Page 32 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

Alexandra

Mura-Tok

“ Y ou must learn to quiet your mind, child,” Ignixis suggests, his final parting words as he exits the lab. The black metal door swooshes closed behind him.

Easier said than done.

I inhale deeply. The moldy, intoxicating scent of bloodroot singes my lungs, sending my heart into a panicked staccato and filling my mind with frantic, racing, aggressive thoughts.

Todd’s skittering across the sheen marble floor—sliding like a bus on ice—doesn’t help.

He probably has the right idea—searching for food—rather than attempting the seemingly impossible: the Mura-Tok.

Still, I refuse to give up.

I sit cross-legged, squeeze my eyes shut, and breathe deeply, fighting to clear my mind. The relaxing crackle of the brazier and the distant hum of the ship’s engines aren’t enough to lull me into... whatever the hell it’s supposed to.

Ugh!

Maybe Ignixis was right after all—humans just can’t do it. The Klendathians probably have some bone-through-the-nose organ that lets them achieve super-sleep or something. Meanwhile, I’m here, wasting my time.

Even Ignixis’s attitude has changed. No longer spouting his cryptic, scathing replies, he now rushes around in silence, as if something else weighs on his mind.

I never thought I’d say this, but... I actually miss him being a rude prick.

Has he lost faith in me? Is this not his usual reverse-psychology mind games?

Does he actually think I’m wasting his time? Or is he... worried about the Crucible?

With Demon Egg-Head, it could be anything!

Crap! My thoughts are spiraling again.

Deep breaths, Lexie. Deep breaths. I can do this.

I inhale, slow and steady. My chest rises and falls in rhythmic motion. No thoughts. Just my breath. Just Arawnoth’s heat.

...What will Dracoth do tomorrow? Will he work with the murder-bots?

The giant bore didn’t seem sure when I asked, and I didn’t know what to suggest. The idea of owing those soulless machines makes my stomach churn like I’ve downed fifty sock-chair steaks.

But if they’re the only way for us to reach the top. ..

My breathing quickens. I glance down—my hands are clenched into fists.

Damn it! Why is this so difficult?

I close my eyes and exhale loudly, shaking my shoulders and settling into a comfortable position once more.

Nice deep breaths, and happy, fluffy thoughts.

Clang!

“What the—?”

I jolt upright like I’ve been struck by lightning, my head whipping to the source of the noise. Near the tall desk, I see it: a metal disc and surgical tools still wobbling from the impact, and the frantic skittering legs of a guilty escapee.

“Todd!”

I wave my hand at his retreating plumpness. “Don’t you run away, mister! Get back here this instant,” I demand, my voice brooking no argument.

He ducks behind a large gray-metal drawer, a blur of red-black movement almost invisible against the dim purple light and swirling green fumes. A moment later, Todd’s big eye peeks out from under his hidey-hole, his mandibles opening and closing lazily.

I smirk. “Look what I’ve got.”

I flash a portion of jelly stick like I’m dealing drugs in a hobo back alley in New York. And like a drug addict, Todd’s eye blinks rapidly. His little spindly legs twitch, carrying his curvy self toward me in a blinding race for the perpetually starving.

“Oaf!”

He launches himself into my stomach, hitting me like a series of glued-together bowling balls.

“You big chunk,” I gasp as he shoves his head between my hands, greedily inhaling the jelly stick.

I sigh, stroking his rubbery, warm, segmented body. As Todd devours his treat, I ease back into a cross-legged position, mimicking Ignixis’s stance. His rhythmic mandible clicks act like an oddly soothing metronome under my pets.

Silence.

Is he still eating?

I crack one eye open.

Todd is already napping, his plump body rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm.

I scowl. My pet bug has achieved enlightenment before me.

Maybe if I only thought about food, I’d reach Zen like Todd.

Not jelly sticks, though. Those taste like high heels dipped in fruit juice. No, I want... French toast. Thick, golden slices dusted with powdered sugar, dripping with syrup, topped with fresh strawberries. A steaming cup of mocha on the side.

Stop! I’m getting distracted again!

I rock back and forth, trying to reset, to find some semblance of comfort. With a deep inhale, I settle into a slow rhythm. My posture straightens, serene. Eyes closed. Hands cupped around the small, warm bundle that is Todd.

Breathe in. Hold. Exhale.

Is Sandra settling in okay? What if she’s lonely? What if she regrets coming with us?

Focus!

My back itches. Maybe I should—

Stop!

What’s Mother doing right now? Does she even miss me? Or is she too busy, as always?

Seriously, Lexie? You’re supposed to be clearing your mind, not spiraling into an existential crisis.

