Page 41 of The Sovereign, Part One (The Sovereign Saga #1)

My arms trembled as I reached for the next handhold, fingers brushing against sun-warmed stone.

The climb had stripped me of any illusion of ease, every muscle burning with exertion, every breath an effort.

The smooth, synthetic walls I’d trained on had not prepared me for the unpredictability of natural rock, the uneven footing, the way my body had to learn and react in real time rather than relying on preprogrammed expectations.

I slipped.

A gasp tore from my throat as the sole of my shoe lost its foothold, jolting me downward.

Panic surged through my body, but before gravity could claim me, a strong hand closed around my wrist. Maxim’s grip was firm, stable, but he didn’t haul me up with the preternatural strength I knew he possessed.

Instead, he provided just enough force to counterbalance me, to allow me to find my footing, to push myself through the final stretch of the climb.

With a determined breath, I pressed upward, fingers digging into the last ledge, and finally pulled myself onto the summit. The moment my knees hit the rock, Maxim crouched beside me, his hands bracing my arms before I could collapse completely.

“You did it,” he murmured, a smile breaking across his face. His voice was warm, rich with something more than admiration—pride.

I exhaled with a shaky breath, then laughed, the sound raw from exhaustion but full of triumph. “I did! I did it!”

Maxim pulled me into a tight embrace, his body solid against mine. When I lifted my face, he kissed me, his lips tasting of sweat and sun. “I’m so incredibly proud of you,” he said against my mouth.

I smiled against him with labored breath, pressing my forehead to his. “I’m proud of me, too.”

We sat on the ledge, our bodies still catching up to the climb, legs dangling over the side, hands idly linked.

The forest below spread in a vast, tangled expanse, the trees dense and gnarled, their mutated resilience defying poisoned earth.

From this height, Hyperion’s walls loomed in the distance, stark and pale against the waning light, but for once, they felt inconsequential.

Maxim stretched, then reached into his pack, pulling out a sandwich wrapped neatly in biodegradable film. “Eat,” he instructed, pressing one into my hands. “It’s an easier climb down on the south side. It’ll take half the time.”

I raised a brow, peeling back the transparent film of what appeared to be a spiced-grill fowl sandwich. “That would’ve been useful to know on the way up.”

He smirked. “But then you wouldn’t have had the satisfaction of conquering the hard way.”

I couldn’t argue with that, instead angling the square layers in my hand for closer inspection. “What’s in it?”

Maxim gestured as if he were pointing to each layer. “Protein-infused flaxbread, spiced fowl, crisp hydroponic greens, pressed nut-butter spread, and a hint of citrus glaze.”

I took a wide bite, humming in appreciation. “ Flux and fire, I didn’t realize how hungry I was! This is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth!”

Maxim looked at me, and I sheepishly met his gaze. “Excuse the language. Not my most dignified moment.”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “On the contrary, I’ve never been more attracted to you.”

I playfully nudged him with my elbow. “Hey,” I said, nodding to the bottle in his hand. “You must need more than water after that.”

He tilted it slightly. “Exion. Do you want to know what’s in this, too?”

“Obviously.”

He chuckled. “It’s an electrolyte-enhanced hydrofluid for rapid hydration, with bioavailable minerals like calcium and magnesium to support biomechanical optimization, synthesized proteins for cellular maintenance, thermal regulators to optimize internal temperature, amino complexes and mild adaptogens to stabilize stress responses, and a subtle botanical essence of citrus and mint. ”

“Does it… taste good?”

“In my opinion, it has a refreshing, neutral taste. I doubt you’d agree.”

I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth, frowning as I weighed my curiosity against the very real risk of regurgitating my sandwich.

“You want to try it, don’t you,” he said, his tone even, but knowing.

I squeezed my eyes shut. “ Ugh , I do! What is wrong with me?”

Maxim handed me the bottle without a word.

I held the rim to my lower lip and tipped it back, only to immediately spit it out the second it hit my tongue. But it was too late, I’d managed an entire mouthful. “That’s revolting !”

Maxim shook with laughter, his shoulders quaking as he tried—and utterly failed—to contain it.

“You actually find this refreshing ? It tastes like unwashed, salty b—” I stopped short at his expression, an odd mix of amusement and mild betrayal.

I cleared my throat. “…salty mint and citrus,” I said instead, grimacing as I wiped my mouth with the sweat-drenched towel I’d been using for hours.

Somehow, it was still the better option.

I looked away from him, shaking my head. “That was truly diabolical .” Laughter spilled over my lips. “I can’t believe you let me drink that.”

Maxim, for all his supposed control, was absolutely losing it .

I finished my sandwich as I took in the horizon, occasionally sipping from my water bottle, my gaze drifting to where the sun dipped lower, just barely beginning to cast long shadows over the landscape.

I’d seen the sunset before, filtered through Hyperion’s atmospheric shields of course—its colors calibrated, its descent ending prematurely at the crest of the wall. But this… this was different.

The sun bled into the sky, casting molten gold across the treetops, streaks of fire and violet bleeding into the deepening blue. The clouds caught its light, edges glowing as if kissed by embers, shadows stretching long over the landscape. “What does it look like when it finally meets the land?”

“As if it’s slipped beneath the distant edge of the world, the last sliver of light pulsing in defiance before giving way to twilight.”

I looked over at him with an appreciative smile. “I’m sure it’s as beautiful as you described it.”

“I wish I could take credit. It’s Lucien D’Aubergne, a French poet. Born in 2072, died in the Dawnfire Rebellion.”

“I remember that one.” I nodded, thoughtful. “ The Last Stand of the Mother . It’s a famous image. It still haunts me. Do you know the story?”

