correct, my voice hard as I stride to the head of the table—my place, earned through fire and blood. My gaze locks with his, searching the depthless runes etched into his face, wondering how he always seems to pluck the thoughts from my mind.
“Creeping around like some weirdo, more like,” Princesa cuts in with a mocking grin. “Kidnapping women, locking them in giant freezers, threatening to eat them alive? You know, your usual night out.”
Amusement stirs in my chest, threatening to escape as a laugh. Watching Princesa match Ignixis’s signature gas-cloud arrogance is a joy—ironic even. His cryptic rants dissolve under her sharp irreverence.
Ignixis’s smirk deepens, though his green eyes sharpen on Princesa.
“Had I not intervened, you two would still be stumbling blindly in the dark, ensnared by your na?ve confusion.” He shakes his head, turning his ire to Jazreal.
“I swear, I go out of my way to help these youngsters, and what do I get in return?” He pauses, waiting for Jazreal to weigh in, but the veteran only shrugs.
“Nothing! Worse, even! Accusations that I’m some sort of degenerate preying on the weak. ”
Suddenly, Ignixis’s head snaps to Princesa like a vipertail striking. “Is that what you are, blessed daughter? Weak prey?”
“Hardly,” Princesa scoffs, folding her arms. Her voice drips with a sugary threat. “I could prove it to you again, if you’re feeling brave.”
“Indeed,” Ignixis retorts, a scowl twisting his scorched features. His gaze sweeps over us like an arrohawk assessing its quarry. “Too eager to show off by half, the both of you. Using the gift of the Gods where a clever word would have sufficed, forcing me to reveal myself.”
“Please,” Princesa rolls her eyes, stroking the sleeping Todd absently.
“As if you didn’t get off from stealing the spotlight,” she tuts, annoyance etched on her face.
“Not like it matters, anyway. We’re on our way to this Drexios guy, aren’t we?
” She waves dismissively at the metal table and chairs as if the entire conversation were beneath her.
“Of course it matters!” Ignixis snaps, his voice booming with sudden fury, his face twisting into an ominous mask. “Everything matters—every detail, every facet must be considered!”
Princesa flinches at the outburst, a flicker of unease in her eyes. It’s to be expected. She’s still unaccustomed to Ignixis’s wild, unsettling ability to shift between smugness and anger instantly.
“I’ve come so far... we’ve come so far,” Ignixis mutters, his gaze locking onto mine with blazing intensity. “And you—foolishly declaring yourself War Chieftain. What madness possessed you, Dracoth? Are you so desperate to emulate your father? You claim victory without earning it?”
“It is inevitable,” I reply evenly, my tone resolute as stone.
“Forever the boy, ” Ignixis sneers, mockingly lingering on the last word. “And now Harkus and the Council know of our intentions.” He shakes his head ruefully.
As usual, he drones on pointlessly, relishing the sound of his own voice.
“The Council cannot stop us,” I growl, my voice low and unwavering.
“Is that so?” Ignixis counters, his confidence unnerving. “You wilted under Harkus’s soft words, Dracoth. How disappointing. I thought I taught you to be stronger. But it—”
His endless rebukes finally snap my patience. Rage floods my veins as I slam my hand against the metal table, the impact ringing through the room. The surface shudders, bearing the imprint of my fury. The sharp echo ricochets off the walls, making everyone but Jazreal flinch.
“Enough!” I roar, jabbing a finger at Ignixis. My fangs bare, my teeth clench, and my voice reverberates with fury. “Where is the coward Drexios hiding? Tell me now, or by Arawnoth, I will add your spine to my belt!”
The air crackles with tension as all eyes snap to Ignixis.
“My, my, Dracoth,” he titters, raising his pathetic scorched hands in a mock surrender. “You have a knack for cutting straight to the heart of things.”
I’ll cut out his heart if he delays further.
He activates the blue-glowing console controls of the war room table. I remove my elbow, obstructing the shifting star chart, grimacing as I notice a portion distorted by the damage my handprint caused.
