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“Do they indeed?” Ignixis retorts with a confidence I do not possess.

“Where young females are fickle, young males are impatient. But I am curious. Do you feel anything? A stirring, a calling, an urge to protect, flutters in your heart, whispers in your dreams?” He approaches, scrutinizing me as if he might see the answer to his questions.

I frown down at him, recalling none of these things—quite the opposite. “Mild curiosity, fleeting desire, nothing more.”

“Oh, I forget your heart is as inhospitable as the crags of Scarn,” Ignixis titters, looking far too sure of himself. “Well, even the dullest ember can be stoked to become a blazing inferno.”

My mind churns with questions and uncertainty. Ignixis, the old gas-cloud , has a vexing ability to twist my thoughts. Is he speaking the truth, guided by Arawnoth as he claims, or is he merely a master of cunning manipulation?

What would my father, the War Chieftain, do in my position?

My teeth grind together as I glare unyielding at Ignixis.

No. My noble father, the greatest Klendathian, would never allow himself to be swayed by such schemes.

He would seek glorious battle, not waste time placating weak females.

The very idea is laughable. Rage surges through me again like molten lava.

Ignixis senses my fury and instinctively recoils, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Easy, young Dracoth. Anger is a powerful tool, not a master. You must learn to channel it. Use it.”

My fists tighten, knuckles turning a pale, angry red. “Use it, as you use me?” I snarl, my voice a harsh whisper of scorching coals. “My father would never be swayed by such petty manipulations.”

Ignixis steps back, but his eyes narrow, glinting with a predatory glint. “You never knew your father, did you?”

The question lands like a heavy blow, cooling my rage with its chilling truth.

My gaze drops, the question and its answer cutting like the icy void.

No, I never met my father, and I never will—another debt to extract from Krogoth.

I picture my father as unshakable as the Peaks of Scarn, a figure of godlike power.

Old Clan Magaxus warriors spoke of him with reverence, describing him as a titan who strode across battlefields, his presence igniting worlds in a blaze of glory.

I would listen with rapt attention to the stories of the veterans, hungry for any detail that would complete the mental tapestry I had woven of him.

My mind drifts to hazy memories: sterile, black walls; a female with sad green eyes sitting in a chair.

I remember looking up at her, filled with love as I played with her long golden hair.

An immense shadow looms over us—a giant in red, his face scarred, his unreadable expression washing away the love I felt in a torrent of terror.

Did I meet my father when I was a child?

“I knew him,” Ignixis says, jolting me back to the present. “Knew him well. Long before he became the War Chieftain.”

My eyes snap to his, resisting the urge to ask questions.

Ignixis, ever perceptive, notices my eagerness.

“Don’t be surprised, young Dracoth. Your father and I lived for many centuries.

It’s only natural we would cross paths.” The incredibly long lives of the old ones like Ignixis, hints at secret histories and ancient knowledge, impressing upon me the fact I’m only twenty years old.

“He was brave, he was strong, and frighteningly cunning, though he spoke little. His enemies quaked at his approach, even his own warriors averted their eyes, unable to withstand his crimson gaze.” Ignixis’s voice carries a trace of admiration, painting a vivid picture of the immense legacy that roars within me.

His words, like those of others, build up an image of undefeated strength—the very legacy I strive to inherit.

“But,” Ignixis begins, freezing my blazing high-chested pride.

“Your father lacked foresight. He turned away from great Arawnoth, abandoned all the Gods and ancient traditions. A terrible shame. He was the very embodiment of his molten power. If he heeded the sacred words, it could have been him who received Arawnoth’s blessing.

But he chose a baser path, a path of metal—the path of the profane.

It cost him his very soul,” he finishes, shaking his head.

My fury erupts like a venting volcano.

I haul Ignixis by the collar of his black robes as effortlessly as lifting a pebble. He dangles helplessly in the air while I glare, hatred burning through glowing misting red eyes. “You dare besmirch my father’s name, coward?” I roar, seething with rage.

“Only the Gods are flawless.” The coward surprises me, showing no fear—something else—perhaps compassion.

It’s difficult to tell with his heavily tattooed face.

“You have the potential to surpass him, young Dracoth. To surpass all. It’s why Arawnoth guides me, so I might guide you to fulfill your great destiny—as your father should have.

” Ignixis smiles faintly, yet his yellow, sharpened-teeth and blackened face twist into something grotesque.

My mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The image of my father as an invincible warrior is now tinged with shades of complexity I thought impossible. As I set Ignixis down, a grudging respect for him grows within me, urging me to trust in his wisdom.

“Keth, switch course to Klendathor,” I command.

The ship soon shifts slightly as Keth obeys without question.

“The females—”

“Will come round in time. Trust my words, trust in the Gods,” Ignixis interrupts me, grinning slyly. “Besides, if the traitor Krogoth managed it. So can you,” he challenges with a short, barking laugh.

I bristle at the mention of my sworn enemy, my rage simmering beneath. But Ignixis is right. If Krogoth found a way, then so will I. My teeth clench, revealing my fangs, as images of power and beautiful revenge stoke my burning heart.

“Remember, young Dracoth, the flames of vengeance must be carefully tended, lest they consume all in their path, including you,” he cautions, watching my reactions like a stalking black-furred venefex .

“Long-range scans detect a swarm of vessels approaching,” Nexarn, the blonde-haired youth, interjects in his monotone voice.

A smile curls my lips, knowing no fear, only a surge of excitement. A contrast to Ignixis, who scurries like a spineless shadow to nudge Nexarn out of the way.

“Gods! There are hundreds of them,” he exclaims, his eyes darting over the blue glowing console. “Tuskarian light cruisers, Jungarian hunters, Glaseroid harvesters. A motley armada of light ships.”

“Space junkers,” I rumble, already relishing the coming fight with the pirates. Most likely a gang streaming from a nearby station, hunting for easy prey. But they’ll soon find themselves my prey, crushed beneath my scorching fists.

“You see where this foolishness gets us!” Ignixis glares at me, his emerald eyes flashing with anger. “If we had stayed on course, we might have avoided this!”

He is still a coward.

“Why are you smiling?” Ignixis demands, glancing at me with disbelief. “We’ll be overrun by so many ships!”

My smile widens, revealing my fangs. “Calm yourself, you old gas-cloud .” I turn to Keth. “Prepare a distress signal. Make it look like we’re abandoning ship.”

Ignixis’s eyes widen with realization. “A trap?”

I nod, my smile growing more feral. “Their greed for easy plunder will lead them to their deaths.” I flex my fingers at the thought.

Nexarn nods, already working at the console. “Generating a fake SOS. Message reads: ‘Ship damaged, engines failing. Crew abandoning ship. Requesting immediate assistance.’” His blank tone is a contrast to the heat building within me.

Ignixis watches with a mixture of skepticism and reluctant admiration. “And if they realize it’s a ruse?”

“They won’t,” I reply, my eyes gleaming with fierce determination. “We draw them all in, then I’ll be upon them. The corridors will run green with their blood.”

Keth finishes the preparations, and the distress signal goes out. “SOS broadcast initiated. They’re responding. Approaching faster.”

“Good.” I turn to exit, seeking to retrieve my armor.

“Shut down all non-essential systems, open the docking hatches. Keth, Nexarn, you guard this room. Inform Reneth, Vexius and Zirix to guard the engines.” I glance over my shoulder at Ignixis.

“You… stay out of trouble.” I struggle to think of anything useful for the old gas-cloud to do.

Exiting the command center, the purple lights fade and the engines grow quiet, leaving behind only my thudding footsteps and the sound of roaring lava coursing through my veins.

Time to vent some steam.