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Metempsychosis III, Part 1: Sorvaa'hr, Reiken and Alswaram

Part I: Brothers in arms

This episode marks the first shift in perspective. Usually, I would be the protagonist in my dreamstate and actively participate in everything. This time, however, things would change. I wasn't in a barren landscape. I wasn't near-naked. The feeling I had is hard to describe. It was like I was a spectator to everything around me, like I was watching a movie unfolding right around me. Except, I was looking through the eyes of one of the characters. And this point of view would shift around between several characters, one of them which I knew of already: Sorvaa'hr, Nathaniel's great great grandfather and most importantly to me, Storm's original pilot. Was my metempsychosis skill trying to show me what happened before?

Clearly so, because I would soon learn that the events I was watching unfolded around 25 000 years B.C.E (Before Common Era), in the Sirian homeworld's capital city. I was looking through Sorvaa'hr's eyes, who was standing there in a mirror, seemingly spacing out. He was young at the time, and quite handsome. I swear I could see Nathaniel's traits through him. A beautiful, tall pitch-black half-dragon with the body of an athlete: chiseled chest, thick strong legs and arms, sturdy-looking wings tucked to his back and regal-looking slightly curved platinum white horns. His copper-colored eyes were looking back at me through the mirror. He stood some 9 feet or so and he was dressed in an urban camo-colored military combat uniform. He tucked away his sidearm and his main weapon – what I figured was a standard issue assault rifle-type of weapon – into a mechanical-looking holster on his back. He looked fearsome, dressed for war. However, he had features that were unlike anything you would see on a soldier on Earth, such as the rank insignia being replaced by some kind of coat of arms and also having a holster for some unusual looking small rifle peeking out of a holster on his other leg.

The rest of the flashback unfolded as if I were seeing everything through Sorvaa’hr’s eyes—though at times, my perspective shifted to two other individuals as well. What felt like years of events passing by in that strange vision actually took place over just a few nights in my real world. It was disorienting, to say the least. One moment, Sorvaa’hr stood motionless, staring into a mirror, and the next, the stillness was shattered by a loud, impatient voice and the insistent pounding of fists against a door.

---

--

-

“Hey, Sorv! Get moving already! If we’re not down there in a few cycles, the Commander’s going to have our hides!”

The voice on the other side belonged to Sorvaa’hr, his tone unmistakably irritated—gruff, sharp, and edged with impatience. The banging didn’t stop, echoing through the room as if to emphasize every second ticking by.

“Yeah, yeah… I’m coming, Reiken,” Sorvaa’hr called back, clearly unbothered. “Quit getting your fins in a twist all the damn time—and stop hammering on the door!”

A soft mechanical beep followed, and the door slid open with a hiss. Standing there was Reiken—an anthropomorphic tiger shark whose presence filled the doorway despite being slightly shorter than Sorvaa’hr. His skin was rough, almost black under the lighting, with faint brown undertones and streaked with gray stripes. He stood upright on powerful, muscular legs, his wide, four-toed feet tapping impatiently against the floor. Every part of him radiated tension and urgency.

“Finally!” Reiken snapped. “Damn it, Sorv, we’re going to get sanctioned again because of you!”

Sorvaa’hr barely reacted. He gave a small shrug, letting out a quiet sigh before stepping past him. His heavy footsteps echoed dully against the titanium floor as he moved, each step deliberate, almost lazy in contrast to Reiken’s restless energy.

“Relax, Reiken,” he said dismissively. “They’re just being difficult like always. I couldn’t care less what they want. Unlike you, I’m not some puppet dancing to their tune. I stay here because I want to—because battle feels like home. And you?” He shot the shark a sideways glance. “You’re supposed to be an apex predator. Maybe try acting like one for once.”

Reiken’s tail flicked sharply behind him, cutting through the air with visible irritation. His patience was clearly wearing thin.

“You can do whatever you want after the briefing,” he shot back. “Right now, move.”

“Fine, fine…”

Together, they headed down the corridor and into one of the base’s many warp rooms. The space was small and cylindrical, stripped of any decoration or detail. Smooth, bare walls curved around a single platform in the center—large enough to hold a dozen beings their size. It was functional, efficient, and cold.

