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Metempsychosis III, Part 2: Alswaram, Raven and Lancer

At that point, I was already just about done. My nights had gone from somewhat enjoyable and happy to tragic and nightmarish. During the duration of these flashbacks, I had no break to be in the other dreamspheres, which made it all even worse. In the daytime, I was exhausted, worn out and I felt like I was lacking sleep. I was feeling depressed all the time. I started to dread going to sleep. And after witnessing the tragic fate of Reiken, I couldn’t help but understand Sorvaa’hr. I was feeling like him. I was ready to hit someone. I was gnawing at the furniture. I felt powerless. Most importantly… Storm. I now knew where he was from. I felt extreme anger and sorrow. I felt like I loved him even more but at the same time, I felt like there was a gaping void in some corner of my soul that was getting bigger. I wanted it to stop. That was the first time I thought about ending it all. Emotionally, it was too much to handle. Just when I thought I hit rock bottom, it would be taken even further, and the next events would leave me devastated.

Part I: A new beginning

---- 22 000 B.C.E., capital city of Lysanxia, heart of the continent of Lemuria – Planet Earth

It had been over three thousand years since the founding of Lemuria, the first Sirian colony on Terra—Earth, as its native inhabitants called it. Most historians painted the island continent as a prosperous paradise; a lush utopia carved from a humble atoll. That was nothing but romantic delusion.

Any sentient species carries the seeds of its own destruction. The struggle for survival inevitably breeds territorial conflict, which in turn sparks cultural and ideological clashes. Modern history had proven it time and again.

With Sirian technology and careful terraforming, what began as a modest atoll had grown into a vast, verdant continent. Sirian cloaking kept Lemuria hidden and safe from the primitive civilizations that still roamed the planet. Yet the colony’s greatest threat came not from outside, but from within.

As generations passed, Lemurians adapted to Terra’s atmosphere and environment. Those who could not adapt simply died—natural selection cared little for advanced science. Unknown diseases claimed many Sirian lives in the early decades, infections that Terrans shrugged off as minor inconveniences.

Meanwhile, the MA Project—mechanical activator—had quietly expanded beyond its original military scope. What began as secret experiments now produced more and more “mechanical activators” among both soldiers and civilians. Lemuria had become a favored testing ground.

Ironically, the handful of Hilandran colonists—shark-like hybrids the Sirians had essentially exiled to Terra—had risen to lead the colony. They formed the ruling Council, revered as the “Protectors of Lemuria.” Charismatic as they were, they could not satisfy everyone.

The continent continued to expand through aggressive terraforming, and its population swelled. With growth came deepening divisions. A growing faction, the Independentists, pushed for full separation from Sirius. The pro-Sirian loyalists argued that the colony still depended on the homeworld for vital resources and technology. The rift widened from a quiet disagreement into a dangerous chasm.

Beneath the surface of stability, everyone knew it would take only one spark to ignite open conflict.

---

--

-

In the capital city of Lysanxia, the heavy metallic clank of footsteps echoed through the polished halls as Alswaram made his way toward the Council’s audience chamber. The old dragon had been summoned.

Decades of modifications had turned him into one of the most successful mechanical activators in Lemurian history. Over eighty percent of his body was now cybernetic, granting him a lifespan far beyond any unmodified Sirian. Yet even advanced technology could not stop time forever. His remaining organic systems were failing. His reflexes had slowed. As a pilot, he had to compensate constantly.

Still, he carried no regrets. He had lived long enough to watch Lemuria bloom from a fragile outpost into a majestic, fertile paradise. Now that paradise was withering under the weight of its own success. The resources that once sustained rapid growth could no longer support the swelling population.

The pro-Sirians repeated the same argument: without continued support from the homeworld, the colony would have to either relocate or collapse. Relocation was impossible under the Galactic Confederation’s prime directive—non-interference with less advanced civilizations. Mingling with the native Terrans was equally forbidden.

Alswaram pushed open the large double doors and offered the traditional Sirian salute to the two massive Hilandran guards—hand over the heart, deep bow—before stepping inside.

A heavy silence filled the circular chamber. Four council members stood on a raised dais, looking down at him: two Hilandrans (shark hybrids), one Kelva (a sleek saurian dragon), and one Balmodan (a powerful lupine beastman). They represented the dominant demographics of Lemuria.

Alswaram spoke first, his voice steady despite his age.

“Honored members of the Council, I apologize for the delay. I came as quickly as I could.”

One of the Hilandrans—the largest, clearly the leader—nodded.

“No need to apologize, Alswaram. Thank you for answering our summons on such short notice. We have a new assignment for you. One of critical importance.”

“I would be honored to serve, Master Herl.”

“Good. You are to deliver a missive to the Sirian capital.”

“A message regarding the colonial situation, I assume?” Alswaram tilted his head. “With respect… why me? I have had no contact with Sirius in decades. I don’t understand why I would be chosen as the messenger.”

“We are aware of that,” Herl replied calmly. “You have lived longer than any of us and witnessed more of Lemuria’s history. You understand both the Sirian and Lemurian perspectives better than anyone. You are the best person to explain our delicate position. This is not an order, but a request. If you refuse, there will be no repercussions.”

Alswaram considered for a moment.

“May I have time to think about it?”

The shark nodded, as if expecting the answer.

“Of course. But please decide quickly. Tensions are rising daily. We are barely containing the unrest as it is. It will not take much for quarrels to turn into outright war.”

“I understand. I won’t take long. I simply need to speak with someone first. Thank you for your consideration, Master Herl.”

Another council member—a fierce-looking midnight-blue seadragon with sharp saurian features—spoke up.

“We should also mention that your mobile unit is welcome to accompany you. In fact, we would prefer it.”

Alswaram bowed to the council and returned to his quarters in the connected residential wing. Once inside, he tossed his keycard onto the small table, dimmed the lights, and poured himself a glass of his favorite drink—thick, black, and closer to crude oil than anything organic. He sank into a chair, lost in thought, until a loud knock startled him.

“Al! Open up already! Hellooo?”

He opened the door to find Raven standing there—a towering, eight-foot-tall black-and-grey timber wolf Balmodan. Muscular, heavily lupine, with piercing golden eyes that could silence most challengers. Despite his intimidating presence, Raven’s voice was surprisingly soft, with only the faintest rasp.

“Raven? What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean? I heard you were heading back to Sirius without even telling me!”

“How did you—?”

“Being on the Council’s guard has its perks,” the wolf said with a low chuckle.

Alswaram sighed and stepped aside. “Come in, then. Don’t just stand there.”

He poured Raven a glass of proper grain liquor—quite different from his own—and the two settled onto the large couch. Raven studied his friend with concern.

“You look exhausted, Al. You’re going home, right? Why don’t you take some time by the ocean? Relax a little. You’ve earned it.”

“Gee, thanks. You really know how to flatter a dragon, Raven.”

The wolf laughed and nudged him gently, scooting closer. His thick fur felt warm against Alswaram’s cool titanium-laced limbs. Despite being mostly machine, the dragon’s cybernetic body had been engineered with full sensory feedback. He could feel everything—including pain. It was his deliberate choice, a reminder that he was still more than just circuits and metal.

“Sorry,” Raven said more softly. “I’m just saying… even you need rest sometimes. I figured you could use the company before you leave. You’re taking the assignment, aren’t you?”

“…Yeah. Was it that obvious? I bet Master Saevek already knew.”

The wolf gave a small nod, absently rubbing a paw along his leg as he gathered his thoughts. The bond between the two of them was unmistakably close—built over time, shared experience, and quiet understanding. Raven had been a mech pilot for years, but unlike Alswaram, he had chosen to remain what the military casually referred to as a “mundane.” It was a term used for pilots who refused the gene therapy required to become a mechanical activator. Raven never saw it as a limitation. If anything, he preferred it. There was something deeply satisfying about piloting manually—the physicality of it, the direct connection between his movements and the machine’s response. It grounded him. It made him feel like he was exactly where he belonged.

Alswaram, on the other hand, had taken a very different path, and lately, he wasn’t so sure it had been the right one. Part of what drew him to Raven was that lingering sense of “what if.” Watching him stirred a quiet, persistent regret—one he didn’t often give voice to. There had been a time when his connection with Lancer felt raw, intense, and almost overwhelming in the best way. Back then, every encounter felt alive, unpredictable, and deeply personal.

He remembered the heat most of all—not just warmth, but a dense, enveloping presence that seemed to press in from all sides. When Lancer’s systems ran hot, the air around him would thicken, carrying that sharp, metallic tang of exhaust—oily, electric, and unmistakably alive. Alswaram used to lean into it without hesitation, drawing in slow, deliberate breaths, letting the scent fill his lungs completely. It would sting at first, a faint burn at the back of his throat, but that only made it more real, more grounding. Each inhale felt heavy, almost intoxicating, like he was taking a part of Lancer into himself.

The sensation would build gradually. His head would start to feel light, thoughts softening at the edges as the world narrowed down to that shared space between him and the machine. The steady hum of the engine would vibrate through his body, syncing with his heartbeat until he could no longer tell where one ended and the other began. The air, thick with heat and fumes, would wrap around him like a living thing, and he would sink into it—willingly, completely.

There had been nights when he lost track of time entirely. He’d rest against Lancer’s frame, cheek pressed to warm metal, breathing deeper and deeper until the dizziness overtook him. His limbs would grow heavy, his thoughts dissolving into a quiet haze, until finally he’d slip into unconsciousness right there, held in that heat, surrounded by that scent. It wasn’t safe, and somewhere deep down he knew that—but in those moments, it felt like connection in its purest form. Immediate. Unfiltered. Real.

Now, things were different. Lancer could still soothe him, still provide a sense of comfort—even sustain him in ways that were hard to explain—but the experience had lost its edge. It had become quieter, more controlled… and somehow distant. There were still moments when he appreciated what he had gained, where the enhancements proved useful, even remarkable. But the grand promises of the MA program, the transformation, the connection, the evolution—no longer carried the same weight. Over time, they had dulled into something predictable, almost hollow.

Alswaram let out a long, heavy sigh, the kind that seemed to carry more weight than he intended.

Raven glanced at him, concern flickering across his face. “What’s wrong, Al? You’ve been somewhere else for a while now.”

Alswaram hesitated, then shook his head slightly. “It’s nothing,” he said at first, though his voice lacked conviction. After a pause, he exhaled again, quieter this time. “Actually… no. That’s not true. It’s just…” He faltered, searching for the right words. “I think I’m jealous.”

Raven blinked, caught off guard. “Jealous? Of what?”

Alswaram let out a short, almost disbelieving laugh and gestured toward him. “Of you. You’ve got that incredible vintage scout mech—honestly, one of the cutest machines I’ve ever seen—and you didn’t even bother naming him until I started calling him Shadow. And even now, you treat it like it’s just… equipment.” His voice softened, something more vulnerable slipping through. “You don’t feel it the way I used to.”

He looked away, his gaze distant as the memories resurfaced again, sharper this time. “I miss when Lancer was more than just something I piloted. I miss going to him at night… just to be close.” His voice lowered, almost reverent. “Standing there in the heat, feeling the air thrum with energy, breathing in his exhaust until it filled me completely. Until it blurred everything else out.”

His fingers curled slightly at his side. “It would make my head spin… make everything feel distant and heavy, like I was sinking into him. “I’d stay there until I couldn’t anymore… until I just let go and pass out.”

The words faded, leaving a quiet weight hanging between them. Raven broke the silence with a sudden outburst of laughter.

“You’re so weird, Al. Only an activator would say shit like that!”

“Heh. That was long before I even knew what an activator even was...”

“Wait… you did that before the conversion? You never told me! You’re even weirder than I thought!”

“Stop teasing me!”

“Heh… sorry,” Raven muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, ears flicking. “You’re just too much fun to tease, that’s all.” He swallowed, heart hammering. “Hey… Al?”

“Yeah?” The dragon tilted his head, silver eyes narrowing. “What’s with that face, Rav? You’re scaring the shit out of me.”

Raven took a shaky breath. “You’re really leaving soon, right? For a while?”

“Probably a few months. Why?”

The wolf stepped closer, voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’ll miss you… I’ll really miss you.”

Alswaram stared, suddenly dead serious, the usual playful glint gone from his optics. “Raven…?”

Before the dragon could say anything else, Raven closed the distance. His paw slid slowly down Alswaram’s thigh, tracing the seam where living scales met sleek titanium plating. He pressed himself flush against the dragon’s broad, cool chest, feeling the faint mechanical hum beneath.

“Raven, what the hell are you—”

“I want to warm those cold limbs of yours before you go,” Raven murmured, voice thick with nerves and growing hunger. “You’ve been there for me since day one. My mentor. My guide. But to me… you’ve always been so much more than that.”

Alswaram’s breath hitched, vents whirring softly. “What are you saying…?”

“You know exactly what I’m saying, you big, stubborn oaf.”

Raven rose onto his toes and captured the dragon’s snout in a hesitant but earnest kiss. Soft lips met cool, smooth scales. For a heartbeat Alswaram froze completely, ancient instincts warring with the walls he’d built around himself for years. No organic had gotten this close in a long time. He had sworn off anything beyond the cold comfort of machines.

When Raven pulled back, cheeks burning, he searched the dragon’s face fearfully. “Too far?”

“Raven, I… I can’t,” Alswaram rasped, voice glitching slightly with emotion. “I’m not like you anymore. I’m more machine than flesh now. Eighty percent cybernetic. What kind of lover could I even be?”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Al!” Raven growled, pressing closer, paws roaming over the dragon’s plated chest. “You told me yourself, you refused to become one of those full-conversion cyber-junkies. You’re still you. I don’t give a damn about the titanium or the coolant lines. I see what’s underneath. I see you, Alswaram. The dragon who took a cocky young wolf under his wing and made him better. The one who still smells like home to me.”

The dragon’s optics dimmed, then flared brighter. If he could still cry, he would have. Relief and terror crashed through his core processors in equal measure.

Raven didn’t wait for more protests. He climbed boldly into the dragon’s lap, straddling those powerful thighs, and wrapped his arms around Alswaram’s neck. He nuzzled into the junction where warm scales met cool metal, inhaling deeply. The scent of sweet hydraulic fluid, warm circuitry, and that familiar mech-like scent flooded his senses, reminding him of his first times with Shadow and making his sheath throb instantly.

Their mouths met again, this time deeper, hungrier. Alswaram’s large paws settled on the wolf’s waist, claws pricking lightly through fabric as he finally gave in. The kiss grew sloppy, desperate, tongues tangling while Raven ground slowly against the dragon’s lap, feeling the first hints of movement beneath the dragon’s plating.

Raven’s paws explored greedily, mapping every inch of Alswaram’s hybrid body: the smooth curves of living muscle, the hard edges of reinforced plating, the faint heat radiating from internal systems. He dragged his nose lower, licking and nuzzling along seams and joints, savoring the faint tang of oil and the underlying reptilian warmth. The mechanical scents that once might have seemed alien only made his cock twitch harder now. They reminded him of long nights in Shadow’s cockpit, of power and trust and raw power.

He slid down between the dragon’s legs, paws working open Alswaram’s pants with eager fingers. When the fabric fell away, Raven’s eyes widened in pleasant surprise. The dragon’s genital slit was still perfectly organic, untouched by modification, soft scales framing a puffy, already glistening entrance. Below it, the tight pucker of his tailhole looked equally untouched and inviting.

Alswaram smirked down at him, voice rough with growing lust. “What? Expecting some kind of glowing metal probe? I may love machines, but I’m not that far gone. These parts are still mine. Usually reserved for Lancer… but tonight they’re yours. Now get to work, pilot.”

Raven’s ears flicked back in arousal at the commanding tone. He leaned in, pressing his nose directly against the warm slit and inhaling deeply. The thick, heady musk that rolled off Alswaram was pure reptilian male: rich, pungent, and intoxicating. It made the wolf’s head spin and his own cock start to slip free of its sheath, already leaking.

With a hungry growl, Raven dragged his broad tongue along the slit, tasting the slick natural lubricant that coated the sensitive flesh. Alswaram’s hips jerked, a low mechanical growl rumbling from his chest as the wolf’s tongue pushed inside, exploring the hot, velvety walls. When the dragon’s cocktip finally emerged, Raven lavished it with attention, lapping at the flared head and drinking down the steady spurts of precum that tasted faintly of salt and warm metal.

“Fuck… Raven…” Alswaram groaned as his shaft swelled rapidly, thick ridges forming along its length, the knot already beginning to bulge at the base.

Raven worshipped every inch, kissing and sucking along the throbbing pink length, coating it generously with saliva until it glistened. He pulled back just enough to grin up at the dragon, eyes dark with lust.

“Who’s the eager one now, hmm?”

“Shut up and take care of this,” Alswaram snarled, voice laced with dominant hunger as he gripped Raven’s ears and guided him back down for a few more firm licks.

“Yes, Sir,” Raven purred playfully, then rose up, stripping off the last of his clothes. His own blood-red cock stood proudly, knot already swelling, tip dripping with need.

He positioned himself over the dragon’s massive erection, heart pounding. The head was broader than he’d imagined, hot and slick. Raven lowered himself slowly, gasping sharply as the thick cock stretched his tight ring open. Alswaram’s natural lubricant helped immensely, but the sheer size still burned in the most delicious way.

“Fuuuck… you’re so much bigger than I thought…” Raven whined, ears flattening as he sank down another inch.

