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Sandra lets out a snort, shaking her head. “That?” she says, amused. “That was just Alexandra being dramatic, as usual.” She retracts her arm to study it herself. “Unless there’s an infection or that bloody monster was poisonous or something, I’ll be fine,” she declares with a nod.

Her resolve pleases me. Finally, a glimpse that these human females aren’t as soft as snarlbroc jelly. And yet, it also means Princesa’s words can’t be trusted. At least without filtering through her stream of nonsense—an impossible task.

I give a curt nod, satisfied for now, and head toward the cells. Sandra falls in beside me, struggling to keep up with my long strides.

“We’re heading back so soon?” she asks.

Not soon enough.

She’s seen me balk—my display of weakness and uncertainty. I seek to distance myself from her awkward presence.

“Yes,” I reply simply, betraying nothing.

“Oh,” Sandra almost whispers, her head cast downward. A blissful silence blooms as we march through the familiar darkened corridors, but from the corner of my eye I can see Sandra practically vibrating, twirling her thumbs, another question struggling to be unleashed upon me.

“Can I ask you a question?” Sandra blurts out, right on cue. A strange request when the female hasn’t ceased her interrogations since we left her cell. But her tone gives me pause, wondering what burning query she’s been yearning to release.

I nod, a silent acknowledgment for her to proceed.

Sandra takes a deep breath. “What are you going to do to us?” Her eyes search mine, pleading for answers, for hope—a pitiful, useless thing. “Kazumi mentioned something about her being a... bonded female ?” She swallows, her next words heavy with trepidation. “What does that mean, exactly?”

My ears perk up at the name Kazumi . She must mean the final female, the one with the void-black hair, who watches me with that curious, unreadable expression.

It is surprising I haven’t given the females more explanation, but with their absurd, frightened reactions and the Whore’s Orphan’s pathetic attack, there hasn’t been an opportunity.

But now, I must tread carefully before answering.

Last time, Kazumi fell into a pit of despair, which she’s only now crawled out from.

I must present it in a softer way.

“The old ones speak of a sacred union between male and female—a bond blessed by the Gods.” A bond that will unlock my power, my full potential.

I exhale, choosing my next words carefully.

“This bond can form between Klendathians and humans. Incredibly rare, a gift that cannot be broken or transferred. You four females may be bonded to me—or perhaps only one of you.”

Or none, judging by how things progress.

The thought shames me—a childish, sulky complaint, not fit for the War Chieftain. For I know from Arawnoth’s glorious vision, one of these females is destined to be my bonded mate—but which one?

I study Sandra’s reaction, half-expecting her human fragility to crack under the weight of the implications. But instead, her face brightens with a broad smile.

“I like that! It’s kind of romantic,” she says, a soft laugh escaping her as she rubs her chin thoughtfully. “But... What if they don’t like each other? Or if one of them loves someone else?” Her gaze falls downwards again and I worry she’s on the verge of despair.

Her surprisingly astute questions catch me off guard.

The truth is, I know little of these bonds myself, being as young as I am, thinking it little more than hearsay and fanciful tales the old warriors spoke of.

With our females gone, it seemed irrelevant knowledge regardless—until Ignixis convinced me otherwise.

“I do not know,” I admit. Sandra, though, seems distracted, lost in her thoughts with a grimace.

But I press on, undeterred. “I will complete the Mortakin-Tok with one of you. Our union will be blessed by Arawnoth himself. I will have the power that was promised to me,” I announce—a reminder to myself, a declaration of my molten resolve.

Excitement surges within me. Speaking the words ignites my fiery passion, as if it’s one step closer.

“What about the woman? Does she gain... power?” Sandra interrupts my rising fervor, recovered from whatever stupor she was in.

Her question halts my thoughts. I hadn’t fully considered the female’s gain in this sacred union.

Warriors spoke about how Krogoth’s female’s eyes glowed during the fateful Krak-Tok with my noble father.

Others whispered how she possesses a strange ability to read minds when no word was spoken.

Not the powers of a great warrior—what I hope to gain—but power nonetheless.

“I believe so,” I answer with a solemn nod, only now realizing what extra boon my bonded female will provide me. “My Mortakin-Kis will rule beside me as War Chieftainess, honored and respected as we lead my people to a glorious future.” One of fire and blood.

Yes! I can almost feel it. My great destiny unfurling before me, stoking my blood.

But then Sandra’s delicate voice pours liquid nitrogen, extinguishing my simmering passions. “What about love?”

