Page 8

The Velkratos

The encrypted connection stabilized, illuminating the chamber of the Velkratos Order. The four Pillars stood as expected, positioned in their usual arrangement, their expressions measured, deliberate.

Sinrik exhaled slowly, waiting. They never reached out without reason. Their meetings were not routine. They were rare, scheduled exchanges of information. If they required something from him, it was typically requested in advance. This was unannounced.

And more than that, one detail stood out immediately— Colton was present. The apprentices were rarely present for these discussions. They studied, they observed, but they were not included in active strategic exchanges. If Colton was standing beside Volkan, it meant something had already been in motion before Sinrik was brought in. Something they had deliberated without him. That alone made his pulse tick a fraction tighter.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping once against the armrest. “Unexpected.”

Nexus inclined his head slightly. “So is the data we’ve compiled.”

Noctis spoke next, his voice carrying an edge. “We need your insight.”

Sinrik’s gaze sharpened. That was new. They took his observations into account, yes. But needed ? No.

He gave a slow, expectant nod. “Here I am.”

Oblivion was the one to continue, stepping forward with the deliberate grace of a man who had already weighed every possible meaning behind what he was about to say. “We have identified an anomaly,” he began. “A pattern distinct from the natural casualties of the collapse. Unusual enough that it has surpassed standard classification and been flagged for further investigation.”

Sinrik blinked with raised brows, waiting.

Volkan stepped forward now. “As you know, we quantify death in every event of chaos. It is necessary for understanding the mechanics of destruction,” he elaborated for the sake of hearing himself since everybody knew this. He gestured toward the projected interface behind him, an ever-shifting array of data, numbers, and geographic coordinates. “Standard fatalities align with predictable models—starvation, exposure, conflict. But then there’s this .”

A flick of his wrist condensed the data, isolating a new sequence of statistics.

“Colton,” Volkan called.

The cocky American strolled into view. “As you can see, we have impossible readouts outside of no life detected. We move on to no signs of trauma then get to the problematic stuff. No signs of organ failure. Followed by biological processes at zero functionality— and yet— no decomposition. The drone reported three errors. Cause of death unknown, biological decay not detected, and entity does not match standard corpse profile. It’s as if they’re missing but there.”

“What do you mean?” Sinrik wondered.

“Show him the images,” Volkan muttered.

A second later, an image of a middle-aged man sitting in an alley next to a brick wall filled the screen. Sinrik tensed and leaned closer, his gaze instantly drawn to his eyes. Or lack of them. The lids were half open as if he’d died with his gaze on something, only there was nothing under the eyelids. His stomach tightened as he leaned closer. “Zoom in to his eyes,” Sinrik muttered.

As if reading his mind, Colton zoomed into the eyes and Sinrik tensed. “What the fuck is that?” he muttered in perplexed disgust.

Volkan pointed to whatever was twitching where his eyes once were. “Extraocular muscles that control eye movement.”

Sinrik couldn’t keep from pointing out the obvious. “But there are no eyes.”

“Exactly,” Colton said. “They’re adjusting as if his eyes are still there. And this—” he zoomed in on a thin, pulsing strand “—is his optic nerve stump. It’s still sending signals. Still processing light.”

Sinrik stared at the highlighted tissue. “That’s not possible.”

Volkan said, “Precisely.”

Colton held a remote at the images and they disappeared. “Judging by the seizure speeds of his twitching muscles,” he went on, “he seems to still be in a frantic search for something. His body doesn’t seem to know his eyes are missing. Or maybe he’s searching for his eyes,” he finished, sounding like he was tired of obsessing over the oxymoron.

Sinrik couldn’t stop staring at the repulsion. “How many did you find like this?”

“Only one, so far,” Colton said.

Silence settled as his mind processed the impossible data again at a relentless pace attempting to restructure the problem. Phantom limb syndrome. The brain refusing to acknowledge a loss. But that required a connection—feedback from the missing limb. There were no eyes left to send anything back. Misfiring nerves? Spontaneous contractions? Except this wasn’t random, it was rhythmic. A brainstem malfunction?

He released a slow breath, shaking his head as he flexed his fingers against the table. This was wrong on many levels. What the hell did this?

“You and your army are on the ground,” Nexus said. “If something unnatural is moving beneath the surface, we need confirmation from firsthand observation.”

“And as usual, report any anomalies,” Oblivion murmured.