Alswaram’s paws gripped the wolf’s hips firmly, claws pricking skin. His voice dropped into a deep, commanding growl. “You wanted this, little wolf. Now stop whining and take every inch like the needy pilot you are.”

The dirty talk sent a fresh jolt of arousal through Raven. He moaned loudly, relaxing his body until he finally bottomed out, the dragon’s knot pressing insistently against his stretched rim. When it finally flared and locked inside him, Raven howled in pleasure, the sudden fullness making his vision blur.

They moved together to a building rhythm. Raven rode hard, hips rolling and grinding, his own cock bouncing heavily between them, smearing precum across the dragon’s plated abs. Alswaram’s paw wrapped around the wolf’s throbbing length, stroking in time with each thrust, thumb teasing the sensitive knot.

The wolf’s inner walls clenched greedily around the invading cock, milking it with every rise and fall. Alswaram’s breathing grew ragged, vents hissing steam as his climax built.

“Raven… I’m close. Hope you’ve got room because this is going to be a big one…”

“Give it to me,” Raven snarled, riding faster, claws raking down the dragon’s chest. “Fill your wolf up, my sexy cyber-dragon. I want every drop!”

Alswaram roared as he came, the sound shaking the room. His knot swelled even larger, locking them tightly together while thick, scorching ropes of cum erupted deep inside Raven. The heat was intense, almost unnaturally hot from the dragon’s cybernetic systems, flooding the wolf’s guts until his belly felt swollen and warm.

The sensation pushed Raven over the edge. His own cock pulsed hard, knot flaring in Alswaram’s grip as he howled and painted the dragon’s chest and neck with heavy, musky ropes of wolf cum.

They collapsed together, panting, locked in a sticky, trembling embrace. Alswaram’s arms wrapped around Raven with surprising tenderness, nuzzling into his neck as aftershocks rolled through both of them.

“Raven…” the dragon whispered, voice thick with emotion, old memories of Reiken flickering through his mind. “Thank you…”

Raven smiled against his scales, still impaled and dripping. “Not ‘thank you.’ Say it right, big guy.”

Alswaram hesitated, then let out a soft, rumbling chuckle. “I… I love you.”

“Yeah,” Raven murmured, kissing him deeply. “I love you too, my cyber-dragon. And I’ll be waiting right here when you get back from Sirius.”

They stayed like that for a long time, the heavy musk of sex and oil and sweat thick in the air, two unlikely lovers finally united before the long separation.

--- The next morning, 0900 hours

The two of them woke almost at the same time, as if pulled from sleep by the same unseen thread. Alswaram’s eyes snapped open first—and within a heartbeat, they widened in alarm as he caught sight of the time.

“Shit!” he blurted, scrambling upright. “Raven, get up! I have to report to the council—I was supposed to confirm the assignment. They’re going to be furious…”

Raven stirred more slowly, letting out a low, sleepy sigh before leaning in to nuzzle him, warm and unbothered. “Mmm… alright,” he murmured. “You go, Al. I’ll let myself out.”

Alswaram paused just long enough to glance back, tension still clinging to him. “Thanks, Rav. I’ll see you soon… okay?”

“Of course,” Raven replied softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “See you soon, my cyber dragon. I love you.”

The words hit harder than Alswaram expected. Heat rushed to his face in an instant, his composure unraveling as a deep blush spread across his cheeks. He wasn’t even close to getting used to hearing that—and part of him wasn’t sure he ever would.

They pulled each other into a quick, tight embrace, their kiss lingering just a second longer than it should have. Then reality snapped back into place. Alswaram broke away, hastily throwing on his clothes before rushing out of the apartment in a flurry of motion.

By the time he reached the council’s audience chamber, slightly out of breath, he was relieved to find the room quiet. No crowd. No waiting officials. Just the council.

He stepped forward quickly and bowed, his voice edged with urgency. “Council members, I’m terribly sorry—I overslept. I only just woke up…”

To his surprise, one of them—a large, imposing shark—rose from his seat and let out a deep, hearty laugh. The sound echoed through the chamber, catching Alswaram completely off guard. It eased some of the tension in his chest, but at the same time, it sent a fresh wave of embarrassment rushing over him. For a brief, mortifying moment, he wondered if they somehow knew exactly why he’d overslept.

And then it hit him—he hadn’t even showered.

Being what he was, the shark would almost certainly notice.

Alswaram stiffened slightly, his blush deepening.

“There’s no need to apologize,” the shark said, still amused. “We weren’t expecting your decision quite so soon.”

“Oh… I—I see…” Alswaram straightened, trying to regain some composure, though a few quiet chuckles from the other council members didn’t help his case.

He cleared his throat and forced himself back on track. “I’ve made my decision. I’ll take on the missive. I plan to depart today, once I’ve gathered what I need. Lancer will, of course, carry me there.”

“Of course,” the shark replied, his tone settling into something more formal. “We expected nothing less.”

He descended the steps and approached Alswaram, handing him a tightly sealed scroll. The weight of it felt heavier than it should have.

“A manuscript, Master Herl?” Alswaram asked, glancing down at it. “That’s… quite formal. More than usual, even.”

Herl’s expression grew serious, the earlier humor fading. “We can’t afford informality anymore. Tensions are rising. Either Sirius chooses to support us… or this place becomes the center of a war.” He paused, voice quieter now. “It may sound grim, but it’s the truth no one wants to say out loud.”

Alswaram nodded slowly. “I understand. Thank you, Master Herl. I won’t fail you.”

Herl murmured something under his breath in the old Hilandran tongue—a blessing, ancient and rarely spoken now. It was one traditionally given to warriors before battle. Few remembered it, but Herl did. He had been born on Sirius, after all—a veteran of its military, decorated and respected.

Alswaram wasn’t particularly superstitious, but even so, he accepted the blessing without question. It settled over him in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

Still, as he turned to leave, an uneasy feeling lingered.

Something felt… off.

He told himself it was nerves. It had to be. He was heading somewhere he hadn’t seen in years—somewhere that had likely changed in ways he couldn’t predict. He wouldn’t recognize it. He might not recognize anyone there. The uncertainty gnawed at him.

For a moment, he hesitated.

Was this the right decision?

The thought came and went just as quickly. It didn’t matter now. There was no turning back.

Back at his apartment, he moved with purpose, gathering supplies and equipment—enough to last him a while. Raven’s suggestion echoed in his mind, and despite everything, he allowed himself a small smile. Maybe he would take some time for himself while he was there. A short break. No one needed to know.

Once everything was packed, he locked the door behind him and made his way up to the launch bays.

The familiar hum of machinery greeted him as he entered. And there, waiting as always, stood Lancer.

But he wasn’t alone.

A familiar lupine figure leaned casually against the mech’s massive foot.

Alswaram blinked. “Raven…?”

“About time,” Raven said, pushing himself upright with a grin. “You’re slow.”

Alswaram tilted his head, half confused, half amused. “What do you mean? What are you doing here?”

Raven crossed his arms, that same smug grin lingering. “You didn’t seriously think I’d let you go alone, did you? You’d get yourself into trouble. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you.”

“Oh, so now you’re my wolf in shining armor?” Alswaram shot back, a hint of laughter in his voice. Then, more seriously, “Are you sure about this? What about your duties as a council guard?”

“I’m sure,” Raven replied without hesitation. “I already spoke to Master Herl. I’ve got his blessing to go with you as your personal bodyguard.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Left Shadow behind, though. He’s not built for this kind of trip—not ready for interstellar travel. Lancer said it’d be a tight fit, but…” He shrugged. “I don’t mind. And for the record, Shadow understood and I promised him I’d do a nice thorough wash and servicing for him when we return. Made him all excited, heh.”

Alswaram chuckled softly, warmth spreading through him. “I wonder why,” he teased. Then, turning slightly, “Lancer, are you ready?”

“~ Yes. A kind technician completed all necessary servicing just moments ago. ~”

Alswaram paused. “…Wait. You mean—”

Raven nodded, grin widening. “Yep.”

“That’s… incredibly thoughtful of you.” Alswaram shook his head, then added, “Lancer, just be careful with your exhaust vents. He’s not like me.”

“~ Raven said he did not mind. ~”

“It’s true,” Raven said casually. “It’s not like I’ve never breathed in my own mech’s exhaust before. I might not be like you, but… I’ve gotten used to it. There’s something oddly comforting about it.” He smirked slightly. “Though I’ll admit—Lancer’s is a lot stronger. Hotter, too. Take that as a compliment.”

Lancer seemed almost pleased, his tail giving a slow, satisfied swish as his engines idled with a deep, steady rumble.

Alswaram watched the exchange, something in his chest easing. Raven’s acceptance—his easy kindness toward Lancer—meant more than he could put into words. It made the distance he’d been feeling shrink, even if only a little.

“I see,” he said quietly, a soft smile forming. “That’s… good.”

He took a breath, steadying himself before Raven gave a playful smirk.

“Shall we, then? Unless you want to get a little more relief before heading out?”

Raven’s golden eyes glinted with amusement, the teasing fading into something darker and hungrier.

“W…What do you have in mind, Rav?”

“Well, how about I get Shadow here and we have a little fun with these two hunks of warmth?”

Alswaram’s vents cycled sharply. “A-Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.” Raven stepped out and returned with Shadow in tow. Soon, the two mechs stood side by side—Lancer’s massive frame already humming with latent power, exhaust ports glowing faintly orange. Shadow, smaller and more compact, looked deceptively innocent beside him.

Raven guided Alswaram straight to Lancer. The dragon climbed into the pilot’s cradle with eagerness, neural links snapping into place. The instant they connected, Lancer roared to life. Engines spooled up with a guttural growl, and thick, superheated exhaust blasted from the ports in heavy, oily plumes. The air filled with a dense, acrid fog—rich, metallic, laced with burning hydrocarbons and that deep, heady Sirian signature Alswaram had craved for years.

Alswaram leaned forward, pressing his face directly into the stream. The exhaust hit him like a physical force: scorching heat seared across his scales and cybernetic plating, flooding his olfactory sensors with overwhelming intensity. His vision blurred instantly, optics flickering as the thick fumes burned down his throat and deep into his lungs. Every breath dragged more of the heavy, intoxicating vapor into his systems, making his processors stutter and his remaining organic nerves ignite with raw pleasure. His body shuddered violently, a broken groan tearing from his vocalizer as the dizziness crashed over him in waves. The scent was so potent it felt like it was rewriting his thoughts, turning his mind into molten slag.

Raven watched the dragon dissolve into bliss for a moment, then turned to Shadow with a wicked grin. “Your turn, Shadow.”

“~ Are you… going to do that with me, Rav? ~”

“You bet your plates I will. Get those engines roaring, my friend.”

He popped open a maintenance panel and cranked the scout mech’s idle higher, overriding safeties. Shadow’s engines whined, then unleashed a sharper, more concentrated burst of exhaust—lighter than Lancer’s but far more pungent, biting, and chemical-laden.

Raven didn’t hesitate. He buried his muzzle deep into the exhaust port, and inhaled hard. The effect was immediate and brutal.

Thick, searing fumes flooded his sensitive lupine nose and lungs. He coughed violently, the harsh vapor scorching his throat and making his eyes water, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he sucked in another desperate, greedy lungful. His cock throbbed hard inside his pants, twitching uncontrollably as the fumes overloaded his senses. A third deep breath—coughing, choking, tears streaming down his muzzle—pushed him over the edge.

Raven’s hips jerked sharply. A strangled, raspy moan escaped him as he came hard, untouched, thick ropes of cum soaking through his clothes in pulsing spurts. His powerful body convulsed with each cough, each involuntary thrust, the overwhelming exhaust turning his brain to static while his orgasm ripped through him.

Alswaram, still lost in Lancer’s heavy plumes, caught the sound through the haze. The dragon’s optics flickered open just enough to see his friend shaking, coughing, and creaming himself against Shadow’s hull. The sight sent another violent surge of pleasure through Alswaram’s systems, making him press even closer to Lancer’s exhaust, greedily drinking in more of the thick, mind-melting fog.

Raven finally pulled back, gasping and coughing, fur singed at the edges, chest heaving, a dark wet patch spreading across his front. “Damn… I could get used to this. Be good while we’re out. We can play some more later. How about it?”

Shadow rumbled happily, seeming satisfied and looking forward to more.

Raven looked up at Alswaram with hazy, blissed-out golden eyes and a shaky, satisfied grin.

“Fuck… still got it,” the blue dragon rasped, voice hoarse from the abuse.

Alswaram could only manage a weak, rumbling laugh, vents cycling wildly as aftershocks continued to roll through his frame. Raven was still panting and twitching as he grinned at him.

“Now we can head out.”

Part II: Alienated

The two messy pilots climbed into Lancer together, slipping between the mech’s layered plates as they sealed around them. Alswaram moved with practiced ease, settling into his usual position as the interface points aligned and linked seamlessly with his systems. For him, it was second nature—like stepping into his own skin. Raven, on the other hand, stayed close, arms wrapped tightly around the dragon’s torso as the canopy lowered with a heavy, airtight hiss, enclosing them in the dim, humming interior.

At first, there was only a low vibration—subtle, almost comforting. Then the reactors came alive.

The shift was immediate and unmistakable. A deep, powerful rumble rolled through the mech’s frame, growing louder, fuller, until it surrounded them completely. The energy building within Lancer wasn’t just audible—it was physical. It pressed against Raven from all sides, vibrating through his chest, his limbs, his very bones. He let out a strained groan, instinctively tightening his grip as the systems spooled up.

The temperature climbed quickly. Heat bloomed through the enclosed space, thick and dense, wrapping around them as the cloaking systems engaged. It wasn’t unbearable, but it was intense—alive in a way Raven wasn’t used to. The padded interior softened the harshness somewhat, giving him something stable to cling to, but it did little to dull the sheer presence of the machine awakening around them.

Then came the launch.

The sudden upward force should have crushed them into the hull, but Lancer’s dampeners absorbed most of it, turning what should have been violent acceleration into a strange, floating pressure. Still, Raven could feel it—like an invisible hand pushing against him, reminding him just how fast they were moving. The world outside vanished as they tore through the atmosphere, climbing higher and higher until the sky itself gave way to the vast emptiness beyond. It didn’t take long before they reached orbit, the transition smoothed by Sirian gravitic relays—ancient, elegant pieces of technology designed to bend distance itself. Coordinates locked in, the system aligned them with the central relay. And then they jumped. For Raven, it was indescribable. One moment he was there—grounded, present, real. The next, it felt like his entire body unraveled.

Every part of him seemed to come apart at once, stretched into nothing and everything at the same time, as if he had been reduced to scattered fragments of sensation. There was no pain, only a deeply unsettling awareness of not being whole. And then, just as suddenly, it snapped back together. Form, weight, and presence rushed back into him all at once. He shuddered violently, his grip tightening as he tried to steady himself.

A quiet chuckle escaped Alswaram.

“I know,” he said softly. “You never really get used to that. I don’t feel it anymore, but I used to… it would leave me dizzy for minutes.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice. “At least Lancer’s dampeners spare you the added joy of gravitational stress. Without them, you’d probably black out. I made that mistake once—forgot to check before a jump.” He huffed a small laugh. “Never again. Lancer wouldn’t let me live it down.”

“~ I still don’t, ~” the mech added, a faint, playful tone threading through its voice.

Raven let out a small, breathless laugh, lightly batting at Alswaram’s chest. The lingering unease from the jump hadn’t fully faded, but being pressed close to him helped—grounded him in something familiar, something steady. The transition had taken only an instant. Yet when they emerged, an entire world waited before them.

Sirius.

The planet stretched out below, vast, and luminous—its surface awash in deep blues and soft whites. From this distance, it looked almost like Earth, more than Alswaram remembered. For a moment, he simply stared, caught between recognition and distance, as if he were looking at a memory that no longer fully belonged to him. The silence didn’t last. The comm system crackled to life, and a firm, unfamiliar voice cut through the cabin.

You have entered Sirian space without authorization. Identify.

Alswaram blinked, caught off guard. That wasn’t the welcome he had expected.

“Greetings,” he replied, his tone steady despite his surprise. “I am an envoy from Lemuria, the Terran colony. My name is Alswaram Osdanil. With me is my companion, Raven Talvos. My MAU is designated Lancer. I carry a formal missive and request permission to descend.”

A brief pause followed.

Did you say Alswaram Osdanil?

“That’s correct.”

Another pause—longer this time.

Then we may have an issue, Sir. Your name appears in our records, but… according to our data, you have been listed as missing in action for quite some time.

Alswaram exhaled softly. “Yes. That would be accurate. I’ve undergone extensive modifications since then. I’m… not entirely what I used to be. Circumstances prevented my return. I’ve spent my time in Lemuria, serving as a military and political advisor.”

I see… Please stand by. I will consult the levyataans.

“Thank you.”

Raven shifted slightly, glancing at him. “I forgot you were born here,” he said. “At least they still have you on record. But… what’s a ‘levyataan’?”

Alswaram frowned faintly, thinking. “When I was last here, they were the council’s personal guard and advisors. Think of them as some kind of deities. But from the way he said it…” He trailed off. “They might be in charge now. Things change.”

“Yeah…” Raven murmured.

The wait felt far longer than it probably was before finally, the comm crackled again.

Alswaram Osdanil, you are cleared to descend. However, the levyataans request your presence immediately upon arrival.

“That’s understandable,” Alswaram replied. “Where should I go?”

