Page 76 of The Sovereign, Part One (The Sovereign Saga #1)

The air carried a strange silence only disaster knows—too full of sound, yet hollow. My own breathing sounded foreign in my ears. Then came the approaching sound of enforcement.

Regs marched in through the front breach, helmets low, expressions cold as they moved forward in their blackened armor.

Behind them, drones dipped lower, their search beams casting harsh cones of green light across broken bodies.

They scanned with surgical precision, tagging the living, prioritizing triage, and identifying the dead with impersonal efficiency.

A child’s scream cut through the noise. Somewhere to the left, a woman yelled for help. A man in a suit—too calm as he walked amidst the wreckage—repeated a name over and over like a prayer he didn’t believe in anymore.

Maxim stood still beside me, holding me to his side with both arms. His jaw worked, eyes tracking every movement, every moan, every collapsed figure in the debris.

He wasn’t searching for additional threats.

He was calculating the damage. I could see the rage in his eyes.

He blamed himself for not stopping it. For not sensing it sooner.

For not protecting everyone lying broken and bleeding under the rubble.

“How did you know?” I asked, my voice nearly unrecognizable.

“Inference,” he said, his eyes following a drone as it hovered above. “Everything I’ve gathered via conversations with Lev and Joss, the archives. We’ve been on the cusp of war. The man we saw, he was The Ruhat. He may have been Qadim himself.”

“Qadim,” I tested the name on lips. “The man who leads them?”

His expression threatened to crumble, his voice sharpened by disbelief.

“He passed by those children knowing they had seconds left to live. He looked them in the eyes, Isara. And still… he let them burn.” Maxim’s gaze swept the splintered architecture of the Dominion’s atrium, now broken open like a carcass.

The screams, the blood, the smoke—it lived behind his eyes now.

“I’ve scanned the horrors of what humans have done to each other over the centuries.

Wars. Genocide. Torture.” He spoke his next words with revulsion, “But this… this is savagery . A calculated choice to murder innocence in the name of ideology. No cause, no movement, is worth this kind of carnage.”

He exhaled like the realization cracked something deep within him. He looked down on me, and for the first time since he opened his eyes in the Eidolon chamber, Maxim seemed haunted.

I reached out to him, touching the angry parts of his skin. “I know… I know. Right now, we have to focus on what we can control. We can’t go to The Crèche for repair. We’ll have to… Lev. Lev can do it.”

“I’ll heal,” he said, pulling me against his chest.

I shook my head, feeling hot tears force clear paths through the soot on my face. “But you’re hurt.”

“It doesn’t matter. As long as you’re breathing.”

“Maxim, please,” I cried, looking up at him. “For me.”

Despite the chaos around us, the world fell silent, save for the low moan of a wounded building straining to stand.

Through the haze, Sovereign and Hiven dragged one another from the rubble, their shapes ghostlike in the settling dust. Screams rose and fell around us, distant and broken.

Maxim held me, half-burned, his eyes alive with fire—as if the flames had entered him and would never leave.

Maxim sighed. “Calyx, call Lev on a secure line.”

Lev answered, his voice thick with the knowledge that had already been carried up the wire. “Tell me I didn’t just see you and Isara on the feeds.”

“Lev,” I said, leaning toward Maxim. “I’m okay. Maxim needs repair. Can you meet us at your home with Gila and supplies in half an hour?”

“En route now,” he said. “Don’t speak to anyone, just get there.”Bottom of Form

“Calyx,” Maxim said. “Meet us with the transport at the Solum Vitae statue in five minutes.”

“Inbound,” Calyx responded.

“Are you sure you can walk? Let me carry you, it’s on the east end of the gardens,” Maxim said, leaning down.

“Don’t be silly. Your back looks like ground beef… well done.”

He stood upright, then looked down at me, stunned.

He breathed out a single laugh, almost in disbelief.

He reached for my hand then, helping me navigate the broken remains of transports, desks, tech, and slabs of shattered stone, relaxing only when we cleared the aftermath and made it to the Solum Vitae.

The statue loomed over us, rendered in a luminous stone that absorbed light by day and glowed faintly from within at night.

A single, towering monolith cleaved by a narrow, spiraling seam that split it from base to crown, symbolizing the unification of two halves—Sovereign and Supplicant—into one living ideal.

“Thank Chiron, we ran into Constant and hadn’t called on Calyx yet,” I said, watching our transport slowly approach. “We’d be riding the Skith and walking the rest of the way.” I froze, looking at Maxim in horror. “Constant. Do you think she’s…?”