Sorvaa’hr approached a small terminal beside the platform and tapped a series of glowing sigils. As the system activated, a soft light filled the room, accompanied by a low, pulsing hum that seemed to vibrate through the floor itself. In an instant, the world shifted.

They reappeared in another part of the base.

Reiken stumbled slightly, catching his balance with a grunt. “Ugh… I’ll never get used to that,” he muttered. “Sharks belong in the water, not being dragged through space-time like that.”

Sorvaa’hr smirked faintly. “You’re the one who said we were late. Quit complaining, toothy.”

They stepped out into a wide corridor and began heading toward the briefing room. As they walked, Sorvaa’hr glanced over and noticed Reiken fiddling with his weapon—a trident-like spear with glowing blue energy blades that flickered on and off with soft, crackling sounds.

“Reiken,” Sorvaa’hr said, his irritation creeping in, “will you stop messing with that thing? It’s driving me insane.”

“What?” Reiken replied defensively. “I like my spear. At least it’s not as loud as your rifle.”

Sorvaa’hr scoffed. “Yeah, well, my rifle has better range. And I can take someone down without killing them—tranq setting.”

Reiken gave a smug snort. “I can do that too… if I aim for the legs.”

“And how exactly are you supposed to interrogate someone who’s screaming in pain the whole time?” Sorvaa’hr shot back.

Reiken rolled his eyes, clearly done with the argument. “You’re overthinking it. Stop trying to one-up me.”

Their bickering continued as they walked, the tension between them oddly familiar—less like enemies and more like reluctant partners who had spent far too long working side by side. They argued constantly, but it never crossed the line into real conflict. To an outsider, their sharp exchanges might have sounded hostile, even aggressive, but that wasn’t what it was. This was how they pushed each other, how they tested limits and proved, again and again, that neither one was weaker than the other. It was competition, yes—but beneath it, there was something steadier. Trust. Respect. A kind of unspoken understanding that didn’t need to be spelled out.

Before long, Sorvaa’hr and Reiken stepped into the briefing room, their usual tension still hanging in the air. The moment they entered, it shifted. A single human stood waiting for them, dressed in a formal military uniform adorned with rows of decorations that reflected years—if not decades—of service. His posture was rigid, his expression tight, and his eyes immediately locked onto them with clear disapproval.

“Are you two always like this?” he snapped. “Wasting energy arguing when you should be saving it for the battlefield?”

The effect was immediate. Both Sorvaa’hr and Reiken straightened, snapping to attention without hesitation. Whatever dynamic they shared, it didn’t extend to defying authority—at least, not openly.

The officer let out a long, tired sigh, rubbing his temple briefly before shaking his head.

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “You’re not my problem anymore. You’re being reassigned.”

He reached down and handed each of them a folder, his movements sharp and efficient.

“Starting with your next mission, you’ll be attached to the Second Fleet. You’re being deployed to Terra to assess the situation on the ground. From this point forward, you report directly to Commander Alswaram. Understood?”

Sorvaa’hr tilted his head slightly. “Sir?”

The human’s gaze snapped toward him, impatience flaring instantly.

“And that goes double for you, Ol’rath,” he said coldly. “That temper of yours? It’s going to get you killed one day.”

Sorvaa’hr didn’t argue. “Yes, Sir. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The officer shifted his attention to Reiken, his expression softening only slightly—though the frustration was still there.

“And you, Arvalan—keep him under control. I want every Sirian under my command alive when this is over.”

Reiken gave a firm nod. “Understood, Sir.”

“Good. Dismissed. Get your gear and report to your new quarters.”

“Yes, Sir!” they replied in unison.

With that, they turned and left the room, the heavy doors sliding shut behind them as they stepped back into the quieter corridors of the military complex. Their pace slowed slightly as the tension of the briefing faded.

Reiken exhaled loudly. “Man… he’s always in a bad mood,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders. “Second Fleet, though… that’s new.”

He glanced over at Sorvaa’hr, curiosity creeping into his tone.

“Hey, Sorv—what do you think about Alswaram? He’s the one in charge of Second Fleet, right?”