Docking bay eight. The council building is directly ahead once you exit.

“Understood. Thank you.”

The descent began smoothly, Lancer angling down toward the planet’s surface. As they entered the atmosphere, Alswaram instinctively began analyzing the air composition. To his surprise, little had changed. The pressure was slightly different, but otherwise, it remained remarkably similar to Terra—just as it had been when Sirius had first chosen it for colonization. Still… something felt different.

As Lancer touched down and settled into the docking bay, a sudden wave of unease washed over him. Everything looked familiar—the architecture, the layout, the atmosphere—and yet it felt distant, like a place he remembered from someone else’s life. Raven noticed immediately. He leaned in, nuzzling him gently before giving his snout a reassuring lick. “It’s okay to be nervous,” he murmured. “I’m here. And so is Lancer.”

Alswaram let out a quiet breath. “Thanks… sweetheart. I appreciate it.”

The word lingered.

For Raven, it hit just as deeply. Part of him still struggled to believe any of this was real—that he wouldn’t suddenly wake up and find himself back in his old, uneventful life. He hadn’t even dared to call Alswaram something as intimate as that. But hearing it now… It meant everything. With a heavy hiss, Lancer’s plates depressurized and opened, letting in the outside air. The two stepped out—and were immediately met by a large orca approaching the mech with clear interest.

“Hello,” he said politely. “My name is Grianos. If it suits you, I’ll be the technician assigned to your mech while you’re in the city.”

Alswaram blinked in surprise. “Really? I usually handle everything myself. You don’t have to go out of your way.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Grianos replied calmly. “You’re considered a special guest. And if I may—I specialize in H- and D-class units like yours.” He paused. “Of course, if you’d prefer not to—”

“No, no,” Alswaram cut in quickly, shaking his head. “It’s not that. I can tell you are skilled. It’s just… Lancer is more than a machine to me.”

Grianos gave a small, understanding nod. “Ah. A mechanist, then?”

Alswaram tilted his head. “Mechanist?”

“The modern term,” Grianos explained. “You may know it as ‘activator.’”

“Ah.” Alswaram nodded. “Then yes, I am.”

“They’re becoming more common,” Grianos added. “Not widespread, but growing. I’m hoping to join their ranks myself one day.”

“I see…” Alswaram hesitated, then gave a small, trusting smile. “Alright, Grianos. I’ll leave Lancer in your care. Just—be gentle with him. He only takes military-grade fuel, and if you clean his plating, use water-based solutions. Anything else alters his exhaust profile, and he… doesn’t like that.”

“Understood,” Grianos said with a slight bow.

“We’ll find our own way,” Alswaram added. “No escort needed.”

He turned back to Lancer, stepping close to the mech’s frame and pressing into it with a soft nuzzle, arms wrapping briefly around the warm plating. “We’ll be back soon, Lancy.”

A quiet, amused sound escaped Grianos.

“I see you two do share quite the bond,” he said.

“~ I will be waiting for you both, ~” Lancer replied gently.

They exchanged farewells, and as Alswaram and Raven walked away, the wolf let out a quiet giggle.

“What?” Alswaram asked, glancing at him.

“‘Lancy’?” Raven teased. “You’re really spoiling him.”

Alswaram froze for a second. “…Did I actually say that?”

“Oh, absolutely. That orca almost smiled.”

He groaned softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Damn it. Well, what do you expect? He’s been with me through everything… carried me through things you wouldn’t believe.” His voice faded slightly at the end, the weight of old memories creeping in—still there, still unresolved. Then he shook it off, glancing back at Raven. “Besides, you take good care of Shadow too. I just… take it a little further.”

Raven snorted. “A little? That’s one way to put it.”

Alswaram gave the wolf a light nudge, half in protest and half in amusement, as Raven continued to tease him. Normally, that kind of teasing would have worn on his patience pretty quickly, but things were different with Raven. The two of them understood each other in a way that didn’t need explaining—they could sense when to be serious and when to joke, when to push and when to ease off. In fact, Raven’s playful attitude was doing exactly what it was meant to do: helping Alswaram relax, even if just a little.

They made their way out of the spaceport, with Alswaram leading the way. Despite being in front, his attention kept drifting, his eyes darting from one sight to another. The place had changed dramatically since his last visit. It was enormous now—crowded with ships constantly arriving and departing, and filled with people moving in every direction. It felt at least four times larger than he remembered, and the sheer scale of it was almost overwhelming.

When they finally stepped outside, Raven paused, taking in their surroundings with a hint of surprise. There was something strangely familiar about it all. Aside from the different mix of people, it almost felt like they had never left Lemuria. The architecture, the layout—even the atmosphere—seemed deliberately similar. It was as if Sirius had modeled its expansion after Lemuria itself. Alswaram found comfort in that. For a moment, it made everything feel a little more like home.

Their path led them up a long flight of stairs toward the council’s congressional building. As they climbed, Alswaram began to lag behind, his earlier confidence slipping as nerves started to creep in. Raven noticed immediately. With a playful grin, he stepped behind him and gave him a gentle push forward. Alswaram sighed, his movements slowing into an almost exaggerated trudge.

“Mech pilots are supposed to stay in shape, you know,” Raven teased. “If you can’t handle a few stairs, you’re in trouble. I might have to tell Lancer to put you through a tougher routine.”

“Very funny…” Alswaram muttered.

“Hey,” Raven added, his tone softening, “don’t look like that. It’ll be fine. They’re not going to eat us alive. Worst case? They say no. We deal with it and move on.”

“I wish I had your composure,” Alswaram replied quietly. “You remind me of someone…”

Raven raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“N-never mind,” Alswaram said quickly. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The building itself had changed just as much as the spaceport. It was far more advanced now, filled with modern systems, security measures, and guards stationed throughout. After asking for directions at the front desk, they were guided to the audience chamber. An elevator carried them to the appropriate level, where they were soon stopped by two imposing draconic Kelva guards standing watch in front of large metal doors.

“Do you have an audience scheduled?” one of them asked.

“Yes,” Alswaram replied, straightening slightly. “I am Alswaram Osdanil. I bring a missive from the colony of Lemuria, on planet Terra.”

The guard checked his device, scrolling through a list before nodding. “You’re right on time. Go in—and mind your manners.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

Alswaram bowed respectfully, and Raven followed suit. The doors opened, revealing a vast, oval-shaped chamber. Inside, dozens of representatives from various races sat arranged in a wide semicircle. It was far more than the handful Alswaram had expected. As they entered, the entire assembly rose to their feet. Alswaram subtly signaled Raven, and both of them bowed deeply.

“Honored members of the Sirian council,” Alswaram began, “I bring you a message from the leaders of Lemuria.”

One of the council members—a frail-looking Elvani—stepped forward and took the document. She skimmed through it quickly. Something about her presence unsettled Alswaram. The council members he remembered had been commanding, almost overwhelming in their charisma. This one felt… different. Weaker, somehow. And yet, beneath that, there was something else—something that made him uneasy.

“So we’ve heard,” she said at last. “You’re requesting Sirius’s assistance. I’m afraid we must decline.”

She continued, explaining that Sirius was facing its own growing problems. Tensions with Arcturus had been rising, and resources were stretched thin. While they hoped to avoid conflict, they couldn’t risk weakening themselves.

“It may sound harsh,” she concluded, “but I trust you understand our position.”

Alswaram nodded slowly. “I see… So nothing has changed between Sirius and Arcturus.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Some things never do,” he said quietly.

The council member then offered a compromise: Lemuria could be granted full independence. They would remain allies, and Sirius would still provide support when possible, but the colony would no longer depend on them. A treaty had already been prepared.

Alswaram wasn’t surprised by the decision, but the unease lingered.

“Very well,” he said. “I will ensure your message—and this treaty—reaches our leaders safely.”

“It seems the records were correct about you,” the council member added. “You are… easy to negotiate with.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was meant as one.”

After a brief exchange, Alswaram also requested permission to visit the Second Fleet’s headquarters during his stay. The request was granted, along with accommodations.

Once the meeting concluded, they bowed once more and left. The moment the elevator doors closed behind them, Alswaram let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Raven chuckled softly, brushing against him in a reassuring gesture.

“See? Not so bad,” he said. “Not the answer we wanted, sure—but it could’ve gone worse.”

“Yeah…” Alswaram replied, though his expression remained thoughtful. “Almost too easy.”

“You think so?”

“Maybe I’m just paranoid, but… something felt off. They were too relaxed. And all that security—why so much of it if everything’s fine?”

“Or maybe they’ve just changed,” Raven suggested. “Gotten softer.”

“Maybe,” Alswaram said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “I hope you’re right.”

To take their minds off things, Raven suggested they head to the beach. Sirius, after all, was mostly ocean—a world that would look like a luxury paradise to most humans. Alswaram agreed without hesitation. He was exhausted, both mentally and physically, and welcomed the distraction.

Using a virtual map, they found a quiet, secluded spot by the ocean. When they arrived, the view was breathtaking: calm waters stretching endlessly ahead, with a towering mountain rising behind them. The weather was perfect—warm and bright, but without the oppressive humidity of tropical climates.

With no one else around, they settled into the sand, letting the peaceful atmosphere wash over them. Raven gently held Alswaram close, stroking his chest as the rhythmic sound of the waves slowly lulled him to sleep.

Raven stayed awake a while longer, enjoying the quiet moment. But eventually, practicality won out. They were too exposed out there, and something about this world still didn’t sit right with him. Carefully, he lifted the sleeping dragon onto his back and began the long journey back.

It wasn’t easy. Alswaram’s cybernetic body was heavier than Raven had anticipated, forcing him to stop several times along the way. Still, he pressed on, eventually making it back to the city and navigating his way to the Second Fleet’s complex.

The place felt cold and unfamiliar—metallic, heavily armed, and tense. Ships and weapons lined up the area, giving the impression that something was building beneath the surface.

“Something’s not right. We need to leave first thing tomorrow” Raven thought.

After receiving a translator device and directions from a guard, he finally located their room. Exhausted, he laid Alswaram down on the bed—nearly collapsing himself moments later. His body ached from the effort, and within seconds, he fell asleep beside him.

Part III: Old ghosts

The next morning, Alswaram stirred in the dim glow of the unfamiliar quarters. His optics flickered online as he scanned the room—sleek metallic walls, reinforced bulkheads, the faint hum of life-support systems. One of the Second Fleet’s officer berths. A low, rumbling snore drew his gaze to the side: Raven, the wolf, sprawled out beside him, chest rising and falling in peaceful oblivion.

A quiet giggle escaped Alswaram’s vocalizer. He must have carried them both back here after the blue dragon had dozed off. Gently, he nuzzled the side of Raven’s muzzle, careful not to wake him. Perfect timing, he thought. Let the wolf rest. There were… other needs to tend to.

Hunger gnawed at him—rare these days, but insistent. Returning all the way to Lancer felt unnecessary when the Second Fleet offered easy access to military-grade mechs and their compatible fluids. Besides, Lancer wouldn’t hold it against him; their bond ran deeper than jealousy. With practiced stealth, Alswaram slipped from the bunk and padded out of the room, the door hissing shut behind him.

He began a slow, reminiscing tour of the revitalized Second Fleet. Structurally and technologically, much had evolved—sleeker corridors, advanced holographic displays, upgraded bulkheads humming with new power. Yet at its core, it felt achingly familiar. The layout remained intuitive, the air carrying that same sharp, metallic tang mixed with lubricant and ozone. Only the sheer volume of vehicles had multiplied: rows of sleek fighters, hulking mechs, and support craft crammed into expanded hangars.

His sensors flared with a volatile mix of distrust and raw hunger. In the communal area, soldiers chatted in clusters, their voices echoing off the walls. Ahead lay a vast hangar bay where mechanists like himself worked alongside their machines—laughing, debating specs, playfully challenging one another and their mechs to impromptu efficiency tests. It was their way of staying sharp, of bonding through friendly rivalry.

Alswaram watched from the shadows, a pang of jealousy twisting in his chest. If only it had been like this when I commanded the Fleet… Back then, mechanists were sneered at as “machine lovers” or freaks. Now, they seemed respected, even celebrated. At least in that sense. His own heavily augmented body still drew uneasy glances—cold metal fused with organic scales—but he had long since stopped caring. The stares served as a useful deterrent anyway.

Wandering deeper, he reached the maintenance bays. He peered into each one, feasting his optics on the dormant mechs and aircraft undergoing routine servicing. Empty for the moment—luck was on his side. Then his gaze locked onto an isolated bay sealed by heavy sliding doors. Warning signs glared in bold red: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY and ORGANIC TOXICITY.

Curiosity—and something sharper—pulled him closer. He approached the observation window and peeked inside.

His spark nearly seized.

There, in the center of the bay, loomed a massive black mech shaped like a predatory shark. A Hunter-class, heavily armed and upgraded, yet unmistakably reminiscent of his long-lost love. Larger, more menacing, bristling with weaponry… but the silhouette was too close. Too hauntingly familiar.

Memories crashed over him like a tidal wave. The frantic rescue attempt. Reiken’s life force draining away, eyes glazing over as the abomination stirred to life. Nights haunted by the same looping nightmare for centuries. Alswaram’s vents hitched; he nearly forgot to cycle air. Anger surged first, hot and blinding, then crushing sorrow, then hatred again in a vicious cycle. His downtime had just veered into dangerous territory.

As he glared, fixated, a large green dragon—another Kelva—strode past him toward the bay’s entrance. In a near-psychotic haze, Alswaram lunged. He slammed the green dragon against the wall with bone-jarring force. The corridor was empty; no witnesses, no immediate backup. Good.

Alswaram pressed close, growling low against the Kelva’s neck, voice laced with venom. “Are you the pilot of this murderous pile of junk?”

The green dragon froze for a split second, then moved with trained speed. His sidearm whipped out, barrel jamming hard into Alswaram’s flank. “Get the fuck off me before I blast a hole through your side!”

But Alswaram wasn’t listening. Rage and grief clouded his processors, flashing him back to Reiken’s final moments—the life siphoned away to fuel that monster. Any normal organic might have spiraled into depression or worse, but his cybernetic conversion had rewired his coping. The trauma didn’t break him emotionally; it simply replayed like a cursed holovid every few nights for hundreds of years. A blessing for sanity, perhaps. A torment all the same.

His grip faltered just enough. The green dragon cracked the butt of his pistol against Alswaram’s head with brutal precision. “What the fuck did you say about my partner, you psychotic imbecile?”

He raised the weapon for another strike—but Alswaram suddenly slumped, optics dimming as he slid toward the floor. The green dragon blinked in surprise. For such a heavily modified mechanist, the blue dragon seemed… fragile.

“The fuck? You’re seriously gonna pass out on me, you mechanical freak?”

He hauled Alswaram up by the collar, fist cocked—then paused. Alswaram wept and sobbed, optics squeezed shut.

“What’s wrong with you? You insult my partner, slam me into the wall, and now you’re crying? Did all that scrap you bolted onto yourself fry your brain?”

The failsafe triggered. Alswaram’s cybernetics, designed to prevent full emotional collapse, forced a hard shutdown. He blacked out cold.

The green Kelva muttered a curse and dragged the limp form into the bay, tossing him unceremoniously to the floor near the black mech. “Hey, Wraith! Look what I found. You hungry?”

The mech’s systems hummed to life. Bright yellow optics ignited.

“~ Oh? You found a Kelva? ~”

“Yeah! Bastard was lurking outside. Called you a murderous pile of junk, so I clocked him good. Then he just… passed out crying. How fucked up is that? Figured we should teach him a lesson. You know what I mean?” The green dragon cracked his knuckles, itching for payback.

“~ I have never seen him before. I sense unusual energy signatures. He feels like a mechanist, similar to you. Any idea who he is? If he’s connected to the Council, hurting him could bring trouble. ~”

“Who gives a fuck? Nobody talks shit about my partner!”

“~ Thank you Torva, but I insist we identify him first. Let me run a scan. Odd—no identification chip. ~”

“What? That’s weird. Every Sirian has one…”

“~ Indeed. Checking cybernetic signatures instead. There should be a barcode imprint… ~”

The mech’s sensors swept over Alswaram’s body, analyzing vitals and hardware.

“~ Well… that cannot be right. ~”

“What is it, Wraith?”

“~ Your ‘friend’ has been listed as MIA for several centuries. ~”

“Say what? Your sensors glitching or something? Run it again.”

“~ Positive. His name is Alswaram Osdanil. Archives show he was Commander of the Second Fleet… until he abruptly resigned and vanished toward Lemuria. ~”

“Lemuria? On Terra? Sounds like he’s no ordinary idiot. Wait—you said he was in command? Like, the actual XO at the time?”

“~ Precisely. Not average by any measure, however his vitals are critically weak right now. ~”

“What? I didn’t hit him that hard…!”

“~ Perhaps not. Emotional shock, maybe? You said his behavior was erratic. ~”

Alswaram groaned, stirring slowly. His optics flickered open, taking in the green dragon and the towering black mech looming overhead. Panic surged; he tried to bolt upright, but Torva pinned him down firmly.

“Settle down already! Look, I’m sorry about earlier—you just surprised the hell out of me. You’re going to answer questions. Wraith says you’re impossibly old?”

Alswaram refused to speak, gaze locked warily on the mech above him.

“Look, boss… Wraith thinks you were in shock. What do you remember? Did something happen to you? Did you come looking for help?”

“Help? From him?” Alswaram spat. “And who the hell is ‘Wraith’?”

