Page 105

“I see the hurt and the rage in your eyes, young Dracoth,” Harkus continues, stepping toward the raised stone dais.

There’s no malice in his tone, only weary understanding.

“You’re not like the others. Not like the corrupted youths who came before you.

.. What do you remember of your childhood?

Before Klendathor, before this endless cycle of blood and fire.

Did you have a mother? Do you recall your father? Do you remember anything?”

My hands tremble at my sides, a churning dread clawing its way up from the depths of my being—long-buried fragments of a life I’ve willed myself to forget. They tear through my mind like plasma claws.

“A white room,” I murmur, the memories slipping free unbidden. “A female with hair like flowing gold... her sad green eyes. She sings to me sometimes, until the red giant comes. He watches us but never speaks.” The words spill from me, each one an icy dagger stabbing into my molten heart.

Harkus’s brow furrows, and a flicker of something—recognition?

—passes through his eyes. “Sounds almost like my Aerith,” he murmurs, his tone distant, as though speaking to himself.

A glint of pain flickers in his ancient gaze.

“Could the universe be so cruel? Perhaps implanted memories...” His voice trails off into a heavy sigh.

“The Scythians may have tampered with your mind, amplifying your aggression. Come with me, son. Together with the Council, we’ll uncover the truth—and get you help. ”

He rests a hand on my arm, his touch tentative yet firm, his gaze searching mine for acceptance.

I recoil, a chaotic maelstrom of emotion roiling within. Am I merely the puppet of the Scythians? Altered and defective? My very life—a lie? Memories not my own, nesting in my brain like parasites? Despair rises, hot and heavy, threatening to consume me.

“No,” I whisper, the word more plea than declaration. “My memories are real.” I force myself to meet his gaze, trying to project certainty, but my voice falters. The words feel hollow, echoing back as though they question themselves.

They must be real. How else could they evoke such dread, such unbearable sadness within me?

“Then we can find your mother—and perhaps our other females—by defeating the Scythians!” Harkus urges, his tone fervent. His ancient face contorts with hatred, raw and unfiltered. “It’s what those bastards deserve for what they’ve done to us!”

His gnarled hand tightens on my arm. “Krogoth saw something in you, Dracoth. That’s why he spared you.

I was a fool not to see it sooner. The strength in your eyes, the fire in your heart, the questions you yearn to answer.

” A warm smile softens his craggy features.

“Renounce the tainted Scythian title of War Chieftain. Stand with us as the rightful Magaxus Chieftain—beside Krogoth and the others. Together, we’ll destroy their mechanical filth and restore our people’s honor. ”

Krogoth ... The name stirs my seething hatred. Yet now, there’s something else, something that threatens to shatter my divine purpose to jagged splinters. Could he truly have spared me to embolden me, not to humiliate?

“Live and grow from this shame. So one day you can stand before me with your head held high.” Krogoth’s words echo in my mind, their meaning shifting like solar winds.

But honor demands retribution. He killed my father—a father I never knew… an undefeated titan corrupted by machines.

“I will... follow...” I mutter, my voice trembling under the mountainous weight of Scarn lifting from my shoulders.

“Now, now.”

The voice cuts through the air, sharp and mocking, stealing the words from my lips. Laughter—cold and derisive—reverberates through the hall, drawing every gaze to the brown-robed figure standing beside Jazreal.

“Corrupting the minds of the na?ve youth, Elder Harkus?” The figure tuts, clicking his tongue with exaggerated disdain. “Such poor sport, even for someone mired in false confidence as you.”

With deliberate ease, the figure lowers his hood, revealing a face twisted into a sinister grin: Ignixis.

Shocked murmurs ripple through the hall, none louder than the sharp intake of Harkus’s breath. His eyes widen, his weathered face ashen, as though a netherworld spawn had risen from the steam-filled air.

“Elder Ignixis?” Harkus mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. Then it hardens. “No. You lost the right to that title when your cowardice drove you from the Council of Elders in disgrace.”

Ignixis’s grin widens, a flash of deadly delight.

“I shed that title as a vipertail sheds its skin, Elder. ” He spits the word with venom.

“But in your blind ignorance you only ever saw what I wanted you to see. It was not cowardice that moved me, but Arawnoth’s molten will—his sacred words.

” His glowing green eyes flare in the dim light, locking onto the towering statue that looms above.

“Half-mad fanatic!” Harkus snarls, waving a dismissive hand.

His voice drips with contempt. “You and Garzum both. You can no more divine Arawnoth’s will than I can Machsin or Dagdorix’s.

” He jabs a finger toward me, his anger bubbling over.

“Is this what you’ve been poisoning his mind with?

Lies about glorious destinies? Eternal glory?

While our people teeter on the brink of oblivion? ”

His gaze narrows, his expression a storm of fury and accusation. “You’re working with the Scythians—like Zyraxis was. It’s the only explanation.”

My mind reels at the accusation, the storm of doubt and confusion raging within me—a tempest that leaves me adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Around me, my fellow Magaxus kin mirror my turmoil, their mouths agape, their eyes darting frantically between Harkus and Ignixis.