Sorvaa’hr didn’t even look at him. “I don’t think anything. He’s a superior officer. That’s all that matters. We follow orders.”

“I know that,” Reiken said, waving a hand dismissively. “But haven’t you heard the rumors? They say he prefers machines over actual living beings.”

Sorvaa’hr finally glanced at him, unimpressed. “And?”

Reiken blinked. “And? That’s weird!”

“He’s still in command,” Sorvaa’hr replied flatly. “Gossip like that is for civilians. If anything, it just means he’ll be easier to deal with.”

Reiken let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “You know, you’re incredibly boring sometimes. And way too cynical.”

Sorvaa’hr allowed himself a faint smirk but said nothing, continuing down the corridor as the two of them headed toward their new quarters—still bickering, still testing each other, yet somehow moving in perfect rhythm beneath it all.

Reiken, clearly unimpressed by the silence, let out a small huff and pouted. He adjusted his grip on his spear before securing it along his dorsal fin, the custom mechanical holster snapping neatly into place with a sharp click. For once, he didn’t push the conversation further, and the two walked on in relative quiet—at least, until the stillness was broken.

A sharp beep echoed through the hallway, followed by the flat, mechanical tone of the intercom.

“Attention. Sorvaa’hr Ol’rath and Reiken Arvalan, report to Sector 6, Division 3. Repeat, Sorvaa’hr Ol’rath and Reiken Arvalan, report to Sector 6, Division 3.”

Sorvaa’hr groaned under his breath, dragging a hand across his face. “Great… just what I needed. A commanding officer who likes to socialize.”

Reiken shot him a sideways glance. “Or maybe he just wants to meet us. You don’t have to assume the worst every time.”

Sorvaa’hr scoffed lightly. “Oh, look at you—so insightful. And for the record, I’m not cynical. I’m careful. There’s a difference. You’ve heard the same rumors I have. They follow him around this place like vermin.”

Reiken shrugged. “Maybe. But I’d rather meet him now and know what we’re dealing with instead of guessing.”

Sorvaa’hr paused for a moment, then let out a quiet sigh. “...You’ve got a point, toothy.”

Without another word, they turned back and retraced their steps toward the warp room. The process was familiar by now—coordinates entered, the low hum building, space bending—and in an instant, they were gone.

They reappeared moments later in the designated sector. Reiken staggered slightly, as usual, before steadying himself with a grimace. True to form, he was the first to break the silence.

“So,” he said, glancing around, “what do you think Second Fleet’s quarters look like?”

Sorvaa’hr barely looked up. “No idea. Probably full of machines and other junk.”

But as they stepped out of the warp room, both of them slowed to a halt.

The space before them opened into something massive—far larger than any standard barracks. It resembled a hangar more than living quarters, stretching wide with lofty ceilings and immaculate organization. Vehicles of every kind were stationed throughout the area: sleek aircraft, heavy land-based units, aquatic vessels, even massive mobile armor platforms. Everything was arranged with almost obsessive precision.

A handful of figures moved between them—mechanics, by the look of it—quietly working, inspecting, maintaining. But beyond them, there was something noticeably absent.

No soldiers.

Despite themselves, both Sorvaa’hr and Reiken took a moment to take it all in. Compared to this, the usual motor pool felt cramped and uninspired.

Along the outer walls, a series of doors were evenly spaced, each one identical—likely leading to individual quarters. Sorvaa’hr’s sharp, copper-colored eyes scanned every detail, analyzing the layout with quiet intensity.

“Strange setup for barracks,” he muttered. “No officers, no troops… just machinery. So, the motor pool doubles as a communal area? Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Reiken frowned slightly. “You don’t have to sound so judgmental. It actually seems pretty straightforward.”

Sorvaa’hr gave a faint, dismissive huff. “Of course you’d think that.”

Reiken’s eyes narrowed. “You trying to start something, blackie?”

Sorvaa’hr’s expression shifted instantly, his focus snapping toward something in the distance. “Shh. Look.”