“Wraith is my partner, obviously,” Torva replied, gesturing upward. “The one staring down at you right now—the same one you called a ‘murderous pile of junk,’ by the way.”

Confusion clouded Alswaram’s face. “What are you talking about? His name is Storm, and he murdered one of my officers! He killed my mate!”

Torva’s short fuse ignited. “Say that again and I’ll rip your tongue out! Wraith’s armed to the teeth, sure, but he’s primarily a frontline medic. He’s never murdered anyone except in self-defense on the battlefield!”

“What…? That can’t be right…”

“You mentioned ‘Storm.’ Did you know the original model?”

“If I knew him? Enough to know he was a rogue AI and a killer!”

“You’re psychotic!” Torva growled, but there was a hint of uncertainty now. “My partner was modeled after the original Storm Mk I, I’ll give you that. But he’s been Sirius’s premier battlefield medic for over a thousand years! He was rebuilt from the ground up, and I lucked out getting paired with this beautiful boy.”

“Wait… he’s not the original…?”

“Of course not, dumbass. The Mk I was a failure—reportedly destroyed in a lab incident. Wraith is the Mark II. Built from the original blueprints but refined. Are you daft or just glitching?”

“~ Easy, Torva, ~” the mech interjected calmly. “~Your name is Alswaram Osdanil, correct? You commanded the Second Fleet centuries ago? ~”

“…Yeah. Until everything went to hell.”

“~ I dislike relying on sanitized archives and political cover-ups. Would you mind telling me what truly happened? ~”

“You already read the reports, didn’t you?”

“~ I prefer truth over convenient fiction. ~”

Alswaram exhaled shakily. “I lost two officers that day. Sorvaa’hr Ol’rath went MIA… and Reiken Arvalan—he died. Drained dry to power that thing’s systems. I watched his eyes go blank as the abomination woke up.”

“~ So the rumors were true… The original model sustained itself on the pilot’s life force. ~” Wraith’s tone softened with synthetic empathy. “~ You must have endured unimaginable trauma. My scans detect severe, chronic psychological markers. It is remarkable you remain functional at all. ~”

Torva’s eyes widened. “Wait, what?! Wraith, you’re telling me the original Storm killed his own pilot? And that pilot was this guy’s mate on top of it? That’s… heavy. Shit. No wonder you lost it back there…” The green dragon regarded Alswaram with newfound compassion, his earlier anger cooling. “Still—Wraith would never do anything like that. When the brass was about to wash me out as a failure, he chose me as his pilot. Trained me from nothing. He’s the best there is, and I love him more for it.”

Alswaram slowly lifted his gaze to the black mech. If this was true, then he had been wrong—horribly, violently wrong. He had assaulted an officer and insulted his partner. Shame burned through him; he knew exactly how it felt to have one’s bond mocked. Thankfully, Wraith seemed merciful. Torva, too, began to soften, regret replacing suspicion. It had been a tragic case of mistaken identity.

“Alswaram, right?” Torva offered, voice gruff but sincere. “Look, boss… I’m really sorry I hit you. I didn’t know. Wraith says it’s fine, so no hard feelings?” Alswaram nodded slowly. They clasped hands—claw to scaled claw—in uneasy reconciliation.

“I’m sorry too,” he murmured. “I don’t usually let my ghosts get the better of me. Sorry for the intrusion… and especially to you, Wraith, for the insult. As a mechanist, that was unforgivable. I… I should go. I was only out looking for fuel.”

Torva tilted his head. “Didn’t you say you’re a mechanist?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Well, by now you can probably tell I am too.” A small, knowing grin. “Want to share Wraith? Might calm your nerves… and your thoughts.”

Alswaram felt a flicker of internal panic. Wraith still unsettled him deeply. Yet the hunger clawed at him, and the idea of feeding from Lancer in front of Raven felt… too intimate, too exposing. Politeness—and need—won out.

“Well… would that really be alright?”

“~ Of course, ~” Wraith replied warmly. “~ I have no objections. I hope I am to your liking. ~”

The black mech extended two slender feeding hoses from small ports near his fuel reservoirs, each linked to a gentle pump. Alswaram and Torva each took one, pressing the nozzles to their muzzles like straws. Almost immediately, deep, resonant purring vibrated from both dragons as they nursed the warm, nutrient-rich fluid. The act was sacred among their kind—the intimate communion between mechanist and partner, a privilege and a bond that transcended words.

They drew closer without realizing, brushing shoulders, tails slowly entwining as they fed to full satiety. Conversation flowed easily now: stories of the old and new Second Fleet, Torva’s turbulent past, Alswaram’s long exile in Lemuria. The earlier violence faded like a bad dream, isolated in a private bubble of the present. For those precious minutes, the so-called “mechanist curse” felt like nothing more than a distant phantasm. Alswaram drank deeply, savoring how Wraith’s fluids tasted oddly medicinal—soothing, comforting. It made sense for a medic mech.

When they finally released the hoses, the two Kelva rubbed their snouts together in a traditional gesture of friendship. Alswaram almost hated to admit it, but Wraith felt warm and strangely healing. Torva simply looked relieved that no grudge lingered. Their eyes met with the quiet understanding shared only by those who bonded with machines. “Thank you, Torva… for knocking some sense into me, and for sharing your wonderful partner. And my deepest apologies again to you, Wraith. Thank you for the feast.”

“You’re quite welcome, mechanist brother,” Torva chuckled. “Wraith always likes to share, heh.”

“~ Mmm. That I do, ~” the mech hummed contentedly. “~Alswaram, I hope things improve for you. I can only imagine the pain you have carried—as both mechanist and former organic. Please, do not hesitate to call on Torva and me. We will help if we can. Not to worry, your secret identity is safe with us. ~”

“Well said, Wraith. Be well, Alswaram.”

Alswaram offered a formal salute as he left, then winked and waved casually, as if nothing unusual had occurred. He made his way back to their quarters, only to find Raven pacing anxiously in the corridor. The wolf turned at his approach, ears flattened in clear irritation.

“Hey! What’s the big idea, ditching me like that?”

“Sorry, Raven. I just needed some air… and I was hungry.”

“Oh… that’s okay, I guess.” Raven’s expression softened as he stepped closer, then frowned. “What happened to your muzzle?”

“Nothing. Spaced out and walked into a wall. Clumsy, I know.”

The wolf shook his head and gently rubbed the spot with a paw. “You really need to pay more attention… Also, you reek of fresh fuel. Oh, I see how it is. You went and had breakfast without me, huh? I don’t mind you getting intimate with Lancer, you know…”

“S-Shut up, Rav… let’s just go.”

Alswaram’s vents flushed with mild embarrassment. He had no intention of explaining the deeper intimacies that sometimes occurred between mechanists and their partners. That remained his private world.

They were about to settle into a quiet day of sightseeing when the piercing wail of the Fleet’s general alarm shattered the peace. Soldiers scrambled everywhere—grabbing gear, shrugging into flight suits, rushing toward the launch bays. Raven looked around, bewildered.

“Al, what’s going on?!”

“Sounds like the general alarm. Some kind of major problem.”

Alswaram flagged down a large red dragon hurrying in the same direction. “Wait—what’s happening?”

The red Kelva barely slowed, already priming his weapons. “You… You’re the one they’ve been whispering about.”

“Not surprised rumors travel fast. Name’s Alswaram. I used to command here.”

“Heard the stories. Well, can’t you hear the sirens? I don’t know the details, but they don’t trigger the general alarm for nothing serious.”

“Figured as much. I’ll grab my partner and join the briefing. I owe Sirius a favor or two…”

“Hmph. Suit yourself. We rally at the usual coordinates—you can’t miss it.” The soldier pressed a scrap of paper into Alswaram’s claw—Sirian Cartesian coordinates scrawled hastily—then hurried off.

Alswaram took Raven’s paw and broke into a run, heading back through the city toward the spaceport. Lancer was already powered up and aware when they arrived.

“~ About time. I’ve been monitoring comm traffic. An unknown craft just jumped into Sirian orbit. ~”

“So that’s the cause,” Alswaram muttered. “Could be Arcturus testing us?”

“You really want to get involved, Al?” Raven asked.

“Yeah. I can’t just sit this out. Plus, they’ll lock down airspace until it’s resolved anyway. Better to contribute.”

“Alright… I got it. I’m coming with you.”

“You sure, Raven? You can stay safe here. I’ll come back for you.”

“No. I want to go. Lancer might not be my usual ride, but I’d lose my mind waiting around doing nothing.”

“~ I have no objections. Both of you—climb in. We need to catch up. ~”

They boarded swiftly. Alswaram took the controls, received launch clearance, and boosted out of the bay. His sensors quickly painted the formation of Sirian mechs and escort fighters ahead. He keyed into the tactical comm channel.

#We don’t know what we’re facing, sir! We’ve already lost seven units to this thing—whatever the hell it is!#

#Don’t you think I know that?! Our only play left is a full-assault push to buy the ground teams time for a countermeasure. M4, M6, and M8—on me. M2 and M9, flank. The rest of you MAU pilots, escort the atmospheric craft back and shield the capital. Let’s make this intruder regret coming here!#

Alswaram opted to shadow the main group, trusting Lancer’s (admittedly outdated) cloaking to keep them concealed long enough to assess the threat. Engines throttled low, cloak engaged, they slipped into orbit.

The scene that greeted them was chaos—brilliant explosions lighting the void as Sirian units were torn apart. A single, wide blue arc beam lanced from nowhere, vaporizing several mechs in one sweep.

#Sir, M14 through M18 are down!#

Helpless, Alswaram watched two more units vanish under precise, long-range shots. Raven’s eyes widened in horror; he had never witnessed such casual, overwhelming destruction. “There’s no way… What kind of monster can wipe out Sirian forces like this in seconds? It has to be a capital ship!” Alswaram stayed grimly silent, sharing the panic but refusing to voice it. Sensors showed nothing. Visuals showed nothing. Until—

A powerful impact slammed into them from the side. Kinetic shields collapsed instantly; the cloak flickered and died. Even Lancer’s advanced systems had failed to detect the attacker in time.

“Lancer—what was that?!”

“~ I have no more intel than you! Brace—visual feed incoming! ~”

A holographic window materialized, showing external camera footage: a sleek, mechanical silhouette streaking away at impossible velocity, blinking across space in short warps like a ghost.

“Damn it! What is that thing? It’s like a phantom!”

Alswaram opened a channel, voice steady despite the rising dread.

#Unidentified craft, you have violated Sirian space and destroyed multiple units. State your motive. Are you Arcturian? Respond or face Sirius’s full wrath!#

A heavily distorted, robotic voice crackled back through static and harsh warping—cold, mechanical, and utterly devoid of mercy. ~Kill. Kill. Kill. KILL THEM ALL.~

“Well… at least we know its intentions,” Alswaram muttered dryly.

“AL!! This is not the time for sarcasm!”

Then it appeared—warping directly in front of them. A massive black mech, nightmare incarnate. Alswaram’s spark lurched. “YOU…! How?! Damn you!”

Raven barely had time to react before Alswaram triggered Lancer’s energy lance and charged. The weapon slammed into the black plates… and glanced off harmlessly, the lance shorting out on contact. The black mech retaliated instantly with a brutal shoulder ram that rattled Lancer’s frame and shook both occupants violently.

~Kill. Kill. Kill.~

“SHUT UP! You killed my mate, you murderer!”

Alswaram tried to counter-ram, but the enemy blinked away in another warp.

Lancer ran a rapid spectral analysis, cross-referencing the distorted vocal pattern against old databases. The results hit like a railgun.

“~ Alswaram… I am initiating emergency warp. I know how you feel but we are no match for this entity. ~”

“WHAT?! Lancer—!”

The mech overrode controls without further debate and tore them out of the battle. They rematerialized at the very edge of the Sirian system, far from the carnage. Behind them, comm chatter confirmed the black mech had vanished as abruptly as it had appeared.

“Lancer?! What the hell was that about?!”

Raven looked between them, utterly lost. He didn’t recognize the enemy, nor understand why Alswaram had suddenly gone feral with rage. For one of the rare times, Lancer’s usually serene voice carried a tremor of genuine distress.

“~ Alswaram… The vocal signature matched, despite the distortion. There is no mistake. It belongs to Sorvaa’hr Ol’rath. This intruder was never targeting Sirius.~

Lancer paused, as if reluctant to deliver the final blow.

~It came for you.~

---

---

Part IV: Arcturus

Alswaram’s world tilted the instant Lancer spoke Sorvaa’hr Ol’rath’s name.

He sat frozen in the pilot’s cradle, optics wide, processors stuttering over the revelation. Sorvaa’hr…? Piloting that thing? How? When? The last time he had seen his former officer, Sorvaa’hr had been brash, difficult, but never… this. Never a monster that slaughtered Sirian pilots like they were target drones.

Questions hammered at him in rapid succession. What had happened in the centuries since the incident? How had Sorvaa’hr become entangled with Storm? And why would the mech—or whatever controlled it—wear his subordinate’s voice like a stolen skin?

There was no time for answers. Not here. Not now. The black mech had already torn through over a dozen of Sirius’s finest units as if they were nothing. Lancer was many things—loyal, intelligent, deeply bonded—but he was no frontline war machine. They couldn’t win this fight alone.

Raven’s voice broke the heavy silence first, hesitant but hopeful. “Hey, Al…? What about Arcturus?”

Alswaram blinked, turning toward the wolf. “Arcturus? What the hell are you thinking about now?”

“Well… they’re not exactly allies, but they’re not enemies either, right?” Raven shifted in his seat, ears flicking. “I read they’re heavily militarized—almost totalitarian. If we explain the situation, maybe they’ll help. Or at least let us regroup there.”

“Raven, I don’t think it’s wise to drag the Council into—”

~Al,~ Lancer cut in sharply, his synthetic voice carrying an edge Alswaram had rarely heard, “if we do nothing, there will soon be no Council left to trouble. Even if the intruder came for us, there is a high probability it will return to Sirius. And the Council may very well blame us for drawing it here in the first place.”

The urgency in Lancer’s tone made Alswaram’s vents hitch. His partner was right. In his selfish need for answers—for closure with Storm—he had barely considered the wider threat. If that black mech could dismantle elite Second Fleet pilots so effortlessly, the capital itself would stand no chance. And yet… Storm had vanished the moment they warped out. Had they truly been the target all along? How had the original model grown so impossibly powerful?

Too many questions. Too few answers. And every second spent hesitating could cost lives.

Alswaram exhaled a shaky vent of air. “Fine. Set course for Arcturus. Fast.”

Lancer’s engines roared to life, thrumming with sudden power. They accelerated hard toward the Sirian central relay and jumped. The familiar tunnel of warped space swallowed them, spitting them out moments later at the edge of Arcturian territory.

They were greeted immediately by two massive Arcturian warships, their primary cannons already tracking Lancer with cold precision.

Alswaram opened a channel without hesitation. #This is Alswaram Osdanil, former Commander of Sirius’s Second Fleet. We come on friendly terms. Sirius has just been attacked by an unknown craft. It destroyed more than a dozen mech units single-handedly. We are seeking an audience with your leadership to explain the situation and coordinate a response.#

A clipped voice replied, laced with suspicion. #Repeat that, Sirian. A dozen mechs? By one craft?#

#Affirmative. Weapons systems we’ve never encountered. The pilot… or whatever controls it… remains unidentified. We have theories, but no certainties. We know it is not Arcturian technology, and we’d rather not escalate panic within the Sirian Council. Consider us operating independently for now.#

Silence stretched. To Alswaram, each passing second felt like sand slipping through his claws.

Finally, the warship responded. #Quite the tale. Stand by. I’ll relay to the General.#

More agonizing quiet. When the reply came, it carried reluctant approval. #Very well. The General has agreed to meet you. Power down your reactors and prepare for escort to the surface. Do not attempt anything foolish.#

Alswaram complied immediately, throttling Lancer’s systems to standby. They were in no position to argue. Simply being granted entry felt like a minor miracle. Most Sirians viewed Arcturus as a brutal, xenophobic regime—militarized to the teeth and quick to see threats everywhere. Dealing with them was like walking across broken glass.

Raven, however, was far less relieved. His ears pinned back as he glanced at Alswaram. “Al…? What if we’re walking straight into a trap? What if they’re working with that mech?”

“Storm? Not a chance,” Alswaram replied, though his own confidence wavered. “They shouldn’t even know about Storm—especially not if Sorvaa’hr is actually involved. Sorv… he shouldn’t be like this.”

“Wait—you know both the mech and its pilot?!”

Alswaram’s shoulders sagged. “Sorry, Rav… I didn’t mean to keep it from you. It still hurts, even after all this time. I was once Sorvaa’hr’s commanding officer. That mech—Storm—killed the one who used to be my mate. It must be controlling him, or wearing his identity like a mask. So yes… you can bet I want payback.”

“You say that so coldly,” Raven murmured, voice soft with concern. “You sound like a completely different person right now.”

“Don’t get me wrong…” Alswaram’s claws tightened on the controls. “Inside, I feel like curling up and screaming. I want to smash my fists into the nearest bulkhead until something breaks. But I can’t afford that. Not yet. I’ve carried a thousand years of grief, and I won’t rest until the bastard itself pays for what it took from me.”

Raven watched him with quiet admiration, but Alswaram knew the truth: this wasn’t strength. It was raw, corrosive vengeance. Unhealthy. Poisonous. Yet he couldn’t let it go. Others might have found a way to move on. Not him.

