Page 36 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

I gasp as Aenarael materializes before the sun in her Klendathian form once again. She floats in the air, her hands raised, pristine robes cascading in waves, the white sun framing her like a divine halo. My stomach sinks at the sight of her—unbelievably beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.

She descends slowly through the cool air like the goddess she is, stopping when a single toe touches the mercury water, sending the tiniest ripple across its immaculate surface, expanding forever.

“I won!” I shout, my voice echoing strangely in this surreal space. “You cheated!”

An odd acceptance washes over me—I know she’s relentless, inescapable.

“Look!” she shrieks, turning her cheek to the side, showcasing a tiny green wound marring her cheek. “Look at what you’ve done to my perfect face, you little witch.” Her voice splinters into a hundred displeased, haughty echoes.

“Perfect is boring,” I quip, adrenaline still roaring in my ears.

She doesn’t find it funny. Quite the opposite, actually—her sneer sharpens. She advances, each step graceful, practically floating, leaving only the faintest ripples in her wake.

Typical. She’s walking on water like evil Jesus, and here I am, up to my neck, paddling just to stay afloat.

With no other option, I summon divine barriers, hoping to halt her ominous approach. They materialize before her, glistening with reflections of silver and white across their glassy surfaces—my only hope.

Aenarael lifts her chin, a wicked smirk tugging at her full lips. Then she simply steps through my shields as if they were nothing but light from a cruel sun, illuminating her elegant catwalk.

Panic flutters in my chest. I thrash, desperate to escape the inescapable, but it’s useless—I’m barely able to wade through the viscous silver.

“You seek to use my own gifts against me?” she asks, amusement threading her tones. “Ungrateful, spiteful child. What you wield is but a drop in the endless ocean that is my power.” Her multitude of voices boom as she spreads her arms wide.

A lump forms in my throat as she looms over me, her blazing glare as vast and deep as the ocean surrounding us.

Then, with blinding speed, she reaches down, yanking me from the water as if I weigh nothing. Droplets stream from my black robes like liquid mercury as she sneers down at me.

“Perfection is divine, and you have tarnished my perfection—you have tarnished my divinity,” she hisses, tilting her head to showcase the tiny scratch on her cheek.

“Um... nothing a little foundation can’t—”

“It stings!” Aenarael cuts me off with a roar, her face mere inches from mine.

Despite the terror, I can’t resist twisting the knife, knowing no matter what I do, I’m moments from death.

“Oh, that’s just blood carrying love-oxygen to the wound,” I say, mustering all the haughty indifference honed from years of practice in that hellish boarding school.

“I mean, you sounded so terribly detached earlier—you surprise me, great Goddess Aenarael.” I smirk.

“Honestly, I thought you were above such mortal concerns.”

She glares at me, the tension thicker than the mercury ocean surrounding us. I brace myself, expecting to be turned into plankton or something equally horrible at any second.

Then, like a glorious miracle, her expression softens. A faint smile curls her lips. She releases her grip, and I drop—but instead of plunging into the silvery depths, my feet touch something almost solid, sending ripples over its surface.

Aenarael traces the molten runes on my chest, her sharp claws gliding over them with an almost delicate touch. A strange wonder flickers in her gaze, but if she were anyone else, I’d swat her hand away from my divine boobs.

“The cycle burns eternal...” she murmurs, more to herself than to me. The multiple voices in her tone no longer ring with anger, but something quieter, something deeper. “So be it, then. Let it blaze a little longer, Arawnoth.”

She whirls around suddenly, and I take my first easy breath since entering this bizarre realm of madness.

I can feel it—I’ve changed her mind. A Goddess’s mind! Elation floods through me like a tsunami. She’ll help me reach Arawnoth, help me find the answers I seek.

“Tell me the sacred words!” I exclaim, eager desperation obvious in my tone.

“There are no sacred words as you understand them,” Aenarael replies, her casual dismissal carrying the weight of a hammer blow. “Merely lingering fragments from a cycle long faded.”

She flutters her hand, and an enormous mercury globe emerges from the ocean. “Though some words certainly have power. None more so than those that will grace your ears now.” The silver moon dissolves into a cascading downpour of mercury rain.

“Arawnoth goes to his death,” she intones, turning dramatically, her pristine robes twirling in the white light.

Her words steal the air from my lungs like a punch to the gut. “No...” The whisper barely escapes my lips, my gaze dropping to the runes flaring on my chest.

