Page 154 of Scorching the Alien Empire
“No,” I correct, my lips curving into a smirk. “It’s perfect. Poetic, even. Arawnoth teaches that we are reborn in strength, that the cycle burns eternal.” The scorched blessing along my chest and neck flares to life, glowing like smoldering embers. “Then let the fallen infuse us with their strength. One by one, until only the most powerful remain. The ones most worthy of Arawnoth’s blessing. Back to the source—back to his divine image.”
A laugh escapes me, rich and full of joy.
It is a wonderful idea. Elder Ignixis would have loved it.
“Any space-knights that fall in battle are to be cremated immediately,” I announce, my voice ringing with authority. “And their ashes brought to me. Understood?”
Razgor hesitates, the hamster wheels turning in his head. “Well... that’s not exactly my area of—”
“Understood?!” I cut him off, glaring mercury daggers up at him.
His throat bobs as he quickly backtracks. “Yes... yes, Divine Daughter.” His voice wavers, submission curling through it like the steam off a freshly brewed mocha on a crisp winter morning. “I’ll see to it that your request is passed among the warriors.” His fingers dance over his glowing blue terminal, and I hope for his sake that he’s logging my orders and not doodling boobs or some other nerd nonsense. You can never be too sure with these types.
“Thank you, Razgor,” I purr, letting my voice drip with syrupy sweetness. “That’s such a big help.” I flash him my best smile—a little sexy carrot as a reward instead of the stick.
Razgor flicks a sheepish grin, a nervous chuckle bubbling up. Part fear, part shy schoolboy. Cute. But I’m already over it. Ready to solve the next issue.
Turning away, I clap my hands together and fix my attention on Sandra, eager to shift gears.
“So, how’s the fashionista project coming along?” I lean forward, peering over her shoulder at the shimmering blue holographic display.
Sandra wrinkles her nose, lips pursing like two plump worms caught in deep contemplation. “Not great, to be honest.” She swipes through the rotating outfits, cycling through preset designs. “There’s nothing in the archives that reallyworks.” Her gaze flicks toward the Revered Mothers resting in their medical beds.
“What do you mean?” I ask, incredulous. “The robes you made for me are perfect.” To prove my point, I swish dramatically from side to side, letting the black and gold-embedded fabric catch the purple and blue light as it flutters around me.
Perfect is a tiny exaggeration—I wanted a lower neckline, more intricate gold detailing, something grand. But Sandra is fragile, like a ginger flower caught in a storm. She needs gentle handling.
She smiles as I strike a series of ridiculous poses, pouting my lips and flicking my wrists like a diva on the runway. You know, just being my fabulous self.
“Yeah, yeah,” she laughs, shaking her head. “Yours was easy. Well... except for the gold detailing. That was arealpain in the ass.”
“Iamthe Divine Daughter, the War Chieftainess. I can’t just waltz around ingnome clotheslike the rest of you,” I say breezily, shrugging. The motion disturbs poor Todd, who clacks in sleepy irritation from where he’s nestled into my cloak.
Sandra levels me with a foxlike glare. “Oh yeah? Maybe I should add a hot air balloon to the presets—for that massive head you’re growing.”
“Huh,” I gasp, hands flying to measure my skull. “Yourudebitch!”
We burst into laughter before she waves me off and gets back to business. “Your outfit was easy to make because it’s based on a simple robe template.” She flicks her wrist, bringing up the shimmering blue projection of my attire. “I just copied it and then edited the schematic.” Her blue eyes glint with excitement. “It’s so much fun making adjustments and watching the machine fabricate everything instantly.”
“Ah, that’s wonderful!” I grab her hands, delighted Sandra has found something she likes, also something very near and dear to my heart—fashion! “This is amazing! You and I—best friends~! The Divine Daughter and her Ginger-in-Waiting.Fabulous. Stunning. Sensational.”
Sandra groans, yanking her hands back. “Youhadto throw the ginger thing in there.”
Poor Sandra. She’s just jealous.
“We’ll find you a suitable hunky meathead soon,” I wave away her concern, hoping it’ll cheer her up. “So, can’t you just make bigger versions of our clothes for the Revered Mothers?”
“Yeah... yeah,” Sandra stammers, slowly recovering from her envy. “I could do that. But I wanted to find something different. You know, something unique to them. I thought if they had their old clothes, maybe it would help themrememberwho they were before... before they were taken.”
“That’s a brilliant idea! That mightactuallywork.” I admit, impressed. My gaze snaps to Razgor. “You! Do you remember what style of clothing the female Klendathians used to wear?”
He barely looks up from his terminal, distracted. “Huh? Oh, you won’t find anything like that here, forobviousreasons.But from what Idoremember...” He trails off, his eyes rolling upward as if the answer might be floating somewhere on the ceiling.
I lean forward expectantly. “Go on.”
“Eh. I lost it.” He shrugs, looking vaguely apologetic. “I was just a baby back then, sorry.”
I blink. Then scowl. “Wow.Sohelpful, Razgor. Thank yousomuch for thatinvaluablecontribution.”