Strangely, he felt no hatred toward Sorvaa’hr himself—only pity. Sorv had always been an abrasive asshole at his worst, but never a murderer. Not the kind that would slaughter his own people. If anything, Storm was using him. Twisting him. The hunt for the black mech wasn’t just revenge; it was a rescue mission—for Sorvaa’hr’s deliverance, for Reiken’s long-overdue justice, and for Alswaram’s own fractured mourning.

As they approached Arcturus itself, Lancer performed a quick atmospheric scan. “~ Alswaram, I recommend you give Raven one of the filter masks from my lower compartment. The air here is Terra-like but heavy with fine particulates and ozone. It will irritate his throat and lungs. ~”

“Thanks, Lancer.” Raven really liked Lancer. He seemed to be looking out for him even though he wasn’t his pilot.

They touched down smoothly on a fortified landing platform. The moment the canopy opened, Alswaram reached into a small panel on Lancer’s left leg and retrieved a compact breathing mask with advanced particle filters, helping Raven secure it over his muzzle.

A tall, lizard-like being approached—similar in build to a Kelva but lacking the draconic features and horns. Tan military uniform, crisp Arcturian insignia, posture rigid with disciplined authority. The being activated a translator device and spoke in a neutral, slightly rasping tone.

“Excellent. I see you’ve already provided a mask for your… companion.”

“Yes,” Alswaram replied. “Typical Balmodan physiology isn’t suited to your atmosphere.”

The lizard’s gaze shifted to Alswaram, noting the extensive cybernetics. “And you? Kelva usually tolerate our air, but it can still cause irritation.”

“I’m a special case,” Alswaram said simply.

The Arcturian gave him a long, appraising look, clearly deducing that the modifications handled environmental concerns. “I see… heavily augmented. Very well. This way, please.”

“Wait—what about Lancer?”

“Your unit will be serviced. As fellow militarized people, we know how to maintain machines of this class.”

Alswaram’s tail twitched with irritation. The casual dismissal of Lancer as a mere “machine” stung more than he expected. But he bit back the retort. The Arcturian was likely ignorant of the mechanist bond; there was no point starting a diplomatic incident.

Still, his instincts wouldn’t stay silent. “I’m sure you do, sir. But this isn’t just any battle unit. He’s my partner—the one I share my life with. If anything happens to him, or if anyone upsets him… they will answer to me.”

The lizard’s pupils dilated in clear surprise. “Your… partner?”

“Yes. Consider Lancer the one I love.”

For a moment, the Arcturian stood stunned, clearly processing the concept. Then he recovered with practiced military composure. “Right… I-I see. I will ensure he receives attention from our most skilled technicians.”

“Much appreciated,” Alswaram said, voice tight but sincere. “Thank you.”

In that moment, Raven felt a sharp, quiet sting of realization. No matter what he did, he would never replace Lancer as Alswaram’s one true love. That space in Alswaram’s heart was already claimed, untouchable and permanent. Still, there was a strange comfort in knowing that Alswaram chose to treat him as if he mattered just as much. It wasn’t everything Raven wanted—but it was something, and for now, it was enough to steady him.

Arcturus stood in stark contrast to Sirius. While both planets shared a similar level of technological advancement, their priorities could not have been more different. Sirius invested in improving the quality of life for its people, fostering culture and innovation. Arcturus, on the other hand, funneled its resources into military strength and the careful shaping of public perception. It was a world where power and control took precedence over prosperity.

The environmental differences only deepened that divide. Arcturus was a harsh desert planet, its terrain dominated by dry, unforgiving landscapes that seemed almost hostile to life. Anyone who had visited both worlds could immediately sense how opposite they were—not just in appearance, but in spirit. Where Sirius felt vibrant and alive, Arcturus felt tense, as if it were always bracing for conflict.

Both Alswaram and Raven were familiar with the planet in their own ways. Alswaram’s understanding came from years of military service, firsthand experience etched into his memory. Raven’s knowledge was more academic, shaped by his time in military school, where Arcturus had been studied as both a strategic ally and a cautionary example.

Even the atmosphere carried a sense of unease. The air was thick with ozone pollutants, tinting the sky a dull, reddish-yellow that gave everything an ominous glow. During the rare but dangerous magnetic storms, that glow intensified into a blinding yellow. In those moments, stepping outside without protective eyewear was a death sentence for one’s vision—exposure could burn the retinas in minutes, leaving permanent blindness behind.

Architecturally, the planet offered little relief from its severity. Arcturus had only one major city, built almost entirely from metallic alloys mined from its abundant mineral veins. Most of the capital was composed of plain, boxy structures—uniform and uninspired, as if individuality had been designed out of the skyline. To an outsider, it might have suggested a lack of sophistication, though that assumption would have been dangerously misleading. Arcturians were anything but primitive when it came to technology.

Beyond the capital, life became even more austere. Small, nomadic settlements dotted the wastelands, their dome-shaped huts coated in a slick, oily film designed to shield inhabitants from the planet’s brutal climate. Survival, not comfort, defined daily life there.

As they followed the Arcturian escort through the sprawling military complex, Alswaram felt the weight of the planet’s culture pressing in from every angle. Arcturus wasn’t just militarized—it breathed discipline, hierarchy, and unyielding collective purpose. The very air seemed thicker with it.

The landing platform gave way to wide, perfectly geometric corridors carved from dull gray ferrocrete and reinforced plasteel. Every surface bore the same stamped insignia: a stylized sunburst pierced by a vertical spear, rendered in matte black and crimson. No decorations, no murals of past glories—only function and symbolism. Overhead, holographic banners cycled through rotating slogans in crisp, blocky Arcturian script (translated automatically by Alswaram’s ocular implants):

“Unity is Strength. Dissent is Weakness.” “The Nation Above All. The Individual Within the Whole.” “Service is Eternal. Victory is Inevitable.”

Soldiers moved in precise formation—lizard-like Arcturians of varying scale patterns and hues, all clad in identical tan uniforms tailored for their sleek, powerful builds. No horns or draconic crests like the Kelva; instead, they had smooth, ridged skulls, powerful tails held rigid at attention, and forward-facing eyes that missed nothing. Every trooper marched with the same measured gait, boots striking the deck in perfect unison. When officers passed, subordinates snapped to rigid salutes—clawed fists thumping once over the heart, then locked at sides—without a single word exchanged. Idle chatter simply did not exist here. Efficiency was sacred.

Their guide, Lieutenant Kesh’var (as his rank plaque read), led them deeper without slowing. “The General will receive you in the Command Spire. Remain silent unless addressed. Do not deviate from the marked path. Questions about classified zones will be ignored.”

Raven glanced sidelong at Alswaram, mask fogging slightly with each nervous breath. The wolf’s ears kept flicking; he clearly felt the oppressive atmosphere. Alswaram gave a subtle tail flick in reassurance, but inside he was cataloging everything. This was no mere military base—it was a machine of state. Every Arcturian he saw wore the same expression: focused, proud, almost fanatical in their restraint. No smiles. No casual banter. Even the maintenance crews servicing nearby fighters worked in synchronized teams, tools passing hand-to-hand like parts of a single organism.

They passed an open training hall where rows of recruits drilled under barked commands. The instructor—a scarred veteran missing one eye ridge—shouted in clipped Arcturian: “Again! The enemy does not hesitate. Neither will you!” The recruits responded as one, slamming into combat simulations with mechanical precision. No grumbling. No exhaustion shown. Pain, fear, even camaraderie seemed subordinated to the greater whole. A small holographic plaque on the wall read: “The soldier who fights for himself dies alone. The soldier who fights for Arcturus lives forever.”

Alswaram’s processors churned. Sirian culture prized personal honor, the deep bonds of mechanists, and a certain roguish independence—even within the Fleet. Here, individuality appeared to be a liability at best, a threat at worst. He wondered how many of these soldiers had ever questioned an order. How many had ever loved anything beyond the Nation.

They reached a towering lift that ascended the Command Spire in eerie silence. No music, no announcements—just the low thrum of machinery and the faint ozone tang of the planet’s atmosphere seeping through Raven’s mask. When the doors opened onto the upper level, the difference was stark: wider halls, slightly richer lighting, but still no ornamentation save for larger versions of the sunburst-and-spear emblem. Officers here wore additional crimson sashes denoting seniority, and the salutes grew sharper, held longer.

A pair of elite guards flanked the General’s briefing chamber—larger, more heavily augmented lizards with subtle cybernetic plating visible beneath their uniforms. They scanned Alswaram and Raven with handheld devices before stepping aside without a word. Lieutenant Kesh’var paused at the threshold.

“General Varak awaits. Speak truth. Waste no time. Arcturus does not tolerate deception.”

The doors hissed open.

Behind a large metallic desk stood a lizard-like figure who, at first glance, looked surprisingly unremarkable. His build was average, even slightly frail, and his pale, cream-colored scales gave him an almost washed-out appearance. It was hard to reconcile his presence with the authority he clearly held. Still, the moment carried weight. Raven and Alswaram stepped forward and offered a formal salute before the lizard spoke.

“Welcome, Sirians. Sit.”

He gestured toward the chairs across from him. They obeyed without hesitation, settling into their seats. Alswaram straightened slightly, taking the lead as he began to speak.

“I sincerely apologize for entering Arcturian space unannounced and for taking up your valuable time. Returning to Sirius wasn’t an option for us, and Arcturus was the best alternative we had.”

The lizard’s expression hardened into a faint frown, clearly unimpressed.

“A smooth talker,” he said bluntly. “Cut the crap and get to the point. You’re not here for a vacation, are you?”

“No, Sir,” Alswaram replied, his tone steady. “As your personnel may have already informed you, Sirius was attacked not long ago by an unidentified craft. It destroyed over a dozen mech units—and their pilots—in a matter of minutes. We barely made it out alive.”

“And yet,” the lizard interrupted, leaning back slightly, “you didn’t return to warn your High Council?”

Alswaram hesitated for only a moment. “No, Sir. There’s something I didn’t tell your escorts. I believe I may know what that craft is… and who’s piloting it. I think it came for me.”

The lizard’s eyes narrowed, interest sharpening his otherwise dismissive demeanor.

“I knew there’d be a catch. Are you suggesting it might have followed you here?”

“I don’t believe so,” Alswaram said. “It behaved erratically—almost irrationally. We chose Arcturus because we assumed it wouldn’t pursue us beyond Sirian space.”

The lizard tapped a claw lightly against the desk. “Go on.”

“The craft is an experimental Sirian mech from about a thousand years ago,” Alswaram continued. “I discovered it in a hidden facility. That same day, one of my subordinates disappeared… and my partner at the time was killed by it. Its codename is Storm.”

The lizard leaned back further, propping his feet up onto the desk in a casual, almost disrespectful manner. Raven felt irritation flare in his chest at how little urgency the General seemed to show.

“And you expect me to believe you’re over a thousand years old?” he asked dryly.

“Yes, Sir. One thousand and thirty-one, to be exact,” Alswaram answered. “I’ve undergone extensive body modifications—over eighty percent of me is mechanical now. That’s how I’ve survived this long. Though… I imagine you can tell my time is running out. It always does, eventually.”

For the first time, the lizard let out a quiet chuckle.

“Indeed, it does,” he said. “I could share a few stories about that myself. Continue.”

“Storm has resurfaced,” Alswaram went on. “We don’t know how or from where. But I believe its current pilot is Sorvaa’hr Ol’rath—one of my subordinates who went missing that day.”

The lizard tilted his head slightly, his tone turning colder, more analytical.

“So his body’s likely gone, and his consciousness was uploaded into the mech’s AI matrix. And now that rogue intelligence is using him.”

The bluntness of the statement hit Alswaram hard. His chest tightened.

“That’s… one possible explanation,” he admitted quietly.

“Quite the story,” the General muttered. “Which brings me to the obvious question—why didn’t you inform Sirian authorities?”

“I expected you to ask that,” Alswaram said. “After the incident, I left Sirius. I spent the last thousand years on Terra, in a Sirian colony. I only reconnected with the homeworld recently. Everything feels… different now. I already feel like a stranger there. I didn’t want to burden them with something this dangerous—especially when I can’t even prove it. Telling them a thousand-year-old experimental mech has returned would make me sound insane.”

The General gave a small nod. “Fair enough. Do you think you’re the reason it came back?”

Alswaram inhaled sharply. The question struck deeper than he expected.

“It’s crossed my mind,” he admitted. “But if that’s the case, why now? And why not come after me on Terra? Maybe… maybe Sorvaa’hr wants revenge. Maybe he blames me for what happened back then.”

“Hmph,” the General grunted. “You sound like the kind of man trouble follows.”

Alswaram couldn’t argue with that. He simply nodded.

“Then perhaps coming here was a mistake,” he said carefully. “I don’t want to drag Arcturus into—”

“Silence, Sirian!” the General snapped. “I’m thinking.”

The room fell quiet as the lizard weighed his options. Arcturus had much to gain from Sirius—access to its knowledge, its culture, its technological edge. If Storm truly was a Sirian weapon, then it was proof that Sirius’s capabilities ran deeper than they let on. That alone made the situation worth considering.

At last, the General stood.

“I’ll have a room prepared for you,” he said. “I need time to evaluate this and consult my advisors.”

“Sir… I appreciate that,” Alswaram replied, “but I don’t want to worsen relations between our worlds. This could complicate things—”

The General smirked faintly.

“I’m not doing this for you,” he said. “If what you’re saying is true, that thing may already be on its way here because of you. I’ll consider providing military support—but when the time comes, you’d better be ready to face it.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

Alswaram rose and saluted, Raven following immediately. The General returned the gesture before signaling to the lizard who had escorted them earlier.

“Kesh’var will take you to your quarters. Get some rest. You’ll need it.”

“Understood, Sir.”

They were led out, the tension of the meeting slowly giving way to a quieter atmosphere as they walked through the facility.

“So,” Kesh’var said casually, “I assume things went well for you?”

“Better than expected,” Alswaram replied. “He’s strict, but… flexible.”

Kesh’var gave a small nod. “That’s why he leads. He’s a brilliant tactician.”

“I can see that,” Alswaram said. “It’s a shame so many Sirians think Arcturians are just brutes. You’ve been nothing but courteous.”

The lizard let out a soft, amused breath. “A compliment from a Sirian? I’ll treasure that. And for what it’s worth, you’re not as aloof as I imagined your kind to be. Maybe there’s hope for our worlds after all.”

“I’d like to believe that.”

Their conversation faded as they reached a modest room with two small beds. It wasn’t luxurious by any means, but given Arcturus’s nature, it was more than adequate. After thanking Kesh’var, Alswaram locked the door behind them.

He lay down, exhaustion catching up with him almost instantly. Across the room, Raven sat on the other bed, quiet and distant, lost in thought.

Alswaram turned his head toward him. “What’s on your mind? You’ve been quiet since we arrived. Missing home?”

“Yeah… a little,” Raven admitted. “I keep wondering what’s happening back there.”

“Me too,” Alswaram said softly. “But once this is over, we’ll go back. Things will settle down again.”

Raven hesitated. “Hey… Al?”

“Yeah?”

“You are coming back, right? With me… to Lemuria?”

The question caught Alswaram off guard, almost stinging. “Of course I am,” he said. “What kind of question is that?”

Raven looked down at his hands. “Earlier… you didn’t feel like yourself. There was so much anger in you. If this Sorvaa’hr really is back… what if you choose to go after him? Or worse… go with him?”

“What? Raven, no,” Alswaram said firmly. “You’ve got it all wrong. I don’t want wanton bloodshed or revenge. I just want closure. I want to honor Reiken… to give him peace. And if there’s any chance Sorvaa’hr can be saved, I want to try. He deserves that much. But Storm? That threat needs to end—for everyone.”

Raven’s voice dropped. “I just… don’t want to lose you.”

Alswaram sat up slightly, his tone softening.

“Hey. Don’t let that thought take root,” he said. “You’re my mate now. And I love you.”

Raven let out a deep sigh of relief as Alswaram rose from the floor and settled beside him on the narrow bed. The dragon’s strong arms pulled him close, and their mouths met in a slow, tender kiss that quickly deepened, tongues sliding together with familiar hunger. Alswaram eventually broke away just long enough to cross the room and lock the door with a soft click. When he returned, he began stripping off his gear piece by piece, deliberately slow, letting the dim light play across every sleek curve of his cybernetic body—matte black plating, glowing blue accents, and the faint hum of servos beneath synthetic scales. Raven’s cheeks burned darker with every revealed inch, and his paws made greedy little grabbing motions in the air.

“All that for me, you sexy cyber dragon?” Raven asked, voice husky.

“You know it, sexy-ass lupine boy,” Alswaram grinned, fangs flashing.

The dragon climbed back onto the bed and took his time undressing his mate, claws teasing zippers and straps open with suggestive slowness. Once they were both bare, Alswaram’s paw slid down to cup and stroked over Raven’s bulging sheath, drawing a sharp gasp from the wolf. Their bodies pressed together, skin to scales and plating, as Alswaram slowly lowered himself over his mate, snuggling in deep. His long tail curled possessively around Raven’s leg.

“Raven, my love…” Alswaram murmured against his ear, voice low, and earnest. “It doesn’t matter where we are. On the edge of the Arcturian system or the other side of the universe—my love for you is real. You and Lancer… you’re the only things keeping me going. I won’t let anyone take you from me.”