“We’ll know soon enough,” he said, waiting with me on the passenger side while the transport opened. He waited a moment until I was securely inside and then hurried around to slip into his seat, wincing.

“You should minimize your pain receptors,” I said, reaching for his hand with both of mine. Maxim nodded and leaned back, closing his eyes. His shoulders relaxed the moment he disengaged the feedback. Only slightly, as if a weight he hadn’t realized he was carrying had loosened its grip.

For a moment, he just breathed.

I held on to him, as if my touch could anchor him to mercy in a world that had none left. “Better?” I asked.

He gave a ghost of a nod, just once, keeping his eyes closed.

For all his careful planning, for every contingency he’d mapped out, Maxim seemed quieter, less certain.

I saw it in the way his gaze lingered on the darkness beyond the dust, in the subtle clench of his jaw when he thought I wasn’t looking.

Something had shifted. The weight of possibility, of failure, had finally breached the edges of his confidence.

He’d built his world around protecting me, around staying one step ahead of every danger that dared to threaten me.

But now, he seemed to understand that even brilliance has its limits, and no matter how deeply he loved me, some outcomes couldn’t be outwitted.

It didn’t make him weak. If anything, it made him more Sovereign.

I ached for him, even as he turned his face away, as if ashamed to let me see the first fracture in his faith.

“You saved my life, you know,” I said, trying to keep the trembling from my voice.

His eyes opened slowly, turning toward me like it physically pained him.

After a long pause, he spoke. “As I was running, I thought that was the last time I’d be able to hold you.

I wasn’t sure I could outrun the explosion.

I was terrified I’d fail you, that you’d disappear beneath me and I’d still be there, holding nothing.

I can’t describe what I was feeling, the horrific thoughts I had with every meter I crossed but I never want to feel it again.

All I can think of now is how not to, how to keep you safe, what variables I somehow haven’t considered, and admittedly, it’s shaken me to my core. ”

“I’m okay,” I said, offering a small, reassuring grin. “Because of you. You promised to keep me safe, and you did.”

He closed his eyes again and let his head rest against the seat, relief washing over him in waves. He exhaled, allowing himself to rest for the time it took to drive to Lev’s.

The scent of scorched lytheran hung in the small space of the transport, an invisible reminder of what Maxim had done, what he’d shielded me from, and of what so many hadn’t survived.

The further we drove, the more the landscape gave way to open ground, until civilization thinned into manicured estates and winding roads.

Ahead, the Empyrean Crest rose, a wave frozen mid-crash, an unbroken line of pale stone cliffs shrouded in mist. Lev’s estate rested at its base, tucked behind veils of security and land no one accessed without authorization.

The transport slowed as we approached a blackened iron gate that looked more like sculpture than defense.

A single Hiven stood in a recessed guard post, his head turning as we approached.

He scanned the vehicle, then gave a silent nod.

The gate unfurled like petals, smooth and fluid, and our transport glided forward.

Lev’s home wasn’t a home. It was a thesis.

The structure jutted from the base of the cliff like it had been grown there, part organic, part brutalist. Walls of poured concrete met dark stone and obsidian panels in asymmetrical harmony.

Windows were generous but shaded, reflecting the mountain behind it more than revealing the inside.

Gardens lined the perimeter, but they weren’t for leisure.

They were purposeful, even medicinal. Controlled wildness.

We parked beneath a covered port, where the exterior lights burned cobalt. Before I could fully step out, the threshold slid open with a breath.

Gila stood waiting, her gaze sweeping the perimeter in clean, methodical sweeps as if cataloging corners, windows, and sightlines.

“Come,” she said. “The Regs will be out in force soon, stopping anyone they can corner. Count yourselves lucky if they don’t hunt you down with questions about why you were there. ”

I paused at the threshold, unable to move forward without looking back.

Over the rooftops and tree lines, the Core District was still bleeding smoke—thick and black, curling into the evening sky, a wound refusing to close.

It rose in silence now, though in my head I could still hear the flames crackling, the alarms wailing, the screams…

The sound of the world shifted beneath our feet.

Joss had been right. This wasn’t a nightmare. It wasn’t a system glitch or a rogue incident or something Hyperion could quietly erase from the newsfeeds. It was real, horrifically and irreversibly real.

“Isara?” Maxim called to me.

“Coming,” I said, though my gaze lingered, as if staring long enough might force it to make sense, to dissolve into a dream, or summon someone to explain it away. But no comfort, no answers would come.

The world I knew had ended—and I’d witnessed its final breath.