Page 85 of Ravaged By the Reaper
Her eyes flick over me, softening. For a heartbeat, the world dissolves. Then Yentil storms over, voice triumphant.
“I’ll need to draft the official dispatchs—Alliance liaison, you’re going to fight to keep this as a public piece, not a recorded secret.”
She gives a flicker of a smile. “Do it. Let the galaxy know peace can be born in fire.”
We turn to Malem.
Silence lines his features until he finally nods. Not defeat. Acceptance.
Then he dissolves from the holo like smoke evaporating, leaving the throne of hate empty in his wake.
The room breathes again.
I rise, standing tall, chest tight, mind full of thunder.
She watches me, expression unreadable. I think she might smile, but restraint keeps her lips flat. Or maybe she’s waiting—for what I’ll do.
What I will protect.
So I step forward, gently loop my arm through hers—half instinct, half devotion. The metal mesh of my gauntlet presses into her skin and I feel warmth.
No words.
Just the press of my shoulder against hers.
And in that quiet exhale, I know—this isn’t over. Not yet.
But now we walk the dawn together.
Night drapesthe station in muted greys, but in our quarters, the air shimmers with something heavier—relief, fear, something born from survival. The overhead lights hum low, sickly yellow, giving every scar and dent in this room a confessional glow. Gamma’s distant sirens still murmur—the wounded station isn’t healed—but right now, none of that matters.
I stand by the viewport, gazing at the fractal of stars beyond, the void always drawing me, reminding me how small we are. And how strange it is that I want something more than survival now.
She slides in beside me, graceful and silent, even in uniform—the same IHC-blue that frames her figure like a constellations in motion. The scent of her is soft, familiar. Sweat and jasmine. Hope made flesh.
She doesn’t say anything. Just stands close enough that my shoulder brushes hers.
I finally turn to her.
“You didn’t win by outsmarting him.”
It comes out rough, steady. My jaw clenches. My voice carries the gravel of battle-dust and raw reverence.
She tilts her head, curiosity flickering in those eyes that shake systems. “Then what did I do?”
I step closer. The distance between us collapses. I can feel her breath, soft and warm, and my steel breath hitches.
I smile. Slow. Dangerous.
“You broke him. Without ever drawing blood.”
Silence, heavy and full, enveloped them. It was a silence filled with the hum of the station, the glow of the spotlight, and the steady rhythm of her heart against his own.
She closes her eyes, leaning in until her temple rests against my own. “There’s more than one way to conquer a warlord.”
My laugh is low and rumbling, more animal than human, reverberating against the steel of this room—and through her bones. A growl starts in my throat and shakes with something too old to name.
Then a soft, guttural growl breaks from me, low and rumbling deep in my chest. It’s not a sound I make lightly. But right now, everything around us softens. Shadows on the wall dance in the faint glow—a private spotlight on two warriors who’ve torn the world apart and built something of their own.