Sorvaa’hr raised a clawed hand and pointed ahead. In the distance stood another dragon—larger than any they had seen so far—his royal blue scales catching the light as he moved among the rows of machinery. He wasn’t observing from afar like most commanding officers. Instead, he was right there on the ground, overseeing the work up close, occasionally interacting with the mechanics and inspecting the vehicles himself.

That alone was unusual.

Commanding officers typically stayed removed, directing operations from behind screens and reports. This one was different.

The blue dragon seemed to sense them watching. After a brief moment, he turned his head in their direction, his sharp, icy-blue eyes locking onto them almost instantly. Then, without hesitation, he began walking toward them.

Sorvaa’hr and Reiken straightened immediately, snapping to attention. As he approached, they saluted in unison—hands placed over their hearts, followed by a respectful bow. To their surprise, the blue dragon returned the gesture, offering them a warm, genuine smile.

Up close, he was even more imposing. Nearly ten feet tall, with broad, powerful shoulders and dark blue wings folded neatly behind him, he carried an undeniable presence. His build was heavily muscular, his spiraled horns framing a face that balanced strength with calm control. His thick tail rested still behind him, ending in a spaded tip adorned with a small metallic ring. There was something about him—something primal—that made even Sorvaa’hr seem almost restrained by comparison.

And yet, when he spoke, his voice was nothing like they expected.

“Ah, welcome to Second Fleet!” he said, his tone light and friendly. “You must be Sorvaa’hr Ol’rath and Reiken Arvalan?”

“Yes, Sir,” they replied together.

The blue dragon’s gaze lingered on Sorvaa’hr a moment longer, studying him with quiet curiosity.

“So, you’re the infamous Sorvaa’hr I’ve heard about,” he said with a faint smile. “Word is, you can be a bit… rigid. Let me put your mind at ease—you won’t need that here. I’m not one for excessive formalities. Relax. You’re free to be yourselves.”

Sorvaa’hr blinked slightly, caught off guard.

“I’ll meet with each of you individually later for your full briefing,” the dragon continued. “For now, get settled in. Your quarters are ready—Sorvaa’hr, room four. Reiken, room five. I figured you’d prefer to be close to each other.”

He gestured casually toward the rows of doors lining the massive space.

“I’ve already had your belongings transferred. But don’t get too comfortable,” he added with a knowing look. “You’ll want some rest. We may be deploying soon.”

Reiken’s ears perked up immediately. “Deploying, Sir?”

“Indeed,” the blue dragon replied. “We’re heading to Terra. Our objective is to assess the situation in Lemuria.”

Reiken’s expression shifted between curiosity and surprise. “Terra? That’s… far. I’ve never been outside our system before. I heard it’s pretty primitive compared to us. My kind there—they’re still bound to the oceans, right? No legs and all?”

Sorvaa’hr crossed his arms, more thoughtful. “From what I’ve heard, things aren’t exactly stable down there. I’m guessing something went wrong with colonization. Resistance, maybe?”

The blue dragon nodded. “That’s correct. There’s tension—possibly escalating. Another Terran colony, one that’s roughly on par with Lemuria technologically, has been stirring conflict. We don’t have the full picture yet. We’ll assess when we arrive and respond accordingly.”

He paused briefly, then added, “If you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to.”

As he reached into a pouch and handed each of them a small keycard, Sorvaa’hr let out a low sigh, unable to stop himself.

“So we’re basically being sent to clean up a mess the colonists made?” he muttered. “Didn’t realize Second Fleet was a cleanup crew.”

Reiken tensed slightly, expecting a reprimand—but instead, the blue dragon burst out laughing.

“Ha! You really do live up to your reputation, Sorvaa’hr!” he said, clearly amused. “You’re not wrong—we are there to stabilize things. But if this were simple cleanup, they wouldn’t have sent us.”

His tone shifted, just slightly—still calm, but more serious.

“They expect trouble. What kind, we don’t know. The higher-ups kept details restricted—need-to-know basis. So be ready for anything. That said,” he added with a grin, “I’m not here to make your lives harder. Follow orders, do your jobs, and we’ll get along just fine. I’m glad to have you both on board.”

With that, he gave them a casual wave and turned, heading back toward the rows of machinery.

For a moment, the two just stood there.