Anomalies. He had a couple. Like those three individuals on his soldier’s body cam he’d just watched doing things no human could possibly do. Had to be similar robotics to his Riftborn. Which meant somebody else shared equal footing with him, something he couldn’t have.

It was something Beth could answer once he found a way to ask without disturbing the rest of the story attached—namely the person who literally ate shrapnel from an RPG hit. “I’ll look into it,” he said. “Send the coordinates to my operations relay. I’ll dispatch my Riftborn to bring the body in for a full medical evaluation.”

A flicker of something passed between the Pillars—approval? Concern? It was difficult to tell with them. Volkan inclined his head slightly. “We will continue monitoring for further anomalies. If more emerge, we will update you.”

Oblivion spoke then, voice patient as ever. “If these deaths are being orchestrated by a force working against you, then you must ask yourself—who has the power to do so at such a scale, and why have they waited until now?”

Sinrik said nothing. Because the timing was wrong . This should have started immediately after his collapse of the U.S., not now , when everything was beginning to settle into its natural fallen order.

The question remained: What had changed?

He nodded once, a silent dismissal. The screen darkened as the transmission ended and the weight of the conversation lingered in the dim glow of his office.

Time to make some calls.

****

The corridor leading back to his quarters was quiet, save for the hum of Ever-Fallen’s automated systems running in the background. The Riftborn stationed along the halls barely acknowledged his presence as he moved past them.

The discussion with the Velkratos Order lingered in his mind along with the other anomaly. Beth. The moment the thought of her surfaced, something within him tightened. She was big trouble. And she wasn’t just any anomaly, she was his anomaly.

He had known it from the moment he touched her, from the moment her gift wrapped itself around him like invisible chains, making him react in ways he couldn’t justify. Making him move. The trouble was how interested he was in exploring it along with the irrational urge to never be free of it.

Now, with the looming presence of an unknown force at work, it was impossible to ignore the timing. Was she connected to it? Or was she something entirely different?

He quickened his pace, ready to find that out.

****

Sinrik stepped inside, his mind still turning over the Velkratos Order’s findings. Something was hiding inside chaos. A method within madness. A signature.

His thoughts barely had time to settle before he saw her, curled in one of the chairs near the bed, reading. He paused at seeing the Ever-Fallen handbook open in her lap. The dim light of the lamp sharpened the lines of her face, making the tension in her expression stark.

She didn’t notice him at first, too absorbed in whatever part of his doctrine had demanded her attention. His eyes tracked the subtle movements—her fingers pressing against the paper, the occasional crease in her brow.

Something about it unsettled him. She was studying him. Not in the way a woman studies a man. Or in the way a prisoner studies her captor. She was examining his mind, his philosophy. And for the first time in a long time, Sinrik found himself wondering what she saw.

He shut the door and her head lifted.

Their gazes met and that pull between them tightened.

A flicker of something. A shift beneath the surface. A near imperceptible force pushing and pulling. A tug-of-war.

Sinrik stepped forward, keeping his voice low. “Still awake.”

Her fingers tensed on the booklet, posture shifting slightly. “I couldn’t sleep.”

His gaze flicked down at the manual. “And?”

Beth hesitated, then pressed her palm over the cover, as if weighing her words. “It’s… not what I expected.”

Sinrik watched her carefully. “No?”

She exhaled, glancing at the text again. “I thought it would be more… crazy.”

A smirk edged at the corner of his mouth. “And yet?”

She turned a page, her fingers tracing over the rules outlined there. “It’s strict. Not just in the laws themselves but in the expectations of people.”

He made his way to the kitchen. “Chaos doesn’t have to be anarchy.”

He glanced at her from the fridge, finding her brows knitted together, face aimed at him. “You destroyed everything. The government. The economy. The infrastructure. How is that not anarchy?”

Sinrik regarded the contents of the fridge and pulled out an orange juice. “I merely unshackled it.” He strode to the couch and sat, eyeing her.

“Unshackled it how?”

He downed half the bottle then replaced the cap on it, twisting once. “It was not our world, it was a rigged system built to serve a corrupt few. It had to fall.” He kept his voice even. “I brought equilibrium.”

She stared at him, searching his face. “And now you’re bringing, what? A better way?”

Sinrik exhaled slowly, propping his ankle on his knee. “I’m bringing the only way. Then I’m guarding it.” Her focus sharpened on him. “I don’t pretend that what rises from the ashes will be perfect,” he said. “But I’ll be damned if I let it become the same disease I burned out of existence.”

