Page 67 of Stars in Nova

Samira led Kisan through the tunnels towards what appeared to be a settlement, a sprawling network of caverns lit by torches and glowing water pools.

The Vaelorii, long, lean, supple in slick suits, began to appear, eyes flicking with curiosity.

They offered her salutes.

‘Commander,’ some murmured.

The Rider arched a brow, surprised at the level of deference she received.

When the locals turned their eyes on him, it was to flick inquisitive looks at his non-native armored suit and strange appearance.

What he noted, though, was the lack of disdain in their regard, just pure curiosity.

His heart lurched. He enjoyed the fact that, from what he could tell, most of the Vaelorii considered him unknown, a stranger without history, guilt, or condemnation.

That shit was so refreshing that he smirked, despite himself.

Samira led him into a shielded cavern.

A garrison, from the looks of it, a pretty well-run one, he surmised.

Samira gestured for him to sit at a rough-hewn table. ‘Welcome to Thalassi,’ she murmured. ‘The subterranean insurgent city below Thalassa.’

Around them, rebels in uniforms moved with purpose. Their eyes flicked over his ink, meta glow, and menace.

He met their gazes with a cool stare of his own.

The garrison’s communication hub, the nerve center, was tucked into a side enclosure.

Luminescent water relays glowed as messages were sent and received. The liquid channels were crafted to transmit ripples of encoded information across the Vaelorian network.

Operators sat at consoles, their gel gloves and fingers flying over touchscreens as they coordinated with what appeared to be other units across the planet.

The buzz of machinery blended with the soft murmur of voices, creating a tense but focused atmosphere.

A sizable holo-display projected incoming reports, its sharp light illuminating the workers’ unwavering faces.

A young warrior placed a steaming cup ofkahawabefore him, its earthy aroma filling the air. A selection of nuts and fruits also appeared on a platter.

‘You’re feeding me now?’ Kisan rasped, his tone dry.

‘A small concession,’ Samira said, sitting across from him.

He dragged his eyes back to her and sucked his teeth.

Fokk, how did every glance and each word from her feel like salt in a wound that refused to close?

Still, the pull of her was relentless. His anger fought to drown out the ache of longing, but it was a losing battle.

‘Fascinating,’ Kisan said, eyes narrowed on the beguiling woman before him. ‘So, talk to me. I might help when I know the whole story.’

Samira leaned back, her silver and gold eyes thoughtful as she regarded him. ‘Fine,’ she said finally.

‘I lead the clans of Thalassa, one of the three last free continents of Orilia XIV. When the conflict began, my husband, Ryen, was a general in our forces. I was a part-time supply grunt, assisting in logistics and training. But when Ryen died in the early days of the battle protecting our people, I had to step up. There was no one else.’

His heart constricted at the mention that she’d once been married. To a war hero, no less.

He mused about the fact; his bitterness against her waning somewhat was unexpected, and compassion rose instead.

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