“...How can he die?” My voice gathers strength as I snap my eyes back to Aenarael. “A God of endless life and fire?”

“Another God, of course.”

She turns over her palm, and the mercury ocean heaves. From its depths, a great silver flame bursts forth, writhing like a living thing. It lashes at the air, undulating in a way that sends unease curling through my gut.

“One of entropy—a shadow against the dying light of stars.”

She raises her other hand, and a single droplet of liquid mercury lifts from the water, impossibly small compared to the raging inferno.

“The Voidbringer,” she intones, her voice a hymn of inevitability.

Slowly, she brings her hands together. The moment her fingers meet, the silver fire is dragged, strand by strand, into the minuscule droplet—screaming, unraveling, until nothing remains. My stomach twists at the sheer wrongness of its presence.

“The silence—the end of all things. It has a certain poetic beauty to it.” Aenarael exhales a wistful sigh, tilting her head toward the immense white sun above. “No pain. No ugliness. No eternity. Only... oblivion.”

A chill runs through me. She welcomes this. The thought is nauseating.

“Please, great Goddess, help us stop this!” I plead, my voice thick with desperation.

Inside me, a spark remains—Arawnoth’s ember, burning against the inevitability she speaks of. Even that faint light is enough to fill me with revulsion at the mere thought of surrender—a sickening and abhorrent loathing that must be stopped.

Aenarael watches me for a long moment before finally inclining her head.

“I will aid you, daughter. When the time comes.” She turns slowly, a faint smile painting her beautiful, shifting faces. “Heed my words, and heed them well.”

The ocean erupts. A figure bursts from the depths, floating effortlessly in the air, draped in flowing mercury robes.

“Arawnoth’s herald has woven fascinating schemes—an impressive mortal.” Aenarael’s gaze flicks toward the hooded figure. “Though what is brilliance when it serves a master enslaved to a singular, burning desire?”

With a flick of her fingers, a silver blindfold materializes around the figure’s hood.

“An idiot?” I supply automatically.

“Misguided,” Aenarael corrects with amusement. The moment the blindfold settles, the herald’s head ignites in flickering silver flames. “Arawnoth always was a hothead.”

She glances at me, her grin expectant. I can’t help it—I laugh in agreement.

“The herald has guided the chosen son to this point, knowing the decision he will ultimately make.” Aenarael continues, glancing above as another figure bursts forth from the endless silver ocean.

I gasp in recognition at the towering mass of muscle and the stern, frowning face I’ve grown to adore.

“Dracoth...”

Aenarael tilts her head, studying the silver-cast version of him. Just as I think he looks rather magnificent in shimmering metal, the statue blinks . The movement is too real —uncanny, unnatural. A shiver runs down my spine.

“Hmm.” Aenarael taps a delicate finger to her chin. “He has the unfortunate look of a brute about him. We really must do better next time.”

Her gaze flicks toward me, lips pinching slightly. “My condolences, daughter.”

“Hey, he’s my handsome brute,” I snap, heat flaring in my chest.

“They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” she concedes with a gracious nod. Then her lips curl into a wicked smirk. “Though some eyes must be riddled with cataracts.”

Her laughter ripples in the air, a chorus of voices echoing mockingly.

Rude bitch!

“Yeah, all right, oh perfect-sighted one. ” I wave a hand in exasperation. “If you’re done insulting my husband, can we please continue?”

“Patience, my beautiful, flawed child,” she chides, turning back toward the figures.

Another eruption. A torrent of molten silver blazes into the air, curling and twisting like a living storm. The inferno hovers just behind Dracoth and the herald, an ominous force waiting to consume.

“Arawnoth, through his chosen, through his herald, seeks to fill that which cannot be filled. To breathe life into that which is void.”

From the ocean, a single silver moth flutters toward the fire, drawn irresistibly forward.

“It’s in his nature, you understand. He is a slave to it, as we all are.”

The moth drifts closer, delicate wings shimmering in the light—until it touches the blaze.

It vanishes instantly.

“Amusing, isn’t it?” Aenarael muses. “That the fire of creation is drawn to oblivion. Supremely confident, yet helpless to its fate.”

Another droplet of liquid mercury rises from the water.

“The Voidbringer lurks, waiting to devour that which it cannot corrupt. By snuffing out Arawnoth, it snuffs out all future creation. Then all, even us Gods, even itself, will cease to be in time.”