“Arawnoth strike me down!” Ignixis recoils, clutching his chest as though pierced by a spear.

His tone drips with mock agony. “Such profane accusations you fling so flippantly, Elder Harkus,” he sighs, stooping to scoop a clump of ash.

He presses it into his forehead in a theatrical gesture to ward off curses.

“I speak no lies—only the truth, Arawnoth’s truth!

Can you not see the meaning burned into my very flesh? ”

With a flourish, Ignixis pulls back the sleeves of his robe, revealing spiraling, twisted runes branded across every inch of his skin.

“You play the fool well, Ignixis. I’ll give you that,” Harkus retorts, his tone steady and claw-sharp. “We both know those runes are ancient tenets, not some divine revelation.”

“To your ignorant eyes,” Ignixis snarls, his blackened lips curling into a yellow-fanged smirk.

“But to mine, they blaze with his divine providence! He commanded me to guide young Dracoth. That is why I left the Council. Why I instill wisdom into his thick skull. Why I’ve led him—and will continue to lead him—on the path of glory.

Arawnoth demands it! We are the children of the Gods.

Our very nature is their will. To deny this is to defy them!

And death—eternal damnation to the netherworld—awaits those too soft to stay the course. For those—”

“You’re completely insane, Ignixis,” Harkus interrupts, his face pale with horror. “Arrest the disgraced Elder! He’s an outlaw, wanted by the Council of Elders,” he commands, his voice rising as he turns to the crowd.

But no one moves. Only the hissing magma fills the tense silence. The gathered Magaxus exchange uncertain glances. His desperation grows as his gaze sweeps across their faces.

“Elder Garzum?” Harkus’s voice cracks with disbelief as he turns to his fellow Elder. “As a brother, you must act!”

Garzum averts his crimson eyes, his silence speaking volumes.

Harkus’s gaze locks onto mine, his brown eyes wide with a pleading urgency. “Dracoth,” he implores, “give the command. Turn away from this path of destruction and hatred. Ally with Krogoth and find your mother.”

Doubt claws at my mind, twisting my insides like torn guts. To pursue the past, I must submit my future. Glory is not inherited—it is forged. My path must be my own, even if it is drenched in fire and blood.

Ignixis, sensing his imminent victory, titters with glee. “As much as we’ve enjoyed your... questionable company, Elder Harkus,” he sneers, “I must insist you remain here—at least until we’ve left Klendathor.” He gestures dismissively to the three Magaxus hunters. “Detain him.”

The trio exchange bewildered looks, their feet rooted to the stony ground. One shrugs, breaking the silence with a helpless gesture.

“Tiresome,” Ignixis sighs, his face twisting into a sneer. “How I long for the old days, when the young heeded their elders with respect.” He turns to me, his glowing green eyes piercing into mine.

“Young Dracoth,” he coos, his voice soft yet insidious. “Have I ever led you astray? Have I not always delivered on my promises?” He spreads his arms wide. “Give the command. Now!”

“Don’t, Dracoth! He’s working for the Scythians!” Harkus shouts, his voice cracking with desperation—a final, anguished plea.

The weight of this moment presses down on me like the volcanic mountain surrounding us, an ancient force shaping the fate of the universe for eons. Peaceful servitude or a path that blazes with glory—a future forged by my own hand, carved through blood and death.

“Detain Elder Harkus,” I command, my voice steady despite the turmoil within. I sweep my hand toward the condemned Elder, his white beard trembling as his resolve crumbles.

Harkus falls to his knees, his hands digging into the hot ash and rocky ground, anguish etched into every line of his face. My Magaxus hunters move swiftly, surrounding him. They lift him with care, treating him with respect even as they bind his hands.

“Ah, an excellent choice, young Dracoth.” Ignixis chimes in with a beaming smile that twists his scorched face into something nightmarish.

Despite his praise, unease tumbles in my stomach watching them march Harkus from the hall, his head unbowed, brown eyes drilling into me.

“Do not mistake my choice for blind loyalty. You serve me,” I remind him with a stern gaze.

“You won’t regret it,” Ignixis whispers, his voice low and close to my ear, startling me with its intimacy. “I promise you.”

Before I can respond, Ignixis straightens, addressing the group with a wave of his hand. “Now then, I’ll use his wrist console to summon gliders. They’ll take us straight to the ship waiting in Star City.”

His gesture encompasses Princesa, Sandra, Jazreal, and me. I move sluggishly, my mind a mire of doubt and conflicting emotions, each step heavier than the last.

Princesa clutches my arm, drawing my attention to her mesmerizing beauty. “I knew you’d make the right choice, my red dragon,” she purrs, her smile sharp enough to cut through my lingering doubts. “We’ve come too far to turn back now.”

How could I falter with her by my side?

The crowd shifts uneasily, murmurs rippling through them like tremors beneath the volcanic ground.

Ignixis doesn’t falter. “Hurry now,” he calls out, ushering us toward the tunnel that leads to the surface. His voice echoes through the cavernous hall.

“The future won’t be decided on Klendathor, but in the heavens.”

Continue to the epic conclusion of the Klendathian Cycle in Scorching the Alien Empire – available for pre-order now.