Page 120 of Scorching the Alien Empire
I whip my head toward her, a wet snarl of shock and rage. Her expression meets mine, unflinching. Not soft. Not afraid. Only disapproving, her arcweave-like frown cutting through my fury.
“You’re embarrassing us,” she says flatly. “Not to mention scaring your poor mother.” She exhales sharply, shifting suddenly into a pleasant smile as she turns toward my mother. “Hello!” she chirps, voice light, cheerful. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you. My name is Lexie. What may I call you?”
My mother does not react. Does not move. Does not acknowledge her. She simply rocks, slowly. Repeating the same faint hymn.
Princesa leans forward, gently clutching my mother’s hands, her face mere inches away. “It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything,” she whispers, voice soft. “I’m going to look after you now. All of you.” Her fingers trail along my mother’s cheek, eyes narrowing as she studies every delicate feature—searching for something.
“You see, I’m Dracoth’s wife—his Mortakin-Kis. That makes us family... Ah, Mother, you’re so pretty, like the Goddess Aenarael herself.”
Her lips curl into a playful smile as she flicks her wavy blonde hair over her shoulder. “I can see why he has a thing forblondes,” she giggles, flashing me a knowing look. “I can’t wait to learn more about you. We’ll be the very best of friends.”
Through our bond, I feel it—Princesa’s genuine excitement. A blazing inferno, its flames are edged with concern.
Adoration floods through me—a fierce, burning relief that she is here for this. Her feminine softness shines where my strength cannot. A hope kindles within me, an ember—that with kind words, understanding, and time, my mother’s mind may heal. That the shattered pieces of her soul may return from the shadows and reknit anew. That she will return to us.
Razgor bursts into the cell, skidding to a halt before he nearly falls into the cratered floor. His armored chest rises and falls, breaths fanatic. His wide, darting eyes flick from the dented metal to us, his brow arching.
My jaw clenches. To be seen like this—vulnerable. Weak. It brings shame. Invites challenge. I avert my gaze by rising to my feet, my hulking presence filling the space, towering over all—as is natural and right.
“Hail, my name is Razgor,” he says, approaching my mother, waving a hand before her vacant face. “Blink if you can hear me.” He clicks his fingers. But there is no response. She remains motionless, head bowed, hair curtaining her face. Razgor sighs loudly, swiping at his wrist console, bathing her in a shimmering blue light.
“Sad. Just like the others,” he tuts, shaking his head.
My breath catches.
“What’s wrong with her?” Princesa asks, giving voice to my own thoughts.
“Physically? Nothing,” he replies, a faint smile curling his lip as he examines his holographic display. “Psychologically? Well... those wounds are beyond my capabilities.”
“Wait, that’s good right?” Princesa’s gaze snaps between us, brightening with hope. “That means there’s nothing preventing her from healing!”
“Perhaps,” Razgor begins, his tone measured, lacking her budding optimism. “But you must remember—these females have been held here for two centuries.” His eyes fall to my mother, his lips pinching with sympathy. “And Gods know what they’ve endured. What they’ve witnessed within these walls.”
“Two hundred years of this?!” Princesa gasps, her hand flying to her mouth.
Razgor nods grimly. “I’m afraid so. There’s no telling what it’s done to their minds. Eyes that no longer wish to see. Ears deaf to the cries of others. Prayers that went unanswered.” His gaze darkens. “The brain retreats to survive. Well... that’s all I can speculate until I examine them further.”
He turns to me, and somehow, he wears a faint smile. “The good news, War Chieftain—” He flicks a hand toward his holographic display. “She is your mother. There can be no doubt.”
Azure runes shimmer in the dim light. Meaningless symbols repeating what I already know. What beats in my heart. The truth carved into my very soul.
“I know...” I murmur, my gaze falling to my clenching, throbbing fist. “Her name?”
Razgor hesitates. “Her name?” He echoes, surprise flickering across his face. “I... I don’t know.” His fingers fidget over his console. “In the Scythian system, they were simply assigned numbers. She is... Number Twenty-Seven.”
A number. The idea sickens me. A cold, mechanical mark where a name should be.
“But,” Razgor continues, his brow furrowing, “what I do know is that these females were set aside—preserved for natural births.” His voice drops. “Perhaps a backup for their cloning? Tointroduce new genetics? Or...” he hesitates. “To selectively breed warriors as immense as yourself?” His brows shadow his eyes as he shakes his head. “Sorry I can’t provide more answers, great War Chieftain.”
I barely hear him.
The answer is obvious. Even if I were not haunted by the memories. Even if the Red Titan’s shadow did not loom over me in the dark.
I see it now. The silent watcher, towering over my mother and me. His icy presence, suffocating. The confusion. I feared him, longing for recognition that never came. The most powerful Chieftain to ever exist. Seduced—or broken—by the Voidbringer. Stolen females. The most beautiful he selected, preserved for his pleasure.
“Gorexius’s slaves,” I sneer, the words oozing like the vilest venom.
Was this his price? A twisted bargain? Sugar to sweeten the poison? The future of our entire existence, weighed against the pathetic, carnal lusts of my father.
