Page 82 of Torn from the Alien Commander

The Klendathians are strength personified.

The heat from the roaring bonfire becomes uncomfortable, sending flames flickering into the air. Xandor halts, turning to me with a deep breath.

“Oh, you’re planning something,” I say, quickly, knowing that expression well.

“Maybe,” Xandor retorts with a smirk, but before I can reply, he awkwardly unclasps the latches on his heavy gray armor. It’s jarring to see him cut down Nebian battlesuits with ease but struggle to undress himself—and it’s my fault. My remorse and love compel me to help, straining to reach around his broad body, unlocking fasteners. “Thanks, Tyrxie,” he says with surprising timidity.

His massive chest plate crashes to the ground, revealing his alluring physique—all lean, hard muscles that seem alive with the dancing, glowing light of the bonfire. The only blemish on his perfect body is his missing arm, cruelly ending in a stump at his shoulder. The numerous lounging Klendathians hoot and whistle at us.

“Giving us a show, Xandor?” one calls out, drawing laughter from everyone.

I feel my pulse rising with nerves, wondering what craziness Xandor has planned.

“Oh, it’s a show alright,” Xandor says, his gaze flicking to the crowd, then back to me with an intensity that hitches my breath. “One for the ages,” he intones like a solemn vow.

My mouth feels dry as Xandor’s golden eye glows. Already in our bond, his love for me roars as strongly as the bonfire beside us.

“It’s time to show them who you really are,” he says with a soft, encouraging smile, warming me to my core. “Who you’ve become.” My heart soars at his bold words as our souls mingle and dance within.

Xandor smiles as his golden eye now swirls with my green. He kneels before me, still taller than I am, taking my hand in his and guiding me to touch his face. The gesture, his unspoken wish. My hands glow green as my heart hammers in my chest. Something feels different with Xandor’s confident knowing, and the healing gifts I control reaching higher than ever before.

Touching his handsome face, I close my eyes, probing his body with a new level of clarity. It’s like repairing a circuit board, the conduits sometimes broken or the nodes damaged or weak. Like before, I sense the missing line that is his arm, and the missing point that represents his poor eye. But there’s nothing to fix—no joins to patch, just an absence.

The emerald power within me surges, almost overflowing, yearning to be used. I fill the voids with a warm, pulsating light. I can feel Xandor shift under my touch. Our souls are so close now they seem almost merged. My essence intertwines with his, and slowly my energy takes form, shaping itself into something new. A warm sensation spreads through my fingers as the power channels into his arm and eye, filling the emptiness with life.

A gasp escapes Xandor’s lips. His muscles twitch, and I can feel the new connections forming. It’s as if the essence of life itself is knitting his body back together. The missing arm begins to take shape, bones forming first, followed by muscles, tendons, and finally skin. His eye regenerates with a burst of golden light, and he blinks, adjusting to the new vision.

The process feels like it lasts an eternity, yet only moments pass. When it’s done, I open my eyes to see Xandor looking at me with both his eyes, his hand flexing and unflexing as he marvels at his restored arm. He looks at me with an intensity that makes my heart swell.

“You did it,” he whispers, his voice filled with wonder. “This is your glorious destiny, Rebecca.”

The crowd’s collective gasp and murmurs of disbelief make it hard to hear him. They exclaim, “Gods!” as they approach, eyes wide with awe at Xandor’s miraculous transformation.

“I’m so glad.” Tears of joy blur my vision as I smile up at him. “I... I felt so guilty that you suffered and were maimed because of me.”

Xandor stands, lifting me effortlessly into his arms. “What I suffered and lost was the greatest trade in the universe. I would pay any price, endure any pain, to keep you with me in this reality.”

I press my forehead against his, feeling the warmth of his skin and the steady beat of his heart. “I love you so voiding much, Xandor.”

“And I you,” he nods, his eyes glowing with a mixture of love and gratitude. “Our love blazes brightly for centuries, banishing all darkness.”

Chapter 27

Epilogue

Tyrxie

Ipinch the bridgeof my nose, a futile gesture to ward off the fatigue that has been building for weeks. I sit in the chieftain’s hall—Krogoth’s hall—an immense space seemingly carved from the trunk of an ancient, colossal tree. This place hums with untold stories. The air carries the faint scent of sweat and ales. Every scuff and scrape on the massive, ancient table hints at a tale. The walls are adorned with strange trophies, each more impressive than the last.

Above me, a massive white beast with a single red eye snarls down, a fearsome guardian that I choose to believe is protecting me. Xandor had a seat erected for me on the raised platform at the end of the hall, just before the Chieftain and Chieftainesschairs. For weeks Klendathians have come from far and wide seeking my help.

Despite my exhaustion and the mild headaches, I refuse to stop. I know this is what I was destined to do: to remove the pain and suffering of others. First, I healed my own internal struggles with Xandor’s help, and now I’ll help others. I will not waste this precious gift, profoundly thankful for whatever strange gods granted me this power. They allowed me to heal my Xandor, to rectify my awful mistake—fulfilling my dearest wish. Now I’ll repay them because it’s the right thing to do.

Footsteps draw my attention. Another Klendathian approaches. His gait is strained, carrying an uneven rhythm with a metallic clang. He’s a weathered soul, with much white in his long orange hair and bushy beard. His garb looks strange compared to the other Klendathians; instead of leathers, he wears thick furs, wrapped tightly around his dusky face. Brutal, long-healed burns mar his features, extending almost to the bone. The injuries have left no muscle or tendon, just thin, twisted stretches of scarred skin.

A chill runs through me as I look at him, compelling me to wrap myself in Xandor’s half-cloak that he left for me. “Hail, Kor-Kis. My name is Crogon.” His voice is deep as he performs the Klendathian salute. They’ve all started calling me that recently—Kor-Kis. If I wasn’t so sleepy, I’d ask what it means. “I’ve traveled the length of Klendathor in just two weeks to stand before your greatness and fabled beauty.”

His words are too much, causing my face to heat with embarrassment. “Greetings, Crogon. Where did you travel from?” I inquire, beckoning him toward me.

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