Page 92 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol 2
Whatever the reason, if I’m going to be a lord again—
it will be by protecting her, not sacrificing her. Not if I can help it.
She’s gone back to her corner—far end of the hangar. Her back to me. As always.
Dinner should be brought in soon. I glance toward the small, cramped room they call the washroom, tucked away in a shadowy corner of the warehouse. I hesitate. I’d have enough time to go.
But a thought holds me back.
What if the guards show up while I’m gone?
What if she ends up alone, face-to-face with them?
I don’t like that idea.
So I stay where I am, motionless, caught between the need to clean up and the stronger, more pressing instinct to not leave her unprotected.
She’s not speaking to me anymore.
But that doesn’t mean I should stop watching over her.
Footsteps echo in the hallway. Heavier. More numerous than usual.
I straighten up, on alert. This isn’t the usual rhythm of the two guards who toss us our rations.
No—this time it’s different. More structured. Heavier.
The sliding doors hiss open. And they’re not carrying trays.
Several individuals enter, flanked by armed guards.
They’re cuffed, exhausted, each one marked by fear or resignation. That’s when it hits me.
The excessive number of sleep pods wasn’t some overcautious setup. It was planned from the start.
Nearly forty of them, lined up along the wall like empty honeycomb cells, were simply waiting for their occupants.
Future fighters. Future sacrifices.
I lock eyes with a trembling Neerot. He looks away immediately.
I feel Sam shift across the hangar. She’s stood up.
She’s watching. She understands too.
“Hey, you!” I call to the nearest guard.
Since my showdown with Danuk, my identity is no longer a secret. My name’s making the rounds. And even if I’m still weakened from my injuries, I’m a living legend. My reputation walks into every room before I do.
Few dare ignore me—fewer still to defy me.
This guard is no exception. He flinches slightly, turns, and approaches with a mix of caution and respect.
“Yes, Lord… uh, yes?” he stammers, caught between reflexive submission and fear of screwing up.
“All of these people… they’re future fighters for the arena?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
