Ahead, massive doors loomed—twice the height of any human structure, carved with intricate patterns that might have been beautiful if they weren’t so clearly meant to intimidate.
Ryxin stopped before them. Turned to face Elsa and Mia with that same mocking curl of his lips.
“The Alpha King,” he said quietly, “does not tolerate weakness. Or defiance. Or anything that wastes his time.”
His cyan eyes locked onto Elsa’s. “Choose wisely how you present yourself.”
Then he pushed the doors open.
And Elsa’s breath caught in her throat at what waited beyond.
4
Sylas
Sylas lounged across the obsidian throne, legs dangling over one armrest, claws clicking idle patterns against polished stone. Morning light filtered through the high, slitted windows, cutting pale beams across the chamber floor. Cold light. Winter light. The kind that reminded him winter never truly ended on Yzefun—it only pretended to during those brief, warm months when the Mother Moon drew close enough to coax nightblooms from frozen ground.
He rolled his shoulders, irritation already prickling under his skin despite the early hour.
Another report sat unread on the low table beside the throne. He didn’t need to look at it. The news would be the same as always: The Fallen were running feral deep within the eastern woods, their minds void of sanity, hunting any poor fool who lost their way. Moon Tear madness had claimed another three in the past cycle alone. Good males, once. Strong. Now reduced to creatures that knew only hunger and rage.
And the Interstellar Protections Agency—those self-righteous parasites—wanted him to cooperate. Wanted him to grant the humans grace for their mistake. Theirincompetence. As if being technologically backward excused trespassing on sacred ground.
Sylas’s muzzle curled.
A pathetic human escape vessel had crashed into their territory. Worse, it had landed in the Holy Ruins, close enough to the Lux Shrine that the impact had cracked one of the outer prayer stones. Desecration. Accident or not, the damage was done.
His claws scraped against obsidian, the sound sharp in the silence.
The IPA, with its hollow promises and bureaucratic posturing, demanded immunity for the humans’ transgressions. Pardons for their arrogance. They cited treaties. Protection clauses. Exemptions for “developing spacefaring species.”
It would be laughable if it weren’t so infuriating.
Sylas had read the reports. Studied the vessel’s trajectory, the failed communications, the ignored warnings. His brother had given them three chances to turn back. Three. More than generous by any standard. When they’d continued their reckless course, Ryxin had acted within his rights as Commander to defend what was theirs.
Defending territory wasn’t a crime.
Yet now, as Alpha King, Sylas was left to deal with the aftermath. The politics. The pressure from species who thought themselves above consequences.
Killing the humans outright would have been simpler. Clean. Final.
But part of him hesitated.
Not out of pity—he had little enough of that for his own kind, let alone furless aliens who couldn’t survive a single night inproper cold. No, his hesitation came from pragmatism. From the question that had gnawed at him since Ryxin’s initial report.
What if they’re useful?
The humans had crossed the void between stars. Crash-landed, yes. Incompetently, undeniably. But they’dmade it. That suggested some level of skill. Some knowledge worth extracting before disposal.
If they proved valuable—if there was some way to use them, study them, learn from their technology or navigation methods—keeping them might be worthwhile.
He just wasn’t convinced they were worth the effort.
Most humans he’d encountered through IPA channels were soft. Weak. Obsessed with comfort and safety and rights they hadn’t earned through strength. The thought of such creatures in his fortress, breathing his air, consuming his resources—
The heavy creak of the chamber doors pulled him from his brooding.
Sylas didn’t shift position, but his ears swiveled toward the sound. His gaze tracked the opening doors with practiced disinterest, though his attention sharpened.