Page 4 of Scorching the Alien Empire
“Must you break everything, young Dracoth?” Ignixis tuts, not for the first time, his fingers darting over the controls with exasperated precision.
The holographic chart cycles through sectors of the universe, familiar constellations and strange voids flashing before us. At last, it halts.
I glance at Ignixis, waiting for him to correct what must surely be a mistake. But he remains still, a faint smirk curling his blackened lips.
“The Sirius system?” I ask, unable to suppress my surprise. “Scythians.” Unease clawing at my gut.
“The heart of the Scythian empire,” Ignixis replies, his tone laced with amusement. In the dim light, his emerald eyes gleam like malevolent stars.
He means for us to enter their territory? My gaze flicks to Jazreal, searching for some sign of dissent. But he sits unmoving, as silent as the slumbering cyloillar perched on Princesa’s shoulder.
Jazreal already knew.
“Here,” Ignixis says, his weathered finger disturbing the star chart like ripples in a cosmic pond, “you will find Drexios. He lingers near Sothis Prime, seeking the support of the Scythians. Yet the Crucible remains silent—for he is nothing but a rabid killer, a hydralith that needs brought to heel, reaching beyond his abilities.”
“Ah! A little puppy for you, Dracoth,” Princesa mocks, her hand lightly brushing my wrist. The glow of the projection dances across her face, highlighting the mischief in her smile. “Let’s go put a collar on him.”
Her words do nothing to quell the doubt gnawing at me. Too many questions swirl in my mind, shadowed by the echoes of Harkus’s warnings. Where once resolute purpose burned, uncertainty now festers.
“The Scythians won’t bar our entry?” I ask, studying the map intently. If they turn against us, there will be no retreat—only death in the frozen void.
“Oh, no, young Dracoth,” Ignixis replies instantly, as if the mere suggestion is laughable. His tone sharpens to a razor edge, and his yellow fangs glint beneath the shadow of his void-black hood. “In fact, they are ratherkeenfor your arrival.”
I study his nightmarish visage, that ever-smirking mask, searching for even a flicker of betrayal. There is nothing—only the unsettling confidence of an Elder who knows far more than he ever shares.
“Do you balk now? After everything?” Ignixis presses, his voice rising with fervor. “Isn’t this what you’ve always desired? To reclaim your destiny! To bathe the galaxies in the glorious flames of war as your great father before you!” His emerald eyes flash, alight with zealous passion.
He’s right. This is what I’ve always coveted, what my every thought and action has bent toward since I completed theProving Pilgrimage. Yet now I hesitate, the icy hand of doubt clutching my heart. Can the Scythians be trusted?
My gaze snaps to Jazreal, his silence heightening my reservations.
“Speak your mind, Jazreal,” I order, gesturing to him.
The proud warrior sits with arms crossed, exuding an infuriatingly casual air. “It is not my place to say,” he replies with a shrug, his partially ruined face twisting into a mocking grin. “GreatWar Chieftain,” he adds, his tone hinting at irony.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Ignixis nodding, his approval almost imperceptible but unmistakable. My fists clench, frustration mounting as the creeping certainty takes root—I am being herded, driven toward a trap carefully laid long before I was old enough to see it—its noose now growing taut.
“Elder Harkus spoke the truth,” I growl, my voice hardening. “Youdoconspire with the Scythians.” I glare at Ignixis, anger swelling. “Your actions have never been for my benefit, but theirs.”
Ignixis groans audibly, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling as though beseeching the Gods themselves. “Arawnoth, grant me strength,” he mutters, exasperation dripping from every word. “How many years have I spent guiding you? Seven? Eight? Only for Elder Harkus to poison your thick skull with doubt in less than five minutes? All the trust I’ve earned—undone in an instant. You wound me with this, Dracoth. You truly do.” He shakes his head, disdain written across his face, and something tightens in my chest, the sting of regret flickering in my gaze.
“Well, you can hardly blame him,” Princesa interjects, frowning. “You look as sus as a hobo selling knockoff purses in Times Square.”
“Times Square?” Ignixis repeats, his voice sharp, a flicker of confusion wrinkling his scorched face. “Bah!” He snaps, waving a withered hand at Princesa before fixing his searing glare onme. “I serve the great Arawnoth, as I always have and always will. How many times must I hammer the truth into that stubborn boulder you call a head?” His tone carries a rare hint of pleading, as if grasping for understanding.
“I see Arawnoth too,” Princesa murmurs, her voice distant. Her gaze drifts to the black metal wall. “In the dreams of liquid fire,” she adds, her tone low. But then her eyes snap to Ignixis, sharp and challenging. “But he never speaks.”
Ignixis trembles, his entire body taut with suppressed rage. “He speaks to me alone!” he roars, emerald Rush billowing from his glowing eyes. “Iam his herald. The only one capable of interpreting his visions. The only one who can withstand the fires of his creation.” His head whips toward Princesa, his fervor a blazing inferno. “Arawnoth watches over you, blessed daughter, as a loving father shields his child. But I—I am far more. I am his singular voice on this mortal plane.”
Princesa recoils, retreating slightly into her seat under the force of his intensity. Though her face remains stern, I feel the ripples of her fear and shock through our sacred bond.
“Enough, Ignixis,” I grumble, my frown deepening.
“No, Dracoth,” Ignixis sneers, his scorched face twisting with contempt. “It seems I must make myselfexplicitlyclear.” He leans forward, his voice venomous. “I loathe the Scythians. They sicken me to my core. Those abominations—machines! Twisted profanities! They are an affront to the sacred words, an anathema to all that Arawnoth stands for.” He spits out the words, his neck veins straining with the force of his conviction.
He pauses, drawing a long breath, the fiery fervor in his voice ebbing slightly. “But...” He exhales heavily, the weight of his words sinking into the silence. “Arawnoth compels us to walk this bitter path. The Scythians are a poison—a necessary one. We use them as one ingests venom to build immunity. This sacrifice, this gamble, is foryou. The price of your glorious destiny—ourpeople’s salvation.” His voice softens. “I pray you are worthy,” he adds, slumping into his chair, his outburst leaving the war room heavy with tension.
I study Ignixis in the lingering silence, the ship’s engines rumbling faintly in the background. Finding a newfound respect for my old mentor. That he bears such burdens for my sake, showing the inner strength hidden within his frail form—the unwavering commitment to our people.