Beth’s grip tightened on the handbook, and she regarded the page before her again. “Maybe the world was corrupt. And… maybe it even deserved to fall.” The coming but impregnated the air. Her curiosity burned on him. “What if this leads to something worse?”

A slow, quiet exhale left him. “Because I recognize the difference between necessary destruction and reckless ruin.” Sinrik studied her. “What are you afraid of, Beth?”

She considered that a long moment. “I guess that you’re wrong?”

Silence stretched between them, tight and heavy.

“And what if I’m not?”

Beth opened her mouth, but no answer came.

Sinrik let the silence settle before shifting gears.

“I need to leave,” he said smoothly. “I want you to come with me.”

Beth blinked. “What?”

“I’m meeting with the Velkratos Order,” he explained. “They monitor chaos in all its forms, tracking its patterns. And something is shifting.”

Beth frowned slightly. “The Velkratos Order?”

Sinrik nodded. “They are the closest thing this world has to seers of chaos. They observe its cycles, study its movements, and forecast its evolution. And right now, they are seeing something unprecedented.”

Beth straightened slightly. “And you trust them?”

Sinrik eyed her. “Trust? No. But I listen. They do not interfere, they do not manipulate. They observe. And when something alarms them, I pay attention.”

Beth considered this.

“So you’re going there to get answers?”

“I’m going there to understand the shape of what’s coming,” he corrected. His gaze settled on her. “And I want you to come.”

Beth hesitated. “Why?”

Sinrik studied her for a long moment. “Because maybe your gift holds answers they do not have.”

Beth frowned. “So… you want to use me as proof?”

Sinrik’s lips barely curved. “I want you to speak for yourself.”

Beth exhaled, the sound soft but charged. She lowered her gaze to the manual, fingers ghosting over the pages. “Maybe that’s why I’m here. To meet them?”

“Maybe,” he allowed, while not believing it.

“I don’t have anything to… travel in.”

“We’ll need to get you proper clothing for a visit there.”

She looked at him, curious.

“It’s the Gobi desert. And brutally cold at this time of year. You’ll need a lot more layers than you came with.”

“How cold?”

His gaze rose to hers, searching for signs of how she felt about the idea of leaving with him. “Have you ever been there?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“It’s below freezing in the day with extreme negative temperatures at night.” He regarded her belly. “We have storehouses. I’ll send Morgue to get the necessary clothes for the trip. Maternity,” he added.

Seeing uncertainty, he pulled his phone out and dialed Morgue, giving him the order before she protested, then remembered his other plan when he hung up. “I’ll need a number I can reach your husband on. To let him know you’re okay.”

Her entire face lit up. “If these men we’re going to see are why I’m here, then… I can go back home after?”

He shrugged indifferently. “You’re not my prisoner.”

Her face slowly fell.

“What’s wrong?”

“I had phone numbers on speed dial. For efficiency.”

“It’s fine,” he said softly, her defeated tone meandering its way through his bloodstream. “I’ll instruct them to search for another way to reach them.” He eyed her nervous hands twisting in her lap. “And if that doesn’t work, I will bring you to him myself after we return from Gobi.”

He stood when she gasped, “Really?” her joy hitting his system like a drug. One he loved and hated in the same breath.

“Unless you prefer to stay with me,” he joked, making his way to the bar for one more drink, her musical laughter dancing in his blood.

“Not that I don’t love your company, Mr. Mayhem, but I know I’m terribly missed.”

“My name is Sinrik.”

“Oh,” she said, with light curiosity. “Very interesting name.”

“My friends call me Sin.” She shot out a laugh as he poured his drink.

“How about Rick?”

He shook his head. “The people I kill call me that.”

Another laugh. “I’ll call you Sinrik if that’s okay.”

It was very okay. “That works.” He downed the shot and saluted her with the empty glass. “Hopefully before I deliver you to your highly missed life, I’ll learn why you felt the need to wreck into mine.” More like wreck his fucking life. “You’ll sleep in here,” he muttered, setting the glass in the sink.

“What?” she protested. “That couch is perfectly fine.”

He shook his head. “You forget about your little disease, Miss Swamp ,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.

“My disease,” she muttered with a clueless look.

“I’m infected,” he said, realizing the two shots had loosened more than his guts. “Wouldn’t want to do something a husband would likely kill me for.” Because he damn sure would. If said husband wasn’t already dead.

“Excuse me while I grab a shower.”

Fuck. He’d just wished a man dead.