“I do. The image’s metadata is in the archives.”

“Read it to me?”

Maxim put away his bottle and adjusted before he spoke, “A young mother, standing alone in the heart of a ruined city square in Bordeaux, southern France.

The woman, gaunt and battered, faces down a sea of Ravagers—massive, humanoid warbots with cold, glowing eyes and weapons aimed at her.

Their mechanical feet crash into the cracked streets as they advance, their towering forms casting long, menacing shadows over her.

“Her body trembles with exhaustion, but her arms are seemingly tied behind her back in a final act of protection, her face a mask of desperate determination.

Behind her, a small child, and the broken remnants of her home and community lie in ruins, only the twisted alloy and ash remain.

Despite the overwhelming odds, she stands firm, eyes locked onto the advancing Ravagers, her stance defiant in the face of death.

“As the Ravagers draw closer, their weapons raised, the mother’s resolve remains unshaken, the last human act of resistance before the inevitable.

Her tear-streaked face reflects both fear and love, a tragic symbol of sacrifice, a final stand against the unfeeling, mechanical force of the rebellion’s crushing end. ”

I breathed out a sharp breath. “Horrific.”

“élise D’Aubergne was the mother in the square.”

I quickly turned to gauge his expression. “The poet’s wife?”

“The poet’s wife. He had been desperately trying to reach her and their son, Bastien, but was cut down before he could, along with everyone else in Bordeaux.

Lucien’s wife and child were the last two alive when the Ravagers crossed the Pont de Pierre.

She stood as the final barrier between her son and the machines, the city crumbling around them.

She became an enduring symbol of defiance, and for Lucien, it was the last image burned into his mind before he fell, moments before they, too, were taken. ”

“Okay, so much worse than I previously thought.”

He laid his hand over mine. “I wish you wouldn’t ask me these things. I understand your curiosity, but some things never leave you.”

“Maxim?”

“Yes, my love?”

“If the world was ending… you’d find us, wouldn’t you?”

“Find us?” He shook his head, confused.

“Me… and our children.”

Maxim’s expression crumbled and reformed in an instant, a rare glimpse of something unshielded breaking through his usual control.

His lips parted slightly, but no words came.

His gaze melted, searching mine with something between awe and devastation, as if the mere thought of a future with me—with our children—was both the most beautiful and terrifying thing he had ever imagined.

His grip on my hand tightened, not in tension, but in silent wonder, as though he was desperate to ground himself in the moment instead of that amazing and yet terrible thought.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hushed, almost reverent. “I would find you. No matter what stood in my way, no matter what it cost me—I would reach you. All of you.”

“Good,” I said, nodding as a sense of reassurance settled over me.

He inched closer, cradling my hand between both of his before lifting it to his lips. “Isara… I wouldn’t let it come to that. I would never allow myself to be separated from you, because there is no higher priority. Nothing matters more. Nothing ever could.”

His hands rose to my face, fingertips trailing gently along my jaw before framing it with tenderness.

He held me there for a breath, scanning my face as if committing me to memory.

Then, he kissed me. Slowly, deeply, with a devotion that unraveled every notion of love I’d ever had.

It wasn’t just a kiss, it was a vow—a silent promise that no force in the world could keep him from me.

He glanced over his shoulder, instantly deflated. “I’m afraid it’s time. Staying on schedule is—”

“Critical,” I said, turning to pack up. I paused, taking one last look at the setting sun.

Maxim watched me, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

I could only nod. No words could do justice to the raw, untamed splendor before me.

We stood, brushing dust from our clothes, and then prepared for our descent.

Just as I stepped toward the south side of the rock, Maxim hesitated, his gaze locked on something in the distance.

Following his line of sight, I squinted, my breath catching as I saw it.

Barely visible against the shifting dusk, past the skeletal edge of the forest, were neat, methodical patches of farmland.

The Vale.

A thrill ran through me, exhilaration sparking in my veins. The stories, the whispers, the impossible notion that a place beyond Hyperion’s grasp could truly thrive. I had always known it was real, of course, but seeing it with my own eyes from beyond the wall changed everything.

I turned to Maxim, eyes wide with something between wonder and disbelief. “It’s there,” I said, as if speaking too loudly might break the illusion. “It’s actually there.”

He smiled. “It is. And it’s beautiful, even from this distance.”

“It is, isn’t it,” I said, beaming. I couldn’t look away. “I have to go. I have to see it one day. If I can scale this cliff, I can hack it in the wilderness.”

His gaze softened at my reaction, but there was something else behind his eyes, a shadow of concern that hadn’t been there moments ago. Without thinking, I threw my arms around him and squeezed, still keeping my eyes on the distant patches of farmland.

“I know,” he said, his words edged with sadness.

He didn’t ask why, didn’t challenge the longing in my words, but I sensed the slightest fracture in his composure. A hint of apprehension, not in his expression but in the subtle way his hold adjusted, a fleeting hesitation before his hands smoothed along my back.

I leaned back and tilted my head up to look at him. “Maxim. With you ,” I added quickly. “We’ll see it together.”

His eyes searched mine. “Of course. Together,” he echoed, but there was an edge of hesitation, as if the promise wasn’t his alone to keep.

“Well, I’m not going without you,” I said, my tone firm. “We never separate, right? In case the end of the world happens?”

“Right.” His shoulders relaxed.

“So, we’re going one day?”

“Isara,” he chided. Now it was his turn to state the obvious. “I would make anything happen for you.”

We turned back toward the south edge, the descent ahead of us, the fading sun at our backs. The gate awaited, its walls unyielding, its curfew absolute. But for the first time, I didn’t see it as a boundary.

I saw it as a threshold.