Page 73 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)

“Arawnoth’s molten heart thrums with the same lifeblood that flows through his sons’ veins,” I say, my voice steady, commanding.

My eyes flare mercury-bright, silver burning into red coals across my chest. “He hears your concerns; he feels your pain. He prepares you for what is to come—glorious death.” The words spill from my lips like a chant, carried on the fervor of my own passion.

The space-knight’s breath catches, his nod slow, reverent.

“Yes... yes. How did you know?” His voice softens, as if recalling something fragile.

“When I fell, as I lay dying, I saw him descend—a behemoth of fire in a world of flames, coming to claim me. He didn’t speak, but I felt it.

His pride. He was proud of me, of how well I fought.

” His blue eyes flick away, as if ashamed of the emotion threatening to spill over.

He saw Arawnoth! While Divine Father has been playing hide and seek with me?

“What is your name?” I ask, stretching up to cup his towering cheek, my fingers warm against his rough skin.

He hesitates before answering. “Arsasrk.”

The name rolls off my tongue like honey over sand.

“Arsasrk,” I echo, a hushed whisper, letting my smile bloom beneath my lashes.

Just a little dusting of seduction—enough to make his heart pound, not enough to invite a stage-ten clinger.

“You are strong. You are proud. A warrior worthy of Arawnoth’s notice.

” My fingers drift lower, pressing against the center of his chest plate.

“When the time comes, you will not falter. You will burn bright in his molten image, a beacon for your brothers, a hero worthy of tales.” I let the words settle, sinking into him like molten metal pouring into a mold.

“And then, you will return to us—reborn, stronger than before.”

His shoulders square, his jaw tightening, blue eyes no longer glistening. No, those pathetic tears evaporate in the heat of his own conviction. A blazing mist wafting into the crisp air.

“You’re right, Divine Daughter,” he growls, the words carrying renewed purpose. “I will embrace my destiny. I will make my ancestors proud. I will protect the females and our future.” He pounds his fist against his chest plate, the sound nearly bursting my eardrums and making me jump.

“I am glad,” I reply, my smile deepening, though my eyes remain sharp. “Bathe in the truth. Let it wash away your doubts.”

With that, I turn, my black robes swirling behind me as I stride down the corridor.

Another satisfied lost soul. It’s a hassle, but damn if it doesn’t give me a warm, fuzzy tingle over my skin.

Still, the words come from somewhere strange, like a drug-induced trance—just without the alcohol or blaring EDM beats.

As I near Razgor’s lab, the corridor thickens with space-knights, their muttered voices a low hum of excitement. The sheer number of them turns the hall into a shifting wall of metal, their bulky frames jostling for space as they strain for a glimpse of the treasures inside.

“I just want to see them with my own eyes,” a nearby space-knight grumbles. “It could be some trick, some illusion.”

I grimace, halted at the edge of the crowd, stuck behind a mass of clicking armor like a toddler trapped in a mosh pit for tanks.

“It is no trick!” My voice rings out over the dim murmur, carrying the weight of absolute authority.

The space-knights turn in unison, surprise stamped across their features like the ash smeared on their foreheads.

Many of them I recognize—I blessed them myself just yesterday.

It was glorious, truly. Their tears of joy, their whispered prayers as they glimpsed their long-lost females, the way they clung to my every word.

A delicious delight that continues to bear fruit as they drop to their knees, metal-clad joints striking the polished black marble in reverence.

“The great Arawnoth and Aenarael have returned them to us,” I declare, sweeping my arms wide as I move between them. “But the Revered Mothers need time to heal, space to breathe deep the air of freedom. Give them peace. It would be such a great help—perhaps a few days’ worth.”

Or months.

Two guards stand at either side of the lab door, statuesque in their vigilance, nodding as I approach.

“Days?” someone scoffs from behind. “Look around. We’re in hostile Scythian space. We have hours at best,” the moaning minnie mutters, and a few others rumble in agreement. “We would see them now, before the end comes for us.”

“Yes,” another voice chimes in, thick with self-righteousness. “That is why the Gods led us here—to face the suffering we have caused. And as divine punishment, our damnation will come before the final reckoning.”

Idiots.

“You know the will of the Gods?” I whirl around, my gaze cutting through the gathered bone-through-the-noses, searching for the fool who dared question me.

My elegance, my grace—burned away in the searing heat of my rage.

“Better than I? The one blessed by Arawnoth?” My fingers trail over the glowing furnace of runes etched into my chest and neck, their warmth a reminder of my divinity.

“The one who has convened with Aenarael—my Divine Mother?”

Silver mist curls from my eyes, wisps of light bleeding into the dim purple corridor. My voice drops to a deadly whisper, the words slipping between clenched teeth, automatic, inevitable, divine. “The Gods did bring us to this point. Not to die. To fight.”

The silence is absolute.

“A battle like no other looms before us,” I continue, voice rising with the force of my conviction.

“A war for our futures, a chance at redemption. But if you falter—if you prove unworthy—you will be lost.” My gaze sweeps across them, daring them to challenge me.

“You. The women. Everything. Swallowed by the Voidbringer.” I step forward, pressing into their space, my presence searing like liquefied metal.

“Or you could embody the sacred words. Arawnoth’s molten heart.

Fight. Die in his strength, in his divine image.

Unbreakable. Laughing, delighting in the carnage and vengeance.

” I pause, letting the weight of my words settle.

“Then, and only then, will you earn your salvation.”

A breathless hush follows.

Most avert their eyes, their gazes lowered in reverence, in thought. But one does not.

A grizzled veteran stands unmoved, his weathered face etched with scars, his long crimson hair streaked with grey at the roots. There’s something ancient in his gaze.

“All we’ve ever known is battle and death,” he rumbles, his voice deep, gravel-thick, as if dredged from the abyss of time, like my old sock drawer. “I grow weary of bleeding for ghosts.” His tired gaze flicks to the door behind me. “I long to see something beautiful. Something hopeful.”

Hello? Beauty is standing right here.

I swallow my annoyance, forcing warmth into my voice.

“Just one more,” I urge, stepping closer, taking his massive, calloused hand in mine.

His skin is rough, worn like old leather boots.

“One final fight,” I swear, my voice softer now, intimate, meant only for him.

“And then, I promise, you’ll know peace. ”

I promise.

Why did I say that? I haven’t a clue what comes next! But my mouth keeps yapping like a shifty salesman trying to pass off a hobo ship as a golden space yacht.

His grip tightens for a moment, and when his eyes meet mine, stern and probing, searching for something that wasn’t there before. A flicker of belief.

“One more,” he exhales at last, his voice heavy with years of war. Then, turning sharply, his long mohawk fluttering behind him, he mutters, “Farewell, Divine Daughter,” before stomping away. One by one, the others follow in his wake, their footfalls fading into the distance.

I exhale, my shoulders relaxing as I watch them go. A few space-knights linger, their heads bowed in thought, caught in some deep, bone-through-the-nose existential crisis unique to their kind. But the tension has lifted.

The two guards at the door step aside at last, allowing me entry to Razgor’s lab.

Finally.

It shouldn’t be this hard to get into my own damn ship’s facilities.

Fort Knox has nothing on this place. I might need to rethink this whole plan—leading these guys, climbing to the top.

This is hard work! What’s it going to be like when I have an entire planet hanging on my every word?

I’ll need minions. Yes. A whole army of them—mini-Lexie’s trained in the sacred words, to spread my divine wisdom while I lounge in luxury.

I need to figure out what’s next. Maybe Razgor has some answers—or at least more ashes.