“Love?” I snap back, glaring down at the tiny female, the one who’s seen too much and asks too many questions. “If such a fanciful concept even exists.”

Love—another thing often spoken about, yet never demonstrated. I’ve never seen it, never felt it. For Klendathians, it is nothing more than a soft myth, a fragile dream. Only the old carry its whispers, sounding like distant memories, fading with each generation.

Sandra flinches, her gaze faltering, unable to meet my molten stare. “What about your parents?” she dares to ask, her voice trembling but persistent. “Didn’t they fall—”

“Enough!” My roar echoes through the narrow corridor, my temper flaring hotter than the core of a dying star. She presumes too much, questioning me endlessly, believing herself my equal. But there is no equal to me. I’m as singular as the molten core that burns beneath the Peaks of Scarn.

The female’s wise enough to heed my command as we continue in silence for a time, my rapid breathing subsiding, my seething blood cooling. We’re drawing close to the cells now. If the female could walk faster, I would hasten our pace.

“Why do you hate me?” Sandra asks suddenly, her voice trembling, yet her gaze challenges, as sharp and bright as blue arcweave.

“You speak nonsense,” I groan, exasperated, wondering what new human female madness she’s conjuring.

“No, I don’t,” Sandra retorts, her tone sharp and insistent.

“You were nice at first until I put these clothes on. Then you changed.” She tugs on her leather tunic for emphasis.

“Well, if this is what makes you hate me, I’ll take the stupid things off!

” She threatens, moving to pull off her clothes.

I move like crimson lightning, stopping her easily. She struggles with what feeble strength she has—like a soft breeze against an erupting volcano. Her actions are annoying, but it’s somewhat amusing to watch her tunic now twisted up over her head, blinding her.

“Stop this foolishness,” I command, as she wiggles like a blind wyrm, trapped by her own stupidity.

“No!” Sandra snaps, her voice muffled beneath the fabric as she wrestles against me. I effortlessly tug down her tunic, covering her exposed stomach. What kind of punishment does she imagine she’s delivering by revealing herself?

A clever human tactic, turning an attacker’s weapon against them?

She still bristles, her blue eyes narrowed, her body shaking. “I’ll keep doing it until you stop hating me!” The stubborn female struggles to remove her clothes again.

I grimace, clutching her arms, holding her close to my body, preventing her from moving.

Sandra’s eyes meet mine, but instead of anger or fear, they sparkle with a peculiar intensity—something foreign that confuses me.

I find myself staring at her lips, watching as her little pink tongue darts out to wet them. The gesture is oddly... alluring.

She’s so soft, so unlike anything I’ve ever encountered, and as her body presses against mine, her meager warmth begins to seep into me. She looks up at me with wide, expectant eyes, as if waiting for something.

What does she want from me? Some token of reassurance, a gesture of trust?

I’d push her away. The female’s bizarre actions unsettle me, filling me with more loathsome uncertainty. But instead, I breathe deeply, forcing myself to try the meek approach. Maybe a demonstration of trust will ease her irrational mind and prevent this human madness from spiraling further.

“I will release you from your cell,” I declare, stepping away from the tiny Sandra, noticing her pale face is flushed with color.

Although I’ll need to keep a close eye on the spitting hydralith Carmen—perhaps have one of the warriors assigned to watch her.

“All of you. Once I’ve arranged your quarters. ”

“Really?” Sandra’s voice trembles with excitement.

Then her face lights up with joy. “Class!” she exclaims, giving me a modicum of relief to see her happiness and that she’s no longer threatening to expose herself.

Seems the humans respond well to a softer approach, though it’s cost me a more secure position.

I beckon for Sandra to follow and she moves with a smiling skip, which amuses me, though I don’t let it show. When we arrive at the female’s cell, the others are watching us—curious, wary. Their eyes linger on Sandra, likely assuming I’ve harmed her.

“Thanks, Dracoth,” Sandra rushes to give me a quick embrace, catching me unawares while I was tampering with my wrist console.

Gasps ripple through the darkened cell.

“See, Princesa. I told you,” Carmen says, a hint of satisfaction in her tone. I dismiss the words as useless noise. Only the Gods and the insane can decipher these females when they converse among themselves.

The bars come crashing down at my command. Sandra steps through, while the others remain in their places, watching like arrohawks. I send the cell bars thudding upwards, sealing them inside—for now.

As I turn to leave, my warrior instincts prick my senses. My skin tingles, and I can feel the weight of a gaze boring into me. Glancing back, I see it’s Carmen. Her dark eyes are narrowed with a look I’m sure I’ve held before.

A promise of violence.