The figures before us—Dracoth, the herald, even the burning inferno—tremble as silver strands are inexorably pulled toward the tiny bead. Bit by bit, they unravel, drawn into the nothingness, until only silence remains.

“How do we stop it?” My breath catches. My pulse pounds in my ears.

“We will , of course.” Aenarael’s tone is almost jovial, as if the fate of the entire universe wasn’t hanging by a chipped nail. “Are we not magnificent? Dignified?” She throws her hands up, framing the lower portion of the white sun blazing behind her. “Delicate and powerful. Beloved and feared.”

My heart soars at the sight and force of her words.

They stir something in me that speaks directly to my soul—a longing Dracoth and Arawnoth only ever brushed against. Power.

Strength. But those were just fragments of the whole.

No, what I crave—what Aenarael is—is to be adored, to be feared, to be grace and beauty incarnate.

“We are, my Goddess,” I whisper, bowing my head in submission. Adoration floods through me, washing away the last traces of doubt.

Aenarael lifts her chin, a regal smile painting her shifting, pristine faces.

“The Voidbringer is as much a slave to its nature as any of us. You must wait, hidden, choosing the right moment to act. It will not see us coming, not while it gorges itself on the light, insatiable and blind to all else. That is when we strike. Let the hunter become the hunted. Let the nothing feast upon nothing.”

When Dracoth enters the Crucible?

“Yes, my Goddess.” The words leave me with unshakable certainty in her plan, in her divinity.

“You make me proud, daughter,” Aenarael murmurs, stepping toward me, each graceful movement sending tiny ripples across the mercury ocean. “You, who are strong. You, who are proud. You, who give me a taste of mortality.”

She halts, tilting her head in contemplation. “Although... we must do something about Machsin,” she muses, tapping her chin with a frown. Then, her lips curl into a slow, wicked grin. “Oh, how delightful it will be to strip that sanctimonious certainty from her face.”

She turns her smoldering silver gaze upon me, scrutinizing from head to toe as if fitting me for a new dress.

“Perhaps another marking...” She trails off, then shakes her head. “No, I would be remiss to mar your ample beauty further.”

“Ample, really?” I snap, shooting her a glare.

“Yes, dear. You should really work on that.” She chuckles, her laughter echoing in a hundred layered voices. “We have a reputation to maintain, after all.”

“Rude bitch,” I grumble in false annoyance. “They’ll just have to get creative when carving my statues.”

“Mind your temper,” Aenarael warns, her tone dipping into something sharper. “It has a habit of getting us into trouble. The child of Machsin will use that against you.”

Rocks? Does she mean Rocks?

“Ah! Your little pet cyloillar.” Aenarael’s face lights with sudden realization. “He will serve. Keep him close.”

“As if I could stop the chug bug.” I grimace, rolling my shoulder, still tight from Todd’s plumpy naps.

“My gift to you, daughter.” She leans in, pressing a motherly kiss to my forehead. Warmth blossoms through me, my cheeks burning, my throat tightening against an unexpected wave of emotion.

Then, as abruptly as she came, she turns, striding toward the flaring white sun. “Now, leave me. I have foundation to apply,” she chuckles, casting me a sidelong smirk.

“Farewell, Mother ,” I whisper, biting back tears.

And then, as I blink back the moisture, the vision shatters like an emotional, vivid dream dissolving into wakefulness.

The familiar hum of the ship’s engines and the moldy scent of swirling green bloodroot drag me back to reality. A pang of loss claws at my chest. Was it real? Or nothing more than psychotic, murder-drug-induced delusions?

Then something stirs in my hands—a chunky, wriggling bundle of warmth.

Too-cute Todd.

He clacks his mandibles happily, his single gleaming eye blinking lazily in the dim purple light.

“Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead,” I coo, stroking his rubbery, segmented body, frowning as my fingers halt over something new—something firm.

“What’s this?” I ask, curious, shifting Todd forward.

On his back is a silver marking—no... a rune. It pulses faintly with an ethereal glow. A spiral, framed by a sharp, angular spoked circle.

“Mirror?” I mutter, struggling to recall the rune.

And then it hits me.

I gasp, elation erupting inside me like a volcano. Todd clacks in protest as I squeeze him tight, spinning him around.

It was real.

Aenarael is my Goddess.

And together, we will save Arawnoth.