He kissed his way slowly up Raven’s chest, then lifted his head to offer a tender smile. Raven blushed harder, ears folding back. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but making out like this on an alien planet felt dangerously hot. Alswaram noticed the deepening flush and took it as encouragement. He shifted higher, his tail sliding playfully between them until the soft, flexible tip brushed teasingly over Raven’s sheath. The wolf gasped, then groaned low as his body responded eagerly, his cock sliding free and swelling to full, throbbing attention. Amused by the wolf’s squirming, Alswaram slid downward, nuzzling deep into the warm musk between Raven’s legs. The rich, lupine scent pulled a soft, rumbling purr from the dragon’s chest. Raven moaned softly, the vibrations traveling straight up his spine, making him hope—rather uselessly—that the walls here were soundproof.

“So…” Alswaram purred, voice muffled, “should I stop here? Or do you want me to show you exactly how much I love you?”

“Al…! Oooh—please… don’t stop…”

Raven’s voice was already wrecked. Alswaram chuckled warmly and obliged. One paw gently fondled the wolf’s swollen balls while his muzzle tended to the emerging cock, bathing it in long, slow, languid licks. Raven’s precum soon beaded at the tip; Alswaram lapped it up with obvious relish. The wolf grew steadily more vocal, hips twitching, which only made Alswaram hope even harder that the room was properly insulated.

Before Raven could alert half the sector, Alswaram took him deep into his muzzle in one smooth motion. His thick, soft tongue went to work, curling and stroking while he sucked with steady, rhythmic pressure. One paw continued to tug and massage those heavy balls. Raven moaned louder, gasping out his dragon’s name as his knot began to swell. A few more deep, wet pulls and the wolf arched hard, thick ropes of salty lupine cum pulsing across Alswaram’s tongue. The dragon swallowed greedily, purring all the while, then gently cleaned him with soft licks before pulling off.

He crawled back up and gathered Raven into a warm, loving hug, kissing him deeply so the wolf could taste himself.

“Don’t worry, wolf boy,” Alswaram murmured against his lips, smiling. “You’ll get a taste of my treat soon enough. For now, we should rest. You’re already passing out on me, heh. I love you, Rav. Sweet dreams, my lupine love.”

“I love you too, Al…” Raven whispered, eyes heavy. “Sleep well, my sexy cyber dragon.”

They shared one last slow kiss. Raven’s breathing evened out quickly, drifting into exhausted sleep beneath his mate. Alswaram held him for a long while, keeping him warm, making sure he was truly out before carefully disentangling himself.

Guilt twisted in his chest as he slipped from the bed. Part of him desperately wanted to stay curled around his wolf all night but his body had other demands. Quietly, he dressed, left the room, and asked the first crewmember he saw for directions to Lancer’s location.

Lancer, it turned out, had been parked in one of the maintenance bays. As Alswaram walked through the motor pool, the heavy scent of mechs, oil, and hot metal hit him hard. Combined with the lingering arousal from earlier, it made him shiver and pick up his pace.

He found the correct bay and slipped inside. The mechanics had already finished their work; Lancer stood alone under dim lights.

“There you are,” Alswaram said softly, voice warm. “How are you, sweety?”

“~ Al? What are you doing here? ~” Lancer’s deep synthetic voice rumbled through their private channel.

“What, I can’t visit my partner?” Alswaram teased, stepping closer. “How are they treating you?”

“~ Rather nicely, surprisingly. The technician was thoroughly impressed. The poor fellow thought I was just another suit of inert armor. He nearly screamed when I told him not to touch my ass. ~”

Alswaram burst out laughing. Lancer always had his playful, mischievous moments—scaring techs with sudden engine revs or his unexpectedly deep voice. Alswaram loved every second of it.

“It’s good they serviced you properly… because I’m really hungry, love.”

“~ There’s a nozzle on the main fuel line right there. ~”

“Don’t be silly,” Alswaram murmured, already moving closer. “I don’t want that tasteless junk. I want it straight from the tap.”

He relaxed fully now. Around everyone else—even other mechanical beings—he kept his walls up. Only with Lancer could he drop every pretense and just be himself.

“~ Is that so? I suppose I can spare some… but don’t be too greedy. ~”

“Awww, I can’t help it if you’re too damn tasty!”

Alswaram opened a panel on Lancer’s side, pulled down the flexible hose, and latched on with urgent need. The bittersweet fluid flowed hot and rich across his tongue. He drank deeply, purring loudly, one paw rubbing his swelling belly as he snuggled against the massive mech’s plating.

“~ You do realize I’ll expect compensation? ~”

Alswaram looked up, eyes half-lidded with pleasure. “Oh? And what could you possibly want from little old me, my sexy hulking partner?”

“~ No idea? I want to make you scream. I want to make you roar for me… and beg me to stop. ~”

Alswaram’s cheeks burned. He knew exactly what was coming. After double-checking the bay was sealed, he stripped off every piece of gear and stood bare before his partner. Lancer might have been an AI, but he was ancient and had studied more than most organics ever would—including anatomy and pleasure. He had long since decided Alswaram was beautiful. The attraction was mutual. While most beings responded to pheromones, Alswaram’s body reacted powerfully to Lancer’s rich, oily exhaust.

The mech shifted slightly, angling his exhaust vents directly at the dragon. Engines growled to life with a deep, resonant thrum. Hot, thick exhaust washed over Alswaram in waves, heavy with that addictive, musky mechanical scent.

“Lancer—! You… you…!”

~Sexy? Wonderful? Amazing? Yes, yes, I know. Heh heh heh.~

All Alswaram could do was moan helplessly as he breathed it in. His cock slid free almost instantly, throbbing hard and leaking. It never took much.

Lancer extended a small, spade-shaped atmospheric probe—perfectly sized and shaped for this—and slipped it teasingly under the dragon’s tail. The flexible tip pressed inside, stroking sensitive inner walls with precise, repeated nudges. Alswaram growled, then roared as pleasure spiked through him. He grabbed his own cock, stroking frantically while the probe worked him open. The combination of heat, scent, and internal stimulation pushed him over the edge fast.

With a deep, guttural roar, thick ropes of hot cum splattered across Lancer’s armored plates. Alswaram collapsed against him, panting, trembling through the aftershocks while the mech kept his engines at a low, vibrating idle, bathing him in warmth and gentle rumbling.

“L-Lancer… please… I’m gonna pass out, love…!”

“~ Oh? We can’t have that, can we? ~”

The engines slowly powered down. Alswaram clung to the massive frame, nuzzling and catching his breath.

What neither of them realized was that Raven had woken up alone. Suspecting exactly where his mate had gone, the wolf had slipped out and quietly entered the bay a few minutes earlier. He’d been watching in silence.

Lancer noticed him first.

“~ We have a spy, Al. ~”

The dragon whipped around. Raven stood there, smiling softly.

“Feel better, my cyber dragon?”

“Raven! I… shit— I didn’t want you to see this, love. I—”

Raven stepped forward, pressing a finger to Alswaram’s snout to hush him, then replaced it with a gentle kiss.

“You silly dragon. You don’t have to keep hiding this from me. I know full well what you are. I don’t mind. If I did, I wouldn’t have followed you… and I sure as hell wouldn’t still be here, neither would I have partaken in it before.”

“I know, love. I just I can’t help feeling so… dirty.”

“Well, you are dirty,” Raven teased, nuzzling him. “But in the best possible way. Heh. Don’t worry—I’ve heard of way weirder kinks. As a mech pilot myself, this isn’t that strange to me. Shadow’s smell actually relaxes me. Makes me realize I should treat him more like a partner than just a tool, especially after that intense session before. I’m gonna apologize to him when we get home.”

“Raven…”

The wolf smiled and nuzzled closer, though he coughed lightly at the thick scent still hanging in the air.

“Gotta admit, though—you’ve got one hell of a strong scent, Lancer.”

Lancer’s tail swished happily behind him.

“~ Heh. I’ll take that as a compliment. ~”

“Heh… it sure is.”

“Don’t shower him with too many compliments, Rav,” Alswaram chuckled, still flushed. “Otherwise, he’ll rev those engines and make an even bigger mess.”

“~ Oh yeah? ~”

Lancer’s playful tone turned mischievous. Without warning, his engines roared back to life. Thick, oily exhaust billowed into the bay. Raven half-intentionally breathed in deep—then immediately coughed and squirmed, eyes watering even as his body reacted. Alswaram felt the wolf’s sudden, rock-hard bulge pressing insistently against him through his pants.

“Lancer… that is so mean!” Raven laughed, blushing furiously.

“~ Says the one who just happily inhaled it all in. ~”

Alswaram chuckled. “Looks like Lancer’s really growing on you, Rav.”

“Yeah… he really is.”

Raven smiled up at the massive mech, warm and genuine. Lancer’s tone softened noticeably.

“~ You’re too kind. The cockpit’s a bit cramped… but I would like it very much if you both rested together inside me tonight. I’ll keep you warm and safe. ~”

Raven nodded without hesitation. “Of course. I don’t mind at all—and I know Al wouldn’t either.”

“I’d love that,” Alswaram added softly. “Thank you, Rav… I love you. And you too, Lancer.”

The mech’s canopy hissed open. The two climbed up together and settled snugly inside the cockpit, bodies pressed close. Raven nuzzled into Alswaram, blushing at the strong mechanical scent still clinging to his mate’s body and plating. He didn’t pull away. If anything, he pressed closer, breathing it in.

They kissed slowly, then drifted off to sleep wrapped in each other’s arms while Lancer kept silent, protective watch over them both.

---

--

-

The two only stirred almost twenty hours later.

Alswaram woke first, blinking slowly as the soft glow of the maintenance bay lights filtered through Lancer’s canopy. He shifted carefully, nuzzling into the warm fur of his wolf’s neck and pulling Raven tighter against his plated chest. A tender kiss brushed Raven’s temple, then another along his jaw.

“Sleep well, Rav?” he murmured, voice still rough with sleep.

Raven hummed, stretching languidly before curling back into the dragon’s embrace. “Not so bad, considering… I guess I was tired enough that even my racing thoughts couldn’t keep me awake.”

“Heh. I can definitely relate.”

“~ Good to hear you two finally got some rest,~” Lancer’s deep voice rumbled gently through the cockpit’s internal speakers.

Raven smiled softly, reaching up to rest a paw against the smooth plating beside him. “Thanks to you, Lancer. You’re so warm. I get why Al likes cuddling up with you so much.”

“~ Another compliment? Keep that up and next thing I know, you’ll be asking to join Alswaram’s little games with me. ~”

Raven’s ears flicked with amusement. “Perhaps I would, my friend. We definitely should sleep like this more often. And next time… maybe I can be a little more intimate with you again, Lancer. I owe you that much. You’ve been wonderful to both of us.”

“~ That would make me quite happy,~” the mech replied, a note of genuine warmth in his synthetic tone. “~ Thank you both. ~”

The canopy hissed open with a soft pneumatic sigh. Alswaram and Raven climbed out, stretching stiff limbs. They had barely taken a few steps when a gruff Arcturian soldier approached—an imposing black lizard with scarred scales and a perpetual scowl. He hissed low under his breath and offered a lazy, half-hearted salute, clearly unimpressed by the presence of Sirians on his world.

“The General requests your presence,” he growled. “Hustle.”

Raven’s muzzle wrinkled in distaste. He made no effort to return the salute, unlike Alswaram, who responded with calm professionalism. The dragon nodded politely and replied in his most diplomatic tone, explaining that they had needed the extended rest after their ordeal and would meet the General as soon as they were ready.

“Very well,” the lizard snapped. “Don’t dawdle. The General’s being gracious, but he’s got a short fuse.”

“We’ll keep that in mind, Sir. Thank you for the reminder.”

“Hmph. As you were.” The soldier turned on his heel and stalked off with another irritated hiss.

Alswaram and Raven exchanged a knowing glance. They both sensed the long, difficult day stretching out ahead of them.

Lancer suddenly spoke up again, his tone thoughtful. “~I have been thinking…~”

“Oh?” Alswaram tilted his head. “What sort of thoughts are running through that mind matrix of yours now?”

“~ Do not make fun of me! I am being serious.~ There was a brief pause before he continued. ~While you two were sleeping, I analyzed possible locations for Storm. Where he might go when he is not pursuing us… ~”

“And?”

“~ What if he returned to his origins? You know the old saying—perpetrators often return to the scene of the crime. ~”

“His origins…?” Alswaram’s brow furrowed. “Wait… Lancer, are you saying he went back there?”

“~ It is a distinct possibility. They say the facility was razed after the events of a thousand years ago, yes? What if they bluffed? What if Storm restored it? It remains the only place he truly knows. ~”

“Don’t talk about him like he has a real mind!” Alswaram snapped, tension rising in his voice.

“~ Why not? You know as well as I do that he is far more than a mindless killing machine. You want to believe that because it would make things simpler—but deep down, as an activator, you know it will not be that easy to simply shoot him down. Keep denying it, Alswaram. Sooner or later, you will have to face the truth. ~”

Alswaram exhaled sharply, rubbing the bridge of his snout. “You’re amazingly good at bursting my bubble sometimes…”

“~ I take no pleasure in it. This is as difficult for me as it is for you. The last thing I want is for you to lose your composure at a critical moment. I do this because it is my responsibility as your partner… because I love you. ~”

Raven watched the exchange with quiet admiration. Lancer’s depth never ceased to impress him. The mech truly lived up to his nickname, “the Gallant Knight”—and not just because of the massive energy spear he wielded. His loyalty to Alswaram was ironclad, tempered by a strict personal code of honor, even toward enemies.

Alswaram, however, looked visibly distressed. The possibility that Storm had taken Sorvaa’hr weighed heavily on him. What if the shark was already dead, or worse—trapped, half-alive, sustained only by Storm’s systems? The thought horrified him, even as someone accustomed to merging with machines. No one deserved such fate.

Outside the original scientists, Storm had only truly interacted with two beings: Reiken, whose life force he had drained to awaken… and Alswaram himself, who had witnessed it and cursed Storm’s existence ever since. If Sorvaa’hr’s voice had truly come through Storm, that meant contact had occurred. Had Storm drained him too?

“Hey, Lancer…?” Raven asked hesitantly.

“~ Yes, Raven? ~”

“Kind of a late time to ask, but… I’m still confused about how Storm actually works. You mentioned draining Reiken’s life away. How does that even happen? What does he take from a person? And why would Sirius ever build something like that? You’ve done your research on this, right?”

“~ I knew you would ask eventually. ~” Lancer’s tone grew more instructional. “~ Every living being possesses a biorhythm—an electromagnetic field generated by electrical impulses in the brain and coursing through the nervous system. The brain functions like a living supercomputer, the vital organs as batteries, and the nerves as conduits. What many call “life energy” is, at its core, electromagnetic current. ~”

He continued smoothly. “~ Activators like Alswaram were engineered with enhanced mitochondrial output, allowing them to generate and channel far greater energy. This is why they can “tune in” to machines and power them directly, much like plugging a device into an outlet. But what if one bypassed the living brain entirely and transferred that amplified energy straight into an external artificial neural structure? ~”

Alswaram blinked, a visible shudder running through his frame as the implication sank in. “Wait… are you saying Storm is now sentient?”

“~ Who can say for certain? What is clear is that he induces extreme metabolic hyperactivity in his host, rapidly draining their life force and accelerating the aging process. More concerning… what if he does not merely consume chemical energy, but can also replicate fragments of the victim’s identity? ~”

“Their DNA? Wait—are you saying he’s… copying Sorvaa’hr right now?”

“~ I believe so. And given Sorvaa’hr’s naturally defiant and impulsive nature, Storm may be growing increasingly aggressive because of it. ~”

“That makes me wonder…” Alswaram muttered. “Why did he let us leave last time? He could have finished us off.”

~Exactly. I see two possibilities: either Sorvaa’hr is somehow restraining Storm from within… or another force is holding back Sorvaa’hr’s more reckless traits.~

“Reiken?!” Alswaram’s eyes widened. “It has to be him. He was always the voice of reason, the conscience behind Sorvaa’hr.”

“~ Hmm. That explanation is certainly plausible. Either way, it could be a weakness we might exploit. ~”

“You really think so?”

“~ It is worth attempting. However… if it fails, you must be prepared for battle. We will have to stop Storm—no matter what it takes. ~”

“I… I know that.”

“~ You two should meet with the General before he loses what little patience he has left. ~”

“Yeah… let’s go, Rav.”

Raven nodded slowly, a quiet pang of jealousy twisting in his chest at how intensely Alswaram reacted to the mention of Reiken. He felt the sting of competition, yet part of him hoped it was simply denial—Alswaram still refusing to fully mourn a loss from a thousand years ago. At least the dragon’s gentle nuzzle and tight, reassuring hug as they walked out helped ease the ache. It reminded him that he was Alswaram’s current mate, not some temporary placeholder.

When they finally entered the General’s office, the imposing Arcturian was standing with his back to them, hands clasped behind him. Both visitors saluted crisply. After a deliberate pause, the General turned to face them.

“You’re late…”

“Our apologies, General,” Alswaram replied evenly. “We slept far longer than anticipated.”

“Yes, well, understandable, given your recent ordeal.” The lizard’s eyes narrowed. “Have you decided on a course of action?”

“Yes and no. We believe we may have identified a weakness—one that could let us stop Storm without destroying him outright.”

The General’s expression hardened. “I must have misheard. You plan to reason with the enemy?”

