Page 1 of Sy

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They would be ready for the first of the human shuttles to arrive.

Just.

From his perch at the top of the half-finished control tower, Sy tracked the movement of workers below. The construction site sprawled across the clearing they’d made in the valley just below the garrison, machinery grinding and whirring as they shaped landing pads that would soon welcome human construction teams. He leaned on the railing, his enhanced vision catching every detail… from the sparks of welding torches and the precise way the beams were being laid out right through to the dance of crews moving materials around the site.

And it was his responsibility to make sure it all happened. He rolled his neck, making his shoulder click. Just a couple of weeks ago, he’d been nothing more than a guard in the fortress on the southern continent, content to look after his younger cousin, follow orders, and protect the new human doctor in her lab.

But then the horde had attacked, his Blood Rage had woken something inside him, and he’d turned feral. Worse, because he could control the madness that infected his blood, he’d somehowbeen bumped up to a leadership role. Others looked to him for orders and direction. The memory of the battle at the southern fortress made his chest tighten. Ferals had proven their worth, forcing a rethinking of the old isolationist ways. He grumbled in the back of his throat, his fingers flexing and his claws sliding partially out. He forced them back with a clench of his fist, the black armor plating across his forearms catching the sunlight and reminding him of what he’d become.

Construction dust swirled on the breeze, carrying the sharp scent of metal and ozone. He lifted his head, his enhanced hearing picking up conversations from below. It was nothing he needed to worry about, just technical discussions mixing with the rhythmic pounding of pile drivers. Someone to his left was having trouble with a power coupling, while a team to his right debated the best placement for guidance beacons on the pads.

“Sy?” a voice called from behind him. “The eastern pad’s foundation is ready for inspection.”

He turned to meet the worker’s gaze. The male didn’t flinch from his red-tinged stare. Thankfully, they were all getting used to his new status as a feral. Loose strands of his hair, pulled free from his usual low ponytail, whipped around his face in the wind.

“I’ll be right there,” he said, his voice rougher than it used to be. The transformation had changed that too, along with so much else.

The battle at the southern fortress played through his mind as he made his way down. The moment the Blood Rage had taken him, the feeling of his body changing, becoming something else entirely. He’d feared losing himself completely as a new voice had awoken in his mind. Somehow, though, he’d kept control and found a balance between the strength of his legion symbiont and his own consciousness.

Until a few weeks ago, ferals had been banished here to the northern continent, considered too dangerous to live among Izaean society… a society formed of Lathar with Blood Rage anger management problems. The horde’s attack had changed all of that.

Now he was feral and overseeing a crucial project, trusted with responsibility rather than cast aside. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

Workers nodded respectfully as he passed, giving him space without showing fear. They knew what he was—it was impossible to hide with the visible changes to his body, even if he’d wanted to—but many of them remembered him from his time in the south, and they trusted him. Maybe because he’d proven himself in battle alongside Banic. Or perhaps it was because he still acted like himself, still thought things through instead of giving in to the Rage.

He turned the last corner on the steel stairs, the eastern landing pad stretching before him in a massive expanse of reinforced concrete and steel. Soon it would welcome shuttles from the ships even now in orbit around the plant, bringing materials and specialists that they desperately needed.

Specialists from Earth, that was, not from the empire or any of her worlds. His expression tightened. Now more than ever, he realized how important secrecy was. The empire couldn’t know about the ferals or the legion. Or they were all doomed—he and his cousin included.

He ran his hand down a support beam, testing its stability as he rattled down the last few steps to the landing pad. The metal was cool against his palm, solid. Like him, it had been transformed, raw materials forged into something new, something stronger.

He lifted his hand as raised voices rang out. Near the edge of the pad, a cluster of Izaean workers were gathered, their bodylanguage tense as they watched two ferals welding support struts into place. The ferals worked efficiently, their enhanced strength making the heavy lifting look effortless, but that only seemed to increase the Izaean group’s unease.

“…shouldn’t be here…” and “…dangerous…” The whispered fragments had him clenching his jaw. He understood their fear—he’d shared it himself once—but they needed every able body to get this project done in time.

One of the ferals looked up, catching the hostile stares. His red eyes narrowed, and his posture altered subtly, ready for the attack. His claws flexed on the steel strut he held in place as his companion welded.

The Izaean workers took a step back, their tools clutched like weapons. Before he could step in, though, a crash rang out from another section of the pad. He whirled to find an Izaean sprawled on the ground, his tools scattered around him and a feral standing over him, black armor gleaming and his hands clenched into fists.

“Watch where you’re going,” the feral snarled, his jaw and voice distorted by Rage.

The Izaean scrambled to his feet, his face flushed with anger. “You pushed me!”

“You were in my way.” The feral took a step forward, and Sy could smell the sharp tang of fear from the gathering crowd.

“This is our territory,” another feral called out. “You don’t belong here!”

More voices joined in, and tension crackled through the air like electricity.Draanth. They were only a few seconds away from it all going to hell. Sy pushed his way through the two groups, getting between the would-be combatants.

“Enough!” He turned to the feral, their gazes clashing as he glared into the other feral’s red-eyed gaze. “Return to your station.”

He looked over at the Izaean worker and ordered, “Pick up your tools and get back to work.”

Neither moved immediately, still glaring at each other. Sy let his claws extend slightly—not a threat but a reminder of his authority as he loosed some of his legion strength into his voice.

“We have deadlines to meet. The humans will be here soon, and this pad needs to be ready.” He swept his gaze across the gathered crowd. “All of us are needed for this project to succeed. All of us. Izaean and feral alike.”

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