Page 1 of Sixth
Chapter 1
THE GREATauction halls of the Rim had always smelled the same: money and fear beneath the perfume, ambition clinging to the air like smoke.
Apex hated the scent. It reminded him of every lesson Vetta had beaten into him before the day his hair turned white and his eyes burned amethyst—the transformation that had seen him forcibly conscripted into the Intergalactic Warriors.
It reminded him that no matter how far he flew or how long he served, part of him would always belong to this ignoble lineage.
He adjusted the high collar of his black ceremonial jacket as the lift doors opened into the main chamber of the Imperial Exchange, the same place whispered about in coded reports from Fifth’s network. Soft light from a thousand suspended globes shimmered off crystal tiers that circled the floor. Buyers stood in shadowed balconies, their masks catching the glow,while the captives stood beneath the lights, aware, breathing, watching. Each woman held herself upright under the Matrons’ strict instructions. There were no shouts, no open bids. This was evaluation, not trade.
Apex’s presence here was not to buy. He was here because Hannah and Fifth had begged him to find a single human girl, asister taken from Earth. Emmeline Ward, listed in the records as “Emmeline of Earth.” She’s been stolen by Aram Voss to be sold to the highest bidder. Apex had tracked her here and knew she would be somewhere nearby. He could feel it like a pulse under hisskin.
A hush fell through the crowd as the inspection queue began. The captives moved forward in perfect order, stopping at measured intervals while attendants recorded vitals and posture or made private bids on each female. The room held only the low hum of scanners and the occasional rustle ofsilk.
Only then did a discreet attendant approach him, bowing low. “Lord Kael Vettar, your presence is requested in the House of Sovereigns.”
The name struck him like a blade. No one called him that anymore. Not since his conscription into the Intergalactic Warriors.
He inclined his head. “Lead the way.”
The House of Sovereigns stood adjacent to the main hall, an inner sanctum reserved for those with noble lineage. Its architecture was surprisingly Vettian, marble veined in silver, silken drapes that pulsed with embedded light, the air perfumed with ancient incense. The bloodlines of old Vetta conducted business here away from pryingeyes.
Apex’s boots echoed softly as he entered. There were fewer women here, each displayed not as merchandise but as potential consorts, standing on low platforms surrounded by transparent veils. The buyers didn’t bargain for fleeting pleasure or open companionship. They negotiated for bloodlines. These transactions were for alliances and supervised breeding, not for true mates or love or permanency. Every offer measured legacy, not affection.
A voice drifted from behind a tall podium. “You honor us with your presence, Lord Vettar.” The auction master was tall, draped in white, his face a serene mask of power. “It has been many generations since one of your line attended.”
“Duty,” Apex said. His gaze drifted from female to female. “And curiosity.”
“Then you will appreciate what we offer tonight.”
He motioned first to two of the nearer platforms, both occupied by Vettian women. One stepped forward, tall and dark-eyed, her movements precise enough to make the nobles murmur approval. The next followed, ebony-haired and regal, marked by the faint shimmer of augmented lineage that made her price soar. The master gave their credentials and watched as nobles whispered offers, the transaction efficient and bloodless. Apex remained silent.
Only when those negotiations concluded did he motion to the next platform. The veil parted and a slender woman in a semi-transparent shift turned—human, unmistakably.
The attendant’s voice rang out, formal and clear: “Lot Seven: Emmeline Ward of Earth.”
Her hair fell in loose waves down her back, pale as sunlit wheat, her eyes the soft gold of morning light mixed with raysof brown and green. He recognized her instantly from the digital photo Hannah had given him, the image that had haunted him since Fifth sent it tohim.
Emmeline. Emmy.
She looked around with wary defiance. The other women lowered their gazes, but not her. She met his eyes, unflinching, and for one impossible second, the hall fell away. He saw the shadow of Hannah in her expression—the same stubborn set of the mouth, the same fragile intensity.
He forced his pulse steady. He couldn’t let recognitionshow.
The auctioneer’s tone changed, reverent now, each word laden with ritual importance. “Lot Seven, aremarkable hybrid specimen—human, yet displaying measurable resonance with Vettian genetic frequency. Preliminary scans suggest adaptive tolerance to noble interaction and manipulated lineage transfer. Her readings indicate not mere compatibility, but a potential consort bond of exceptional strength.”
The crowd shifted, whispers rising as her data streamed across the holos, the information glinting like jeweled script above Emmeline’s head. Eager comments rippled through theroom.
Apex’s mouth tightened. He knew from experience that human and Vettian pairings could work—his own unit proved that—but this level of genetic resonance was unheard of. The readings were too exact, too deliberate, and it made his instincts prickle. He needed to end this before her life became a contract.
The bids began, low at first, then climbing as the nobles’ interest sharpened. Apex let it run long enough to identify the main bidders—House Aurel and House Thayn. One of Voss’s handlers lingered near the transaction desk, overseeing the datafeed as bids updated in real time. When Apex caught sight of the crest on the man’s wrist—aserpent twined through the Voss trade mark—acold thread of satisfaction swept throughhim.
Found you.
He lifted his hand slightly, signaling his command link. “Transfer House custody, authorization Vettar-Alpha.” The words were meant for his private comms, astandard override used to reroute ownership through his infiltration AI. But the hall’s ancient system misinterpreted the phrasing. It caught the tonal signature of his noble blood and translated it through the old Vettian registry that governed the House of Sovereigns, reclassifying the command as a binding invocation rather than a transfer of authority.
The air shimmered. The board blinked. Then, in a voice that resonated through every tier: “Claim recognized. By right of noble lineage, Lord Kael Vettar invokes the Valenmark. Lot Seven is bound under ancient law. Bidding is suspended. No credits will be exchanged. The Valenmark lies beyond purchase.”
The world went silent.