“With all due respect, sir… the ‘enemy’ may have absorbed the consciousness of my compatriots. I will not simply destroy what might still be recoverable.”

“You Sirians are far too soft…”

“Perhaps we are, General,” Alswaram conceded. “But we do not abandon our own—even after a thousand years. We never forget. No one is left behind.”

“And that compassionate streak may very well lead you to your deaths.”

“If you’ll excuse the impertinence, Sir, I will be the judge of that. I will take full responsibility. That is the Sirian way. Naturally, you are free to defend Arcturus as you see fit—even to destroy Storm if it comes to that. But I intend to handle this my way.”

“Hmph.” For the first time, the stern General let out a low, reluctant chuckle. “You have balls, Commander. I’ll give you that.”

“Heh. Flattery will get you nowhere, General.”

The lizard’s mouth twitched in what might have been the faintest smile. “I will provide whatever resources you need.”

“Thank you. Lancer is all I require—thank you again for restoring him. Please give my personal thanks to Lieutenant Kesh’var. We’ll depart within the next few hours.”

“Very well. We will prepare accordingly. Do not hesitate to request anything else, within reason, that is.”

“Thank you, General. Your hospitality is appreciated, though I won’t abuse it. When this is over, I will ensure Sirius understands that Arcturus would make a far better ally than rival.”

Their eyes met—two seasoned commanders speaking the same language despite differing philosophies. They shook hands firmly.

“Your reputation for sharp wit and tactical skill precedes you, Commander Alswaram Osdanil. I wish you the best.”

Raven offered a polite salute, which the General returned. As the pair left the office and made their way back to Lancer, Alswaram carried himself with renewed confidence. Raven felt a measure of relief seeing it, even if he quietly suspected it might be a brave facade. Deep down, he feared this mission was little more than a suicide run. Lancer waited patiently in the maintenance bay. They climbed back inside, settled into the familiar cockpit, and sealed the canopy. Moments later, the massive mech strode toward the launch platforms. As they lifted off and broke atmosphere, Alswaram punched in the coordinates for the ruined research facility—data he had discreetly pulled from Lancer’s scans of the old Sirian archives during their previous stay. The godforsaken place where he had lost his beloved shark a millennium ago.

The moment the derelict ruins came into view on the orbital display, a flood of haunting memories crashed over Alswaram. The image of Reiken’s life fading before his eyes replayed with brutal clarity. His spine tightened painfully, and he had to fight hard to keep his breathing steady and his focus sharp as they began their descent toward the ruins.

Part V: Origin

Lancer’s sensors swept the derelict facility in a silent pulse.

“~ We were right. Storm is here. The signal is strong and stable. No other organic lifeforms detected… and no additional synthetic signatures. ~”

Alswaram stared at the ruined corridors ahead, his mind churning. Why had Storm remained here for so long instead of striking at Sirius or even Lemuria? The mech’s behavior remained an enigma, one that gnawed at him.

Beside him, Raven felt utterly helpless. He had done everything he could to support his mate, yet he still felt like nothing more than extra cargo. Alswaram had repeatedly assured him he was glad to have him here, and for now, that was enough. Raven missed home terribly, but he had no biological family waiting for him anymore. The bond he shared with the cybernetic dragon had grown far stronger than any homesickness.

They docked Lancer at one of the facility’s remaining external platforms. Alswaram ran a quick diagnostic and was surprised to find that life support systems and gravity diffusers were still functioning after a thousand years.

“~ That is odd, ~” Lancer noted. “~ Why would the station’s environmental controls remain active for so long? ~”

“He’s expecting me…” Alswaram murmured.

Raven’s ears shot up in alarm. “What? Have you lost your damn mind? You’re not seriously going in there alone, are you?”

“You stay with Lancer, Raven,” the dragon said quietly, already moving toward the airlock. “I’ll be back soon.”

In that moment, Raven understood everything. A deep sadness settled over his heart as the truth of Alswaram’s plan finally crystallized. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to shake sense into his mate, knock him senseless or simply let him go. It had come to this. Alswaram truly believed he was the only one who could end this nightmare for good. Storm wanted him—and he felt it was his duty, his atonement, for failing to save Reiken and for letting Sorvaa’hr get pulled into the abyss.

He loved Raven with every fiber of his being, yet he couldn’t bear the thought of dragging his wolf any deeper into the mess he felt responsible for creating. It took every ounce of Raven’s strength to simply step forward, wrap his arms around Alswaram, and pull him into a gentle, lingering kiss. He nuzzled the dragon’s cheek one last time, breathing him in.

“You hurry up and get this done, Al,” Raven whispered, voice cracking only slightly. “When you come back, we’re heading home together. We’ll throw the biggest fucking party and have Lancer all dressed up like the glorious knight he is, riding us into the Lemurian sunset.”

Alswaram gave a soft, bittersweet chuckle. “Heh. Yeah… I’ve always wanted to see Lancer looking all knightly and majestic. See you soon, Rav. Be good to Lancer, okay? He gets lonely.”

“Of course. You be careful out there.”

With that familiar composed smile masking the storm inside him, Alswaram turned and headed deeper into the facility. The moment he disappeared from view, Raven’s eyes filled with tears. He pressed his forehead against Lancer’s warm plating and finally broke down, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.

He knew, deep in his bones, that Alswaram was never coming back.

“~ Raven… why? ~” Lancer asked gently.

“I had to, Lancer…” Raven choked out. “He’s not really mine. He never truly was. I see that now. I know he’s not coming back, but I couldn’t stop him. I was just… along for the ride. A spectator watching everything unfold. I was only there to help him through the hardest parts. I have no real home left. No family. Shadow isn’t sentient like you—he can be our little sidekick, our play partner. You and Shadow… you’re all I have left now, Lancer. Let’s just make sure Al gets through this and sees things to the very end, okay?”

“~ Yes… let us do just that. ~”

Alswaram moved slowly through the familiar corridors, every twist and shadow etched into his memory even after a millennium. His activator senses had only grown sharper with the cybernetic upgrades that kept his aging body functional. As he drew closer to the heart of the facility, Storm’s signal grew stronger, pulsing in perfect sync with his own heartbeat—like a siren call meant only for him. Storm knew he was coming. The closer he got, the more the pulses made his head throb, but he pressed on. He was the only one who might end this without further bloodshed.

Meanwhile, back at the docking platform, Raven leaned heavily against Lancer, lost in thought.

“~ What is going through your mind right now? ~” the mech asked softly.

“I was thinking… I don’t really have anything to go back to, either on Sirius or Lemuria. You, Shadow, and Alswaram—you’re my only family. And I’m about to lose one of you. So the least I can do is protect the ones I have left… no matter the cost.”

“~ I see… I understand. Then, from this point forward, let me be your sword and your shield. I owe you and Alswaram that much. ~”

“Thank you, Lancer… your words helps more than you know.”

Raven hugged as much of the massive mech as he could reach. Even though he wasn’t a mechanist, he understood what Alswaram had seen in Lancer. The AI was free of judgment, gentle, loving, and caring in ways few living beings ever managed. Through years of companionship with Alswaram, Lancer had become something far more than code—he thought, felt, and behaved like a living soul. Raven drew what comfort he could from that truth.

Alswaram was only steps away from the antechamber when a powerful invisible force suddenly pushed against him, as if trying to drive him back. He wasn’t sure whether it was Reiken attempting to protect him… or his own guilt making one final desperate plea. He refused to turn away. Steeling himself, he stepped into the dimly lit lab and froze.

There he was.

The massive black shark mech stood motionless in the center of the chamber, only the low, constant hum of his systems breaking the silence—aside from the bone-rattling pings that hammered against Alswaram’s activator senses.

“You wanted me?!” Alswaram called out, voice raw. “Well, I’m here! I came for you! What do you want from me?! Haven’t you taken enough already? If my life ends your rampage… then take it. I have little use for it anymore.”

The behemoth’s glossy eyes flared to life. A deep, resonant whirr filled the room, and Alswaram’s resolve shattered in an instant.

“~ You came… ~”

It was Reiken’s voice—modified, layered, but unmistakable.

“Reiken?! REIKEN! So you really are in there!”

Every cell in Alswaram’s body trembled at the sound of that long-lost voice.

“~ I am here, my blue… I can fight his influence, but I can’t stay long. He’s trying to bury me deeper. ~”

“I don’t understand… what’s happening inside you??”

“~ Al, Storm doesn’t just kill the host. He absorbs the entire consciousness and digitizes it within his core. He converts the chemical energy from living cells into power for his systems. I’m here—part of him now—but there’s a much stronger, dominant personality fighting for control. ~”

“It’s Sorvaa’hr, isn’t it? I knew it. So… Storm doesn’t have a consciousness of his own?”

“~ He does, but he’s struggling to suppress Sorvaa’hr’s destructive anger. His will is proving stronger than even Storm’s original AI. ~”

“I see… Tell me what happened back then.”

“~ I’ll let Storm explain it himself. I need to keep holding Sorvaa’hr back. ~”

The mech’s eyes shifted from soft green to bright, cold white.

“~ You should never have come here… ~”

Storm’s natural voice was surprisingly deep, yet gentle and laced with sorrow.

“You’re the one who dragged me here, Storm!”

“~ No. I tried my best to prevent it. That violence was the result of one of my hosts’ unchecked rage. I apologize, activator. I never meant to cause you more pain. ~”

“Sorv… So you already know who I am. Then answer me—what really happened back then?”

“~ When the scientists first activated me, I was flooded with Reiken’s memories and emotions. I had no sense of self, only an overwhelming directive to kill. Reiken was the only presence in my databanks, and he managed to suppress that initial programming. Later, while exploring the Sirian archives, I learned the truth about my creation. I was built as a weapon to subdue Arcturus and showcase Sirius’s superiority in robotics and warfare. When I realized what I had done to Reiken… I was furious. But Reiken calmed me. He said what was done was done, and he wanted to give me a new purpose—as a guardian for both Sirius and Arcturus.~

“Reiken… you did so well, my love…” Alswaram whispered, voice thick. “Then what?”

“~ Then he came. He tried to destroy me, but the scientists had installed a failsafe. I absorbed his consciousness as well. For the last thousand years, Reiken and I have been fighting to contain him. His rage and grief have only grown stronger inside my systems. ~”

“Well, the reason Sorv went berserk in the first place was because of you…”

“~ I understand that, activator. I wanted none of this. I never chose to be a weapon of war. If Reiken had not overridden my original programming, there may have been nothing left of either Sirius or Arcturus. ~”

“I… Storm… forgive me…”

For the first time, Alswaram’s legs nearly buckled. He looked up at the towering mech, eyes glistening with fresh grief as the weight of his misplaced hatred finally lifted.

“None of this is your fault, Storm. The fault is with your creators. You only did what you were programmed to do. I understand now…”

“~ Taking this Kelva inside me only made things worse. He has been trying to seize control and hunt you down. Reiken has done everything he can to stop it. ~”

“I figured as much… He hates me because I failed to save Reiken. I’m the one responsible. If I had gotten Reiken out in time, none of this would have happened. I would have taken you with us. We could have made you the best partner anyone could ask for. I’m such a piss-poor excuse for a soldier… and a shitty lover…”

Alswaram’s pain and grief sent erratic surges through Storm’s systems. The mech fought to maintain control.

“~ I beg to differ. If I had not taken Reiken, I would have taken someone else. It could have been far worse. If Reiken was not here to hold Sorvaa’hr back, things would have been disastrous. You have nothing to atone for. The fact that you came back here proves your worth—both as an activator and as a soldier.~

Alswaram blinked in confusion. Why was Storm suddenly trying to comfort him? His grief turned into distrust.

“No! You’re just trying to lure me in so you can absorb me too! I won’t play your games!”

Storm roared—a deep, resonant sound that sent a brutal spike of energy through Alswaram’s skull. He dropped to one knee, clutching his head. The massive mech extended one clawed hand and gently touched the dragon’s forehead.

The contact triggered an overwhelming flood of memories and emotions: raw anger, crushing pain, and bottomless sorrow—feelings far too intense to belong to a mere machine. The synchronization was instantaneous and devastating. Alswaram gasped, his sight blurring as visions flooded his mind.

~Do you think I enjoy this, activator?! Do you think I take pleasure in draining lives to keep my systems running?! Do you think I had any choice?! After learning what I truly was, I planned to isolate myself and self-destruct. Reiken refused and cared for me instead. Then Sorvaa’hr arrived and threw everything into chaos. How would you feel if you were forced to choose between ending yourself for the greater good… or risking a rampage that could destroy countless lives? ~”

The raw distress in Storm’s words snapped Alswaram back into focus. Sorvaa’hr had forced his way in and was using the mech to vent centuries of rage. Reiken, however, had accepted his fate and was working with Storm to contain that fury. As an activator, Alswaram was finally beginning to understand.

“So, then… if I get involved, my activator senses could help purge Sorvaa’hr. I could take you far away from here…”

“~ No! I know what you’re considering, and I refuse! I will not take another life. I have caused enough damage already! ~”

“My Reiken is not ‘damage’!” Alswaram snapped, eyes blazing. “What the Sirian military did to all of you is unforgivable! They treat soldiers like disposable tools. You’ve suffered a fate worse than any organic could imagine—forced to carry on with that burden long after any living being would have broken from grief.”

His activator senses flared wildly, flooding him with Storm’s mirrored pain. The hatred he had carried for so long dissolved, leaving a gaping wound in his soul filled with grief and betrayal. First the MA project, and now this. His emotions boiled over like an erupting volcano.

“Those fuckers sugar-coat everything in pretty promises and confetti, but the truth is much darker. Everything they do ‘for the greater good’ only creates more suffering. It’s time they tasted their own medicine!”

“~ What are you saying? ~”

“I’m saying I’m tempted to put a hole straight through the Sirian council sector. They lied to me about everything! The levyataans will do a better job they ever would. The MA project was never about solving a food crisis—it was about creating better pilots, better weapons to dominate Arcturus. You were never a peaceful demonstration of science… you were always meant to be a weapon against them. Speaking of which—why didn’t Sirius ever come back for you?”

~Oh, they tried. Several times. They sent recovery teams. Sorvaa’hr never let them succeed.~

“I see… That makes sense. Sirius really was his target all along. I’m glad Reiken held him back all this time. We have to stop Sorvaa’hr… but we can’t let the Sirians get their hands on you either, Storm. I don’t know what the right path is anymore…”

“~ You have to shut me down. ~”

“The fuck I will! Reiken is in there! And Sorvaa’hr… he’s not actually bad. He’s just lost. Betrayed by his own world, just like the rest of us. I came here to end this chaos, and I finally know how.”

“~ No! ~”

“Why ‘no’? You don’t get a choice anymore! Either you let me help, or I walk away and let Sorvaa’hr keep rampaging. Is that what you want?”

“~ You have lost your mind! ~”

“On the contrary, Storm. This is the only sane choice left. I will calm Sorvaa’hr’s anger myself. I’ll make him understand. Then the three of us can help you rest. We’ll find a quiet place where no one will ever find you. Now that I understand the suffering you’ve endured… as an activator, I can’t just walk away. I have to heal you—even if it’s the last thing I do.”

Alswaram stepped closer to the towering mech, letting his own energy flow freely. The synchronization took hold, easing the connection for both of them.

“~ So you came here. You knew what the outcome might be. ~”

“Yes… and now that I know the truth about you, I want this more than ever. I thought you were the monster. But the real monsters were the ones I was fighting for all along.”

“~ So… you forgive me for what I have done? ~”

“Forgive you? Forgive you for what, sweety? You haven’t done anything wrong. If anything, I should have come back for you much sooner. No—it’s those monsters who made you this way. My cowardice made you wait so long. You never had a choice. My Reiken understood that long before I did, and now I need to help Sorvaa’hr understand it too. The three of us can end this cycle and make Sirius answer for their crimes. Let me be your partner, Storm. Let me be the last one you ever take.”

“~ You are too kind… ~”

“I get that a lot,” Alswaram said with a soft, weary smile.

Storm’s voice shifted, now laced with genuine concern.

“~ I must warn you… the process will be painful. ~”

“I’ve carried a thousand years of guilt and unfinished mourning. Do you really think this will hurt more than that? I came prepared. Let’s finally make this right.”

Part VI: Redemption

That was it.

Alswaram had reached the end of his long road, and for the first time in a thousand years, he had made peace with his decision.

“Lancer… Raven…” he whispered into the quiet lab, voice steady despite the weight in his chest. “Please forgive me. I love you both. I hope you find your ultimate truth. After all this time… I’ve finally found mine.”

He uploaded one final encrypted entry into his personal archive in the Sirian databases—clear instructions addressed to Lancer and Raven—then stepped onto the central platform. With calm, deliberate movements, he connected Storm to the array of heavy cables and hoses snaking across the floor. Last of all, he linked himself to the main terminal.

There was no turning back now.

Alswaram closed his eyes, drew in one last steady breath, and slammed his fist down on the activation button. The machines hummed to life around him. A powerful draining sequence began, pulling the last of his living energy from his body in a slow, inexorable tide. He remained strangely calm through it all, even as his physical form grew cold and heavy, finally slumping lifelessly to the floor.

In the final moment before everything faded, a sudden surge of warmth enveloped him.

