Page 73 of Bound to the Marak

A beat of silence. The crew did not question, but he could sense the confusion.

“Station my black-flag fleet around the system. Earth is mine now. Let the galaxy know it. There will be no raids. No abductions. No contact unless I authorize it.”

They obeyed, of course. But none could understand.

Only he knew what Earth meant.

Only he knew that everything—every order, every battle, every shattered treaty—had been for her.

She would hear about this, of course. She would know Cruxar was gone, and that it washewho had done it. She would guess at the scale.

But she would never see the mask. Never hear the silence before a kill order. Never feel the way the Varkaal pulsed with anticipation of destruction.

He would shield her from this part of him. As much as he could.

Let her think it was political. Let her believe it was cold necessity. He would allow the truth to be softened, stripped down into something less monstrous. She could know he was powerful. But notthispowerful. Notthisruthless.

Because if she ever truly saw what he could become… she might fear him.

And she was the only thing in the universe he could not afford to lose.

He turned toward the wide viewport. Earth hung in the dark like a glimmering seed, small and trembling, suspended in a web of stars. So chaotic. So primitive. So unremarkable.

But for her… he would guard it like a god.

“Prepare transmissions to the Five,” he said, not looking back. “Show them Cruxar’s last breath. Let them see the ease of it. Let them taste their own mortality.”

“And if they respond with protest?” the Yerak asked softly.

He smiled behind the mask.

“They won’t.”

Fifty-One

The clock beside her bed ticked in a slow, pulsing rhythm—Majarin-made, but altered for her. Twelve-hour cycle, numerals adjusted to the Terran system. She'd found it oddly comforting. As though a piece of Earth had been embedded into the grandeur of Luxar.

Three weeks had passed since their return. She could count the days now.

Leonie sat at her sleek, obsidian-hued desk, fingers brushing across the glowing interface of her new computer. The Majarin had adapted it for her, complete with encryption layers she couldn’t begin to understand—but it worked. She could email. She could scroll. She could talk to her friends back home.

And what strange things they told her.

"Aliens, Leonie," one of them had written. "Ships in the sky. It was all over social media for two days. Military said it was atmospheric interference. But peoplesawthings. They panicked. Then, poof. Everything went quiet. Covered up, probably. I swear, it was real."

She stared at the message a long while.

It didn’t take a genius to piece together the truth.

She didn’t know what Karian had done—not exactly—but she knew him. He wouldn’t let anything happen to Earth. Not while she lived.

Still, a chill lingered. Power like his didn’t move quietly. Whatever storm he had unleashed in the skies of her world, he had shrouded it in shadow before it could fall on her doorstep.

She closed the message, leaned back, and pressed her hand to her chest, where her heartbeat still quickened.

A soft chime echoed through the room. The doors opened.

Karian stepped in, tall and impossible, all shadowed grace and majesty. He had foregone his armor tonight. The lines of his robe shimmered faintly in the dim lights, embroidered with the symbols of his house. He was, as ever, arresting.

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