Page 59 of Torn from the Alien Commander

“No weapons. Very good,” the female Nebian declares as her eyes dart to her simmering blue holographic projection, adding an entry.Now’s my chance!With a sly, quick hand, I hide my knife in Xandor’s pocket—a trick I learned from Mod.

Xandor smirks knowingly, but is shrewd enough to make no obvious movements—he misses nothing. “What about you lass, are you carrying any weapons on your personage?” The female Nebian glances oblivious, observing my innocent demeanor.

“Me? Oh, no,” I reply, throwing up submissive hands with a feigned look of distaste.

“Please submit to a scan,” the female Nebian intones, as I nod in acquiescence. The orbed drone bathes me in green light as I hold out my hands, trying to keep my eyes open. “Also, no weapons. Very good.” She lets out a deep sigh. “That’s everything in order. Please proceed. I believe the Consulate is already assembled.”

Xandor scoffs, turning with a dramatic flourish. “Assembled waiting for nameless attendees, apparently,” he mutters, his tone dripping with disdain. He offers me his arm, and I take it, feeling the reassuring strength beneath his casual demeanor.

“Klendathians...” the female Nebian tuts under her breath.

A pang of sympathy prompts me to offer. “Farewell, thanks for the help.” But she only waves a dismissive hand.

I retrieve my knife from Xandor with a quick hand, slipping it up my sleeve as we walk down the grand hallway, the marble floors echoing our footsteps. My mind races, knowing we’re about to face the Nebian Consulate. The grandeur of the building, with its high ceilings and intricate mosaics, does little to ease my nerves.

As we approach the towering doors of the Consulate chamber, Xandor leans down slightly, his voice heated. “Tyrxie, open this sleeve up, if you’d be so kind.” His sharp claws rend the dangling left arm of his leather shirt to pieces. “Every time they gaze upon my stump will remind them of the dishonor of their actions. Let them wallow in it!”

Despite the worry gnawing at me, I comply, reaching up to tear off the material, exposing his heart-wrenching wound.“Xandor...” I start, struggling to find the words but determined to pull my love away from his dark path. “Your anger... it worries me. I read about the Nebians. They are stubborn people with a strict social order. They won’t respond well to hostility.”

Xandor’s gaze seems far-off as his hand trembles in a clenched fist. “Yet they unleash hostility at the first opportunity. Don’t forget what they took from you—what they took from us.”

“I know it’s hard. Void, it’s hard for me too. I wish things had turned out differently. But this is a real chance for peace. It just takes one side to stop the cycle of violence. Be the Warrior of Peace,” I urge.

Xandor remains silent, his gaze still glazed over; his fangs poking out beneath a twisted lip. “I give you my word—”

“No!” I snap, interrupting him, overcome with a suppressed anguish that erupts to the surface. I didn’t know I possessed. “Don’t do that! Don’t give me your word, then do the opposite. That’s what liars do, and I know you’re better than that.”

I thump his broad chest, burying my head against him, filled with despair. Desperate to make him see, fearing I’m on the verge of losing him. “Tyrxie I—”

“Before in the audience chamber, you promised not to let your rage get the better of you... People got hurt, Xandor, and I know you could’ve ended it sooner, but you let hatred and vengeance take over,” I plead, my eyes glistening against his warmth.

“So what?” Xandor sneers, bristling against me, his barely restrained hatred now oozing to the surface. “Void the Nebians. They deserved it! And that loathsome Prefect got off too lightly. I only wish I could’ve made him suffer more, to bestow the same gift of weakness that infects me!”

His intensity scares me, filling me with dread as I fight back tears. But I’ll fight for him if it takes a hundred years—a thousand years, because we’ve joined souls. I know the goodness that lies within, shrouded in a darkness that doesn’t belong.

“Void, Xandor you’re anything but weak. You’re strong like a hero from a story,” I mutter, chancing a look into his hard, golden eye.

“Hero?” Xandor spits the word. “My beautiful, naïve Tyrxie. There are no heroes in this life—only the strong... and the dead.”

His words strike like a brutal gut punch. “No...” I sob, shaking my head. Yet his face is as hard and unyielding as I’ve ever seen, twisting his handsome features. “That’s not true.”

“Gods, you’d not say such silly things if you’d witnessed my shame. How I screamed, how I wailed. They broke me, Tyrxie. Leaving me shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, pieces that can never truly be mended.” He takes a deep breath. “That’s your hero, just a broken cripple shrouded in empty bravado. That’s who I am.” His voice wavers towards the end, filled with raw emotion, as he averts his gaze.

His vulnerability shocks me, having never seen this side of him before. It breaks my heart, and a shameful part of me recoils as the heroic version of Xandor in my mind begins to crumble. “I... I don’t understand. What about the bright futures you promised? Was that all a lie, too?” I sniff back tears, searching his downcast face.

“It’s one thing knowing the correct paths,” Xandor gives a sardonic laugh. “It’s another having the strength to follow them. Seems I’m just a male, after all.”

My future, which once seemed so bright and certain, now looms dark and ominous. It’s as if I’m seeing the real Xandor for the first time—a person just like any other, capable of fear, doubt, consumed by hatred.

Memories stream through my mind: Xandor striding bravely against the horrible Mutalisk, saving me from the Tuskarian, giving me the strength to face Kaanus, defending me against the Scythian drones, sacrificing his arm to save my life, enduringgruesome torture, defeating the Prefect, and his encouraging words drawing out my inner strength.

Behind his heart-wrenching, wavering expression, I see the goodness in him. I can feel it deep in our bond. It infuses my essence, bathing me in his glorious warmth, soaring my heart. Xandor’s wrong, and I was wrong. I regret doubting him even for a second, because he is a hero—my hero—and he always will be.

Now, it’s my turn to remind him of his inner strength, because we’re like a family, and I love him. I smile at Xandor, my heart filled with new understanding, reaching to cup his face in my hands. “Xandor, look at me,” I say, directing his gaze toward mine. “You are more than your pain, more than your anger. You are strong because you’ve endured, and you’ve survived. That is where your true strength lies.”

He looks at me, his glowing eye filled with a mixture of anguish and confusion. “But how can I be strong after being broken?”

“Being strong doesn’t mean never breaking,” I reply, my voice soft but firm. “I’ll help you pick up the pieces.” I take his enormous hand in mine. “Even if there are a thousand, a million—one for every star in the cosmos—I’ll gather them, if it means bringing you back to me.”

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