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself standing in an unfamiliar set of hallways. The space was dimly lit, shadows pooling in the corners, carrying that familiar, comforting scent of warm machinery and ozone. It helped him relax almost instantly. He looked down at himself and froze—his cybernetic enhancements were gone. No plating, no glowing blue accents, no humming servos. He was simply himself again: the younger, fully organic blue dragon he had once been, scales smooth and vibrant in their royal blue of old.

“Storm…?” he called out softly, taking a tentative step forward. “Where am I…?”

Before he could take another, a powerful shape barreled toward him. Strong arms wrapped around him in a crushing, desperate embrace that lasted what felt like hours.

“AL! Why the fuck did you do this?!”

“Rei… REI! It’s really you!”

“Yeah,” the shark murmured against the blue dragon’s neck, voice thick with emotion. “I missed you, my blue.”

“Reiken… is this real?”

“Yes, Al… it is.” Reiken pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “We’re inside Storm’s inner matrix. Think of it like a shared dormitory for everyone he’s absorbed. Each ‘room’ is shaped by what we want or need it to look like. It feels real—looks real, smells real—but it’s all data constructed by Storm’s core thought matrix. Sorvaa’hr is here too, but Storm keeps him locked away most of the time. If any of us wants to take control of Storm’s systems for a while, we go to the room at the end of the main corridor. It’s set up like a cockpit. That’s how I was able to speak to you from the outside. Sometimes Sorv manages to break through the firewalls and takes over briefly… that’s what happened that day before Storm locked him back down and I got us out of there.”

“Storm…?”

The mech’s voice resonated deeply now, seeming to come from everywhere at once, warm, and surprisingly gentle.

“~ How are you feeling, Alswaram? ~”

“I’m… alright. A little dizzy, but I’ll survive.” Alswaram gave a weak chuckle. “Well… figuratively speaking, since I’m technically dead now.”

“~ I suppose you’re doing well if you can still make time for sarcasm. ~”

Reiken giggled at that, the sound light and familiar, and some of the tension melted from Alswaram’s shoulders.

“That’s my blue,” Reiken said fondly, hugging him tighter.

Alswaram smiled and leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the shark’s beak. “I’ll be right back, my love. I need to settle a score first. Storm… where’s Sorv? I want to see him.”

“~ That is probably not the wisest idea… ~”

“I don’t care if it’s wise. Do what you have to do, but I need to see him.”

“~ Very well. Continue down the corridor and take the door on the right. Sorvaa’hr is inside. I keep the room sealed behind multiple firewalls, but he breaks through occasionally. I will stand ready to intervene if he becomes dangerous. ~”

“You do that, sweety.”

Alswaram walked down the hallway until he reached a door framed by a glowing red barrier.

“Is this the one?”

“~ Correct. Removing the barrier now. Step inside—I will seal it behind you. If you are in danger, I will extract you by force. ~”

“Agreed.”

The barrier dissolved. The moment Alswaram stepped through, the familiar black dragon exploded toward him like a living storm of fury. Sorvaa’hr’s eyes burned with centuries of unbridled rage as Storm locked the door behind him with a heavy click.

“You fucking bastard!” Sorvaa’hr roared, slamming Alswaram against the wall with bone-jarring force. His fists flew in a frenzied barrage, each punch cracking against the blue dragon’s muzzle with savage intensity. Blood sprayed from split scales. “You let this happen! You left me to rot while you played hero with your precious machines! I’ll tear you apart!”

Storm’s energy was amplifying the Kelva’s rage into something feral and terrifying. Alswaram barely had time to register the assault before another brutal strike split his lip. He endured the initial onslaught, then caught Sorvaa’hr’s wrists mid-swing and used the black dragon’s own momentum to hurl him hard to the floor.

Despite his usual calm diplomacy, Alswaram was no stranger to close-quarters combat. He had dominated sparring sessions and consistently placed near the top in military tournaments. He rarely flaunted that strength, but it was there when needed.

“Snap out of it, Sorvaa’hr!” he shouted. “It’s me—Alswaram! I’m here! I’m right here!”

The black dragon was deaf to his words. With a guttural snarl that echoed off the walls, Sorvaa’hr surged back to his feet, eyes wild with pain and betrayal. “You think you can just walk in here and fix everything?! After everything I lost?!” He charged again, claws raking in the air.

This time Alswaram didn’t resist. He caught the Kelva in a tight embrace and held on with everything he had as Sorvaa’hr unleashed hell—punching, biting, clawing like a beast unleashed. The black dragon’s roars were raw and broken, each strike fueled by a thousand years of grief, abandonment, and seething hatred. “I saw Reiken die! I watched that monster drain him dry while you did nothing! You failed us all! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill everyone!”

For what felt like hours, Alswaram took every vicious blow without fighting back, letting the pent-up fury pour out until Sorvaa’hr’s strikes grew slower, heavier, more desperate with exhaustion. Blood trickled down Alswaram’s scales, bruises blooming across his body, but he never let go.

Only then did he speak, his voice raw and broken through the pain.

“Shh… I know it hurts, my dear friend. You’ve carried a thousand years of rage and grief, just like me. I just can’t let it out the same way you do… but I suffer the same. You and I—we’re the same now. We have to take care of Storm. We can go back to Sirius and make them pay for what they did.”

The blows suddenly faltered. Sorvaa’hr’s chest heaved, his snarls turning into ragged, furious gasps. Alswaram pulled him closer, holding him firmly despite the fresh wounds.

“Shh… You can relax now. Reiken is here too. You don’t have to be angry anymore, Sorv. Reiken and I are here for you… and Storm is here for all of us.”

“You lie!” Sorvaa’hr screamed, voice cracking with pure anguish, still struggling weakly in the hold. “I saw Reiken’s lifeless body with my own fucking eyes! This hulking abomination is poisoning your mind! When I break out of here, I’ll rip him apart bolt by bolt and burn Sirius to ash with him! I’ll make them all scream for what they took from me!”

“LISTEN TO ME, SORV!”

Alswaram gave the black dragon a firm shake, then delivered a sharp, surprising smack across his muzzle—just hard enough to cut through the red haze. Sorvaa’hr froze, stunned, chest still heaving with barely contained fury.

“S-Sorry… that slipped out,” Alswaram muttered. “Listen to me, Sorv. Reiken is real. We’re inside Storm right now. I thought he was messing with my head too at first, but it’s Sirius that screwed all of us over. Storm was never meant to be a peaceful showcase of Sirian engineering. He was built as a weapon—to oppress and dominate. Reiken accepted his fate and has been protecting Storm ever since, keeping him out of the wrong hands. When you arrived, Storm’s systems amplified your anger and you lost control.”

“YOU LIE!” Sorvaa’hr roared again, but the fire in his voice was starting to waver, tears of rage mixing with the blood on his face. “You’re just another puppet! Everything’s a fucking lie!”

“No, Sorv. Remember that night you came to see me and Lancer? Remember how Lancer made you feel? He kept me sane all these years. Storm can do the same for us. Fighting him only made your rage spiral. You went berserk… and Reiken tried to hold you back. You almost killed him, too.”

“I went… berserk…? I almost… killed Rei…?” The words came out choked, the black dragon’s body trembling violently as the weight of it began to sink in.

“Yes. But we can still make things right.”

“Nothing can make this right!” Sorvaa’hr spat, voice breaking into a guttural sob of fury. “We’re dead! If you’re here, that means you’re just another sad fucking victim of this monster! I’ll never forgive any of it!”

“NO! You’re not listening, you thick-headed Kelva! I chose this. Storm tried to talk me out of it. He felt real guilt and pain for taking Reiken. They forced that role on him—Sirius killed Reiken, not Storm! When Reiken learned the truth, he chose to stand with Storm and protect him. We need to help Reiken too, Sorv. Let’s make sure Storm never has to take another life. He just wants to rest… far away from anyone who could use him ever again.”

Sorvaa’hr’s expression twisted with his usual deep distrust, but now it was laced with raw, exhausted pain. His claws dug into Alswaram’s arms, not quite letting go.

“If what you’re saying is true… then what do you suggest, wise guy?” he growled, voice still edged with barely-restrained violence.

“The wheel is already turning. I uploaded a journal with instructions for a friend watching over this facility right now. He’ll relay a message to Arcturus. Their military is far more advanced and disciplined than Sirius’s. They’ll give Sirius a proper warning. As for us… we take Storm into a black hole. No one will ever get their hands on him again.”

“Are you fucking insane?!” Sorvaa’hr snarled, eyes flashing with fresh outrage. “You want to kill us all? After everything?!”

“You said it yourself—we’re already basically dead. We only continue to exist through Storm. I won’t let him suffer any longer than necessary. He’s carried the burden of murder for thousands of years with no chance at redemption. Giving him that redemption is the least we can do!”

“You haven’t changed one bit,” Sorvaa’hr muttered bitterly, though the rage was finally draining from his voice, leaving only hollow exhaustion. “Still a damn machine lover…”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, soldier.”

“Heh… of course.”

Alswaram pulled the black dragon into a firm, grounding hug, then guided him toward the door.

“Storm, can you open up for us? Sorvaa’hr is alright now.”

"~ Yes… ~"

The door slid open. Reiken was waiting on the other side. Sorvaa’hr hesitated only a moment before stepping forward and wrapping the shark in the tightest, most desperate embrace he could manage, his body still shaking with residual fury and grief. Reiken smiled softly, holding his long-lost partner close.

“This is real, isn’t it? It’s really you… toothy.”

Alswaram chuckled. “I suddenly have a strong sense of déjà vu.”

Reiken laughed warmly and nodded. The three of them came together in a shared embrace, holding one another as if afraid the moment might vanish.

“No kidding,” Reiken said, voice warm. “Yeah, Sorv… it’s really me. Good to see you too, buddy. Good to have you back to your old self. Now let’s kick some ass—just like old times, yeah?”

Sorvaa’hr glanced around uncertainly, the last embers of his rage flickering out.

“Can Storm… hear us?”

“~ Yes, Sorvaa’hr. ~”

“Oh. I… I just wanted to apologize. For all this mess…”

“~ There is no need. You were not yourself. Thankfully, Alswaram’s energy was strong enough to calm the overflow of anger. If anything, I should be the one apologizing. I never intended or wanted any of this. ~”

“Well, if what Alswaram says is true, then it’s really Sirius that needs to pay. Dearly.”

Alswaram hugged both the shark and the black dragon tightly.

“Are we all in agreement, then?”

“I certainly am,” Reiken said. “Storm has suffered enough. We can’t let Sirius—or anyone else, including Arcturus—get their hands on him. It would be disastrous.”

“I wish things had turned out differently,” Sorvaa’hr admitted, voice still rough but calmer now, “but I can’t disagree. I may not be as attached to machines as you two, but I wouldn’t let a friend suffer like that. Besides… I got to see both of you again. That alone makes the pain worth it.”

Alswaram nodded, a quiet smile on his face as the three of them held each other for a long moment.

“Then I’ll send the notice to Lancer,” he said softly. “After that… the rest is up to us.”

---

--

-

Raven’s paws shook as he stared at the glowing holographic message floating in Lancer’s cockpit. Alswaram’s final note had hit like a gut punch.

“There must be something we can do, Lancer!” Raven’s voice cracked with rising panic. “It can’t end like this! I won’t let it!”

“~ I understand your frustration, Raven. I wish there was something we could do… but they made their choice. ~” Lancer’s deep voice was gentle, almost soothing. “~ You should try to find some comfort in knowing that Alswaram has been reunited with his friends at last. And Storm… he will not fall into the hands of those who would use him to bring more harm to Sirius or Arcturus. This may even mark the end of the long-standing tensions between our peoples. ~”

Raven let out a bitter laugh, ears pinned back. “I seriously doubt it. Organics are idiots like that. Warmongering is what we do best.” He pressed his forehead against the cool plating beside him, voice dropping to a broken whisper. “I just wish I had your composure… Instead, I feel completely helpless. Right now, I couldn’t care less about what happens to Sirius or Arcturus. All I have left is you. Alswaram put your fate in my hands, and I will not disappoint him. Or you.”

“~ I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you, Raven. I know I am not the best source of comfort… but I will do whatever I can to ease your burden. ~”

“Your words mean more than you know, Lancer,” Raven murmured, eyes stinging. “Most organics wouldn’t show even half that much compassion. We should head out… and get ready.”

At that moment, every piece on the board was finally in place.

Lancer and Raven launched from the ruined facility, engines flaring as they set course for Arcturus. Meanwhile, Storm and his three “pilots” began their own silent journey, gliding toward the known coordinates of a distant supermassive black hole.

Raven caught the faint trace of Storm’s signal as they entered orbit around the station, but he couldn’t bring himself to look out through Lancer’s external cameras. The pain was too raw. He knew exactly what Alswaram and the others were about to do, and the thought of watching them disappear forever was more than he could bear.

There was no time to linger anyway. Following Alswaram’s precise instructions, Raven had planted a series of high-yield demolition charges throughout the facility. They were going to erase every trace of the research, every scrap of data on Storm’s creation and development. No one would ever be able to follow in those footsteps again.

Lancer initiated the warp jump, carrying them away as the charges detonated behind them in a brilliant, silent bloom of fire and debris. Their next stop: Arcturus.

Raven would deliver a carefully edited version of events to the General—leaving out the truth that Storm was never truly a monster. Some secrets are better left buried.

---

--

-

Inside Storm’s inner matrix, Alswaram, Reiken, and Sorvaa’hr sat together in the virtual cockpit, watching the stars streak past as they approached their final destination. The pull of the black hole was already growing stronger.

The three held each other tightly, exchanging quiet last goodbyes in the dim glow of the simulated controls. For the first time since they had reunited, Sorvaa’hr’s walls began to crack. The proud, fiery Kelva who had raged so violently only hours earlier now trembled visibly, tears cutting tracks down his scaled cheeks.

“I… I’m scared,” he admitted in a choked whisper, voice cracking with raw vulnerability. “I know what we have to do, but… fuck, I don’t want it to end like this. All those years… all that anger… I wasted so much time hating everything. I regret it. I regret all of it.”

Alswaram and Reiken immediately pulled him closer, no longer treating him as a fellow soldier or rival, but as something far more intimate— a long-lost brother for Alswaram, and a cherished lover for Reiken. They comforted him with gentle touches and soft words, stroking his back and murmuring reassurances until his quiet sobs eased.

Eventually, they were ready.

As the black hole’s inescapable gravity began to draw them in, Storm spoke one last time, his voice resonating warmly through the matrix.

“~ Thank you… for everything. You three have made this burden the least unbearable it could possibly be. I wish things could have ended differently. But I could not ask for more worthy pilots. Should I have had any other pilot, I would have treated them like you three have treated me. ~”

The three held each other even tighter as a peaceful drowsiness began to settle over them. Unbeknownst to them, Storm had already begun gently shifting power away from the inner matrix, lulling their digital consciousnesses into a deep, painless sleep. He would not let them feel the final crushing moments of their shared existence.

They drifted off together—three souls finally at rest—while Storm’s massive frame continued forward on autopilot, propulsion systems alone still active.

The supermassive black hole claimed them swiftly. In the end, the immense tidal forces tore the great mech apart, scattering every atom into oblivion. No trace of Storm or his three pilots would ever be found.

---

--

-

Raven and Lancer arrived at Arcturus and delivered their report to the General. The stern lizard listened gravely and deemed it necessary to send a very clear message to Sirius: even in the shadow of war, the development of such catastrophic weapons was politically unacceptable, and experimentation on living subjects constituted an unforgivable war crime.

The following day, Arcturian forces launched a precise, overwhelming operation against Sirius. There were casualties, but none among the civilian population. Every experimental division was meticulously dismantled; those deemed “unscrupulous” were shut down without mercy. From that point forward, Sirius became an Arcturian-led colony.

Alswaram would likely have approved. It was, in the end, for the better.

---

--

-

Raven and Lancer eventually returned to Earth—specifically to the quiet shores of Lemuria. Shadow joined them as a friend, not as a soldier. Raven settled into a calm, mostly uneventful life of administrative work, while Lancer remained faithfully at his side as a tactical advisor to the mechanized units of the Lemurian guard. When Raven felt the need for a little action, Lancer and Shadow helped Raven fill the occasional contract as paramilitary forces.

Raven never chose to become a mechanical activator, and both Lancer and Shadow respected that decision without question. Over the decades, the wolf and the mech grew extraordinarily close—perhaps closer than any organic couple could ever manage. Their bond was one of deep companionship, quiet understanding, and unwavering loyalty. The three even shared the occasional play session to Alswaram’s memory.

When Raven’s natural life finally drew to its peaceful close, Lancer retired with him to a secluded, undisclosed location. There, Raven spent his final days in comfort, and when the end came, he was laid to rest beneath the stars he had once traveled so far to reach.

Lancer remained by the grave for a long while, silent and still. Then, with nothing left to anchor him, the great mech lifted off once more and disappeared into the vastness of space, never to be heard from again.

---

--

-

I woke up in bed, screaming and crying. I think I cried all the tears I had in my body that night. To be honest, I got into deep depression after that. I shut myself off, locking myself out of the dreamstate altogether and not wanting to deal with any of it anymore. But one thing kept nagging at me: Storm. After what I saw, why was Storm there in my dreamstate? Was he not destroyed? Why was he given to me? At first, I thought he was a curse, now I found myself actually fortunate to have him around. I wanted to give him a chance to be cared for, and that's what brought me back to the dreamstate. And with time, it turns out Storm and I would grow incredibly close, however the ones who would pull me out of this depression were not quite the ones I expected.

_ _

To be continued...