Then Reiken leaned slightly toward Sorvaa’hr, gesturing with his fin. “See? Not so bad, right?”

Sorvaa’hr shrugged. “I suppose not.”

Reiken smirked. “One of the few who actually seems to like you. That’s new.”

Sorvaa’hr huffed quietly but didn’t argue.

Reiken glanced around again, taking in the massive hangar. “He definitely likes machines, though. Just look at this place. I heard Second Fleet relied heavily on tech, but this is… something else.”

Sorvaa’hr nodded faintly. “Yeah. It’s… not bad. Feels strange, but—comfortable, in a way.”

Reiken laughed. “Of course you’d say that. You and your obsession with gear.”

Sorvaa’hr shot him a look. “Coming from the one who walks around practically naked?”

Reiken rolled his eyes. “Hey, not my fault anatomy doesn’t come with storage options. Besides, most species don’t even know what they’re looking at.”

“Fair enough,” Sorvaa’hr muttered. “Still, we should get some rest. Unlike you, I don’t run on endless energy.”

Reiken grinned and flicked his flukes playfully against Sorvaa’hr’s side before turning and heading toward his assigned room.

Sorvaa’hr followed shortly after, stepping into his own quarters. Inside, he paused, taking in the space. The room was clean, well-organized, and surprisingly comfortable. A soft-looking bed sat against one wall, and there was more than enough room to store his weapons and equipment. A faint smirk crossed his face.

“Not bad… I could get used to this.”

He stripped off his gear, letting it fall into place nearby before dropping onto the bed. Within moments, the tension left his body, and sleep claimed him.

Across the hall, Reiken had a much more animated reaction.

“Whoa… now this is living!” he exclaimed, looking around with wide-eyed excitement. “Way better than the reserves!”

He paced around briefly, his tail swaying with barely contained enthusiasm, before finally setting his spear down beside him on the bed. As always, he kept it close—it wasn’t just a weapon, but a source of comfort.

Unlike most, Reiken carried little. A simple harness, a protective shell, and a few essential pieces of gear were all he wore. It left him exposed by most standards, but he didn’t mind. His species was unfamiliar to many, and what others might question often went unnoticed entirely. Before long, he stretched out and let himself relax. Sleep came quickly. That night, he dreamed—not of battle, but of distant worlds, hidden places, and the thrill of discovery. For all his skill as a warrior, Reiken had never truly been a soldier at heart. He was an adventurer. The military was simply the easiest path to the unknown—a way to reach places others couldn’t. He quickly earned the respect of Sorvaa’hr, who treats him like a sidekick and like a soul brother. Wherever they were headed next, Reiken was ready for it.

---

Part II: The Alswaram Way

A new day began as Reiken stirred in his bunk. He rolled onto his side, heavy-lidded eyes blinking open—only to freeze at the sight of a blue dragon perched casually at the edge of his bed, tail curled neatly around his clawed feet, watching him with bright, amused eyes. Reiken shot upright, heart hammering, and instinctively grabbed his spear from beside the bed, clutching it like a security blanket.

“Whoa, easy there, shark warrior!” Alswaram laughed, a deep, rumbling sound like distant thunder wrapped in velvet. He raised both clawed hands in mock surrender, though his grin was anything but innocent. “Nervous one, aren’t you? Put the pointy stick down before you poke a hole in the ceiling.”

Reiken blinked hard, his gaze finally registering the full picture. The dragon—his new commanding officer—had shed every piece of gear. Not a single strap, buckle, or scrap of clothing remained on his shimmering sapphire scales. He sat there completely at ease, powerful limbs relaxed, wings half-folded against his back.

“Sir…?” Reiken managed, voice cracking slightly.

Alswaram tilted his horned head, smirking. “I have a name, you know.”

“B-beg your pardon?”

“No, that’s not it,” the dragon chuckled, clearly proud of his own terrible joke. “It’s Alswaram. Nice to meet you properly, Reiken.”