“Is that the Mr. Frowny Face nebula?” Princesa giggles, pointing at the five-fingered darkened area of the projection, earning a brief chuckle from Jazreal.
“Must you break everything, young Dracoth?” Ignixis tuts, not for the first time, his fingers darting over the controls with exasperated precision.
The holographic chart cycles through sectors of the universe, familiar constellations and strange voids flashing before us. At last, it halts.
I glance at Ignixis, waiting for him to correct what must surely be a mistake. But he remains still, a faint smirk curling his blackened lips.
“The Sirius system?” I ask, unable to suppress my surprise. “Scythians.” Unease clawing at my gut.
“The heart of the Scythian empire,” Ignixis replies, his tone laced with amusement. In the dim light, his emerald eyes gleam like malevolent stars.
He means for us to enter their territory? My gaze flicks to Jazreal, searching for some sign of dissent. But he sits unmoving, as silent as the slumbering cyloillar perched on Princesa’s shoulder.
Jazreal already knew.
“Here,” Ignixis says, his weathered finger disturbing the star chart like ripples in a cosmic pond, “you will find Drexios. He lingers near Sothis Prime, seeking the support of the Scythians. Yet the Crucible remains silent—for he is nothing but a rabid killer, a hydralith that needs brought to heel, reaching beyond his abilities.”
“Ah! A little puppy for you, Dracoth,” Princesa mocks, her hand lightly brushing my wrist. The glow of the projection dances across her face, highlighting the mischief in her smile. “Let’s go put a collar on him.”
Her words do nothing to quell the doubt gnawing at me. Too many questions swirl in my mind, shadowed by the echoes of Harkus’s warnings. Where once resolute purpose burned, uncertainty now festers.
“The Scythians won’t bar our entry?” I ask, studying the map intently. If they turn against us, there will be no retreat—only death in the frozen void.
“Oh, no, young Dracoth,” Ignixis replies instantly, as if the mere suggestion is laughable. His tone sharpens to a razor edge, and his yellow fangs glint beneath the shadow of his void-black hood. “In fact, they are rather keen for your arrival.”
I study his nightmarish visage, that ever-smirking mask, searching for even a flicker of betrayal. There is nothing—only the unsettling confidence of an Elder who knows far more than he ever shares.
“Do you balk now? After everything?” Ignixis presses, his voice rising with fervor. “Isn’t this what you’ve always desired? To reclaim your destiny! To bathe the galaxies in the glorious flames of war as your great father before you!” His emerald eyes flash, alight with zealous passion.
He’s right. This is what I’ve always coveted, what my every thought and action has bent toward since I completed the Proving Pilgrimage. Yet now I hesitate, the icy hand of doubt clutching my heart. Can the Scythians be trusted?
My gaze snaps to Jazreal, his silence heightening my reservations.
“Speak your mind, Jazreal,” I order, gesturing to him.
The proud warrior sits with arms crossed, exuding an infuriatingly casual air. “It is not my place to say,” he replies with a shrug, his partially ruined face twisting into a mocking grin. “Great War Chieftain, ” he adds, his tone hinting at irony.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Ignixis nodding, his approval almost imperceptible but unmistakable.
My fists clench, frustration mounting as the creeping certainty takes root—I am being herded, driven toward a trap carefully laid long before I was old enough to see it—its noose now growing taut.
“Elder Harkus spoke the truth,” I growl, my voice hardening. “You do conspire with the Scythians.” I glare at Ignixis, anger swelling. “Your actions have never been for my benefit, but theirs.”
Ignixis groans audibly, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling as though beseeching the Gods themselves.
“Arawnoth, grant me strength,” he mutters, exasperation dripping from every word.
“How many years have I spent guiding you? Seven? Eight? Only for Elder Harkus to poison your thick skull with doubt in less than five minutes? All the trust I’ve earned—undone in an instant.
You wound me with this, Dracoth. You truly do.
” He shakes his head, disdain written across his face, and something tightens in my chest, the sting of regret flickering in my gaze.