I sigh, cracking one eye open. Todd’s chubby body rises and falls in a steady rhythm, his mandibles clicking softly in sleep. How does he do it? How does he just... let go?

For a moment, I consider giving up.

But Dracoth never gave up. Not when he stomped across Earth with his big Bobo the Clown feet.

Not when the space hobos attacked our ship.

Not when I gave him the cold shoulder. Not when he fought Jazreal and got battered like a forgotten banana in the bottom of a purse.

Now he faces—Gods know what—meeting with the murder-bots in their Crucible.

And still, Mr. Frowny Face keeps on frowning.

And here I sit, unable to even relax properly!

Well, that’s not good enough. I’m his wife—his Mortakin-Kis. We share an unbreakable bond that roars through my soul, something I never thought possible, something that shouldn’t exist. But it’s real. So fucking real, it makes my heart want to burst.

I will uncover Arawnoth’s secrets. I will stand before his molten greatness.

I close my eyes again, forcing myself to breathe deeply.

One step at a time, Lexie. Just focus on the heat. Focus on Arawnoth’s flames.

I sink deeper, the warmth of the brazier wrapping around me, threading through my limbs, coiling in my core like molten gold. The ship’s hum fades, the scent of bloodroot dulls. My thoughts drift like embers, carried by an unseen current.

A glimmer of something ignites in my chest—faint, fragile, but unmistakable. A heat beyond mere fire. It stretches, reaching for me, or maybe... waiting for me to reach back.

This is it. This is—

Then, like a trap snapping shut, the warmth vanishes.

All of it recedes as I drift into an abyss of blackest night. My hands flutter before me, hazy and slow, moving as if through water. I’m weightless, suspended in some strange dreamworld, yet my mind remains sharp and lucid.

It’s hard to tell in this place of darkness, but I think something pulls me forward. The force gathers speed.

Then—wind. A light breeze threads through my hair, cool and gentle. It should be soothing. But it isn’t.

The breeze grows into a gust. The gust turns into a gale.

The temperature plummets.

Freezing air slashes through me like ice-cold knives, turning my blood to liquid frost.

“No!” I cry into the void. My voice echoes back at me—warped, distorted, mocking. “Take me to Arawnoth’s flames! Not this! Anything but this!”

My heart hammers against my chest as my trembling blue fingers struggle to wrap my cloak tighter around me. The material is useless against this bone-deep cold. The howling wind becomes a deafening roar, like some colossal beast furious at my intrusion.

Then—I see it.

A snow globe of madness appears in the distance, swelling larger with every panicked breath.

A blizzard rages inside it, the purest white snow blanketing jagged peaks.

The wind howls louder. Frozen pellets of ice lash against the mountains, tearing across the land like an unstoppable force of wrath.

Frantically, I twist and claw my way upward, desperate to escape the frozen hellscape dragging me closer. But it’s useless. It pulls me inexorably into the cradle of this increasingly bitter cold and blistering gales.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to wake up. But my teeth still chatter. My hands still tremble.

This place—this void of warmth—feels too much like the torment I endured when Kazumi died. The emptiness. The cold. Where only her ghost haunts me, those dead, frozen eyes still burning in my mind. Is that what awaits me below? Kazumi’s ghost, and all the others who seek to punish me?

“Arawnoth! I beg you!” My voice rips from my throat, raw and desperate. “Take me away from this place!”

Nothing .

The blizzard swallows my plea, twisting it into a warped, mocking echo.

My stomach knots. He should hear me. He must answer. Even a flicker of his flames, even the barest whisper of heat—anything.

But there is nothing. Not even the ghost of warmth in my own breath.

Even he has abandoned me.

My tears freeze against my cheeks, forming jagged crystals I have to scrape away just to open my eyes.

I wish I hadn’t.

The world is nothing but endless white—undisturbed snow stretching farther than I can see. Jagged mountains tear into the storm-cloaked sky, their peaks lost in the swirling blizzard. Sheer cliffs drop into an abyss of nothingness.

It’s Aroth all over again—the freezer Ignixis stuffed me into. Only worse. Colder. Starker. With no sign of life... perhaps ever.

I huddle deeper into my cloak, but it’s useless. My fingers, ears, and feet have long since gone numb. Ice crystals form across my black clothes, spreading fast. By all logic, I should already be dead. But whatever force dragged me here—it wants me alive and suffering.

But why?

Then, as if summoned, a wooden door materializes before me.

No flashing lights. No rippling dark metal. Just a door—plain, human, ordinary.

Except it leads nowhere.

It stands alone, half-buried in snow, unattached to any wall or structure. It shouldn’t exist. Yet here it is.