Over the sound of my chomping, I keep hearing a sound, a constant yet erratic thumping. I swallow the last bite, take another gulp of the satisfying coffee, and follow the path back to the entrance room. The far door is still sealed shut. The wine has been cleaned up, the full barrel removed. I imagine the three Aurelians pushing it down one of the hallways, their muscles flexing as they moved it. They’d be strong enough to lift that huge barrel up the stairs if they needed to, their muscles straining as they sweated under the weight.

The sound is louder, and it’s coming down the right hallway. They told me not to go there—but I’ve been there once already, and plus, I can definitely sense their auras over that way. If the three Aurelians are over that way, it’s the safest place in the world for me.

I hesitate, looking down at the servant’s dress. Will they be angry I didn’t put on a pleasure dress? Did they expect me to walk around for them with my body constantly on display, thousands of little fingers teasing me and reducing me to a state of mindless craving? It’s too much. For the first time since the attack, I’ve got some time to breathe. They’ll just have to deal with me in a plain white dress.

I walk up the hallway to the training room. The three of them are faced off against the black shadowy figures of the combat robots. I pause at the entrance, watching them. There’s a kind of beauty to their violence as they surround the robotic AI in a deadly dance, darting back, feinting and parrying, their auras focused yet also light, as if they have done this a thousand times before. I don’t know if they even notice me.

They look more…human today. Their black robes are in a pile on the floor near me, and they’ve changed into black shorts instead, shirtless and sweaty as they train.

Their wounds are gone. I blink to myself—last night is foggy, but I think when they came to put me to bed, their wounds were already healed, their bodies restored.

Their Orb-Blades are activated in their hands, but instead of the blue-black energy that usually surrounds the blade, they are just metal, and the blades clang against each other dully. Practice swords—but it still looks like it hurts. If those three robotic creatures had gotten to me yesterday, I just hope there’s some safety protocol that would have stopped them from beating me down against the ground with their heavy black swords until I was pulp.

The robotic black figures move faster than I thought possible. Their hands are a blur as they smash down with their blunt black blades. Orr gets hit, hard on the chest, and his aura spikes with anger. He roars out and pivots, letting the blade strike him and glance off, and as the figure leans in, he grabs its head and rips it off with his bare hands. There’s no sparks of electricity or exposed power cords. The robot just collapses on the ground, and Orr flanks the robot facing off against Kriz, finishing it off.

They make short work of the last one. Ra’al doesn’t attack it, just walking back and parrying its strikes defensively, waiting for the other two to surround it and finish it off. Perhaps that is how two Aurelian triads would duel. Once one falls, the unbroken triad can make short work of the remaining two opponents.

The three men step back, wiping sweat from their brow. I see a stack of white towels that weren’t there yesterday, and I grab them to bring to the triad. The broken robotic figures fly upwards, as if they are magnets, zooming through a hole in the roof. A second set of three figures descends, restoring the training square to its original state.

Ra’al turns, sensing me. “Rachel. My mate. Did you sleep well?” He’s shaved, his jaw clean and smooth, and I get the urge to walk closer and run my hand over his cheek.

“Hello! Good morning, I did,” I answer, handing him the towels. He grabs them and passes them out to my triad. I step back, nervous, wishing they were wearing shirts. There’s just too many sets of abs and thick muscles to relax around them. Orr’s back is seemingly untouched, as if the shard of metal he was impaled with yesterday never existed. They’ve got better medical bays than humans do.

It feels strange to speak so normally with them, like we’re some couple waking up and getting ready for work. Orr rubs his stubbly shaved head with the towel, balls it, and throws it across the room, where it lands perfectly in the bin. I hope he grows out his hair, like he first appeared to me in the vision. Shoulder-length black hair suited him.

“Is everything okay? I mean, from yesterday?” I ask, smoothing my servant’s robe down against my thighs.

“We dealt with it.” Orr answers this time, his voice growly. His thick black beard makes him look like an ancient barbarian, tightly knotted and running between his huge pectoral muscles, through those clasps that look like they’re made of bone. His stubbly scalp is gleaming, and I swear he could headbutt a bull and come out on top. Those robotic blades might be dull, but he’s got a reddening welt on his chest. If that was an Aurelian with an Orb-Blade and not practice blades, he’d be cut in half, or at least have a long cut down his chest.

Kriz runs his hand through his thick blond hair, his eyes gleaming beautifully like the sky I yearn to see. He walks over to the other side, where there are benches and cubes, and puts his leg up on a bench, stretching it. He has such a grace to him, unlike the brutal strength of his two battle-brothers.

“Ah, that’s good news. So we can leave the bunker?”

Ra’al shakes his head. “No. The matter is dealt with, but the surface is not yet safe. You will stay here.”

How long?

I’m too nervous to ask. What if he said a year? Aurelians don’t look at time the same way as humans. I don’t know what a normal timeline is for making a planet safe, and fresh off the attack, it might be best to wait a day or two before I ask, just to let things cool down a bit.

“Okay. Were there many…was the crowd okay?” After the Scorp attack, it’s easy to think of the deaths as statistics. So many must have been killed, crushed by the Org-Ships, killed by Scorp, or even murdered by the looters who ran wild during the collapse. But each person in the crowd was their own life, and I’m sick to think of them being crushed by rocks and rubble like the three Priests.

Ra’al shakes his head. “No human lives lost. Just the Priest triad. We have dealt with the rebels.”

The blade in his hand looks more ominous. He deactivates the blade, and it shimmers out of existence, leaving an afterglow on my irises. Did he use that blade to execute them himself? Or are they stuck in a prison?

I’ve got to be strong.

“Is there any news on the other girls? Are they all okay?” There were ten others of them who stayed in the estate, but Lola flashes to my mind.

Ra’al nods. “They will be moved to the city tonight. They’ll have the same choice as everyone else. There will be no idle hands.”

“They all know how to work. As long as they’re safe,” I say, venturing a weak smile.

“We’ll check on them tonight,” says Kriz from across the room, stretching his other leg.

“Can I see them? I mean, when it’s safe?”

The three of them exchange looks. Ra’al shakes his head. “Not yet. The city is under our control, but the attack means that Queen Jasmine’s agents could be anywhere. We can’t risk it.”