Page 54 of Owned By the Hvrok

He had done this a thousand times before. On Vokar. In enemy airspace. On blood missions over the deep worlds of the Dead Zone.

This was just reconnaissance.

Below, the land opened into sparse ridges and fractured forest. Remote. Isolated.

A blessing.

Less chance of detection. Fewer Nalgar.

The settlement came into view—half-carved into stone, its buildings angular and brutalist. Square windows glowed faintly from within, the light yellow and flickering. Crude radiant coils, not plasma-based. Primitive tech by galactic standards.

He zoomed in.

Two Nalgar moved through the open courtyard—fast, deliberate. He could see their long limbs, their broad, cloaked forms. Their speed was uncanny. Every motion coiled with potential violence.

But he wasn’t afraid.

He was Hvrok.

One of the only species that could match the Nalgar in direct combat.

Once, their peoples had been bitter enemies—brutal wars waged over blood rituals and trade routes. But that was before Vokar fell. Before his own kind obliterated themselves in a final act of madness.

Now, Hvrok and Nalgar shared an uneasy neutrality. A truce of silence.

He circled lower, wings retracting slightly, then dropped into a field on the edge of the settlement, folding them tight to his back.

He moved like a shadow.

Across the stones, into a narrow alley.

Hunting.

The dwellings here weren’t sealed. Why would they be? Nalgar didn’t fear intrusion. Their hearing was sharper than any alarm. Their bloodlust meant most didn’t risk entering their domain.

But Kyhin was not most.

He slipped into an empty structure, silent.

His armor’s sensors swept the space—nothing. No heat, no movement. The quiet hum of the radiant coil in the corner. Stone walls, metal shutters. A spartan bedroom and a crude common room.

No food. Of course. Nalgar drank blood. Sustenance in the literal sense.

But there—on a hook near the entrance—was a coat. Thick, pale, fur-lined. Bigger than her size, but close enough. He grabbed it. It would do.

Maybe… she’d like it.

He didn’t let himself linger on that thought.

He moved to leave.

And then—voices.

Low. Laughter. Two Nalgar. Male and female. Coming closer.

He stilled.

Footsteps followed—light ones. Slow. Human.

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