“But…”

“Listen to me, Reiken,” Alswaram continued, leaning forward just enough for the morning light to dance across his scales. His voice stayed warm, playful, but carried that effortless authority. “When you’re within these walls, all that formal ‘Sir’ nonsense is useless. I’ve never been a fan of ranks and titles outside of battle or fancy diplomatic stuff. They just make everyone stiff and awkward. You know why I’m in command of the Armada’s Second Fleet? Because of what I do, not what people call me. Actions speak louder than fancy salutes. I don’t need everyone bowing and scraping—I already know I’m the boss, and everyone here respects me for it. Catch my drift?”

Reiken lowered the spear a fraction, still staring. “I… guess? You’re pretty different from the superiors I’m used to, is all…”

“Heh, I get that a lot.” Alswaram’s grin widened, showing a flash of sharp teeth as he smiled at the shark. “I treat every member of my fleet—like the tiny family we are—as family. The others know me, know what I’ve accomplished, so they respect me without all the pomp. My job isn’t ruling with an iron claw. It’s keeping us together. Everyone’s free to leave whenever they want. I’ll even write them a glowing recommendation. I leave the ‘iron fist’ nonsense to the higher-ups. All rabid animals, those ones…”

“Sir—! With all due respect, you shouldn’t talk about them that way!”

Alswaram raised a brow ridge, amused. “Why not? Isn’t it what you think too? They sit in their fancy offices, puffing on expensive cigars, barking orders at people who actually do the work. Most of them wouldn’t last an hour on a real battlefield. We’re out here doing everything, and they treat us like disposable chum. But adventurers like you? You get it. The thrill of discovery, pushing boundaries, feeling the rush…”

Reiken chuckled despite himself, the tension in his shoulders easing. The dragon’s words hit close to home—sharp and honest, just like his partner’s tongue. “So… do you always wake people up by sitting at their bedside completely naked? What did you even want with me, anyway?”

“Whoa, settle down,” Alswaram said with a playful rumble, waving a claw. “I just like surprising my new recruits. It works wonders—look at you squirming! As for the lack of clothes…” He gestured lazily at himself, scales gleaming. “I don’t see the big deal. We’re alone here. Why hide what we are? I’m made this way, after all. Besides, everything’s internal on me—no awkward dangling bits to worry about.” His golden eyes flicked downward with clear mischief. “What about you, though? Those claspers of yours are always hanging free, aren’t they? All you’ve got is that cheap little shell cover.”

Reiken’s gray cheeks darkened visibly, a deep flush spreading across his shark snout. “W-well… that’s true… Wait—you locked the door?”

Despite the surprise, he didn’t move to stop it. The embarrassment only grew as Alswaram rose smoothly and clicked the lock on the inside of the door with a casual flick of his tail.

“What are you doing?!” Reiken yelped, grip tightening on his spear again.

“Giving us some privacy, of course,” Alswaram replied, voice low and teasing as he turned back with a soft, knowing smile. His wings shifted slightly, adding to the dragon’s natural presence.

“Privacy? But why…?”

Reiken fidgeted, suddenly very aware of how small the room felt. Yet he wasn’t yelling for the dragon to leave. Strangely, he felt… comfortable. Alswaram’s calm, playful tone was oddly soothing, like warm currents in deep water.

“Didn’t you have questions for me, Reiken?” the dragon asked, settling back down closer. “Because I have a few for you, too. I’ve noticed the way you’ve been looking at everything around here—the vessels, the crafts, all of it. I suppose I do have that reputation.” He winked. “Most of what you’ve heard is true. I do prefer machines to most living beings. Why? Simple—they don’t judge you unnecessarily. They don’t look down on anyone. Even artificial personas aren’t coded to sneer at their users.”

“I see… I think I see your point,” Reiken murmured, finally lowering the spear completely. “But you make it sound like you were persecuted for it.”

“Well… yeah. I was,” Alswaram admitted with a small shrug, though his grin stayed playful. “Not everyone agreed with my choices. Some felt threatened, so they spread stupid rumors to make me look like a freak. ‘Machine lover,’ they called me. I got beaten up plenty when I was younger, teased nonstop for avoiding everyone. Even after I enrolled. So I did the only thing that made sense: I got better than them. Worked my way up with skills they could never touch.”

Reiken’s expression softened, a flicker of sympathy crossing his features. “But can’t you do something about the detractors?”

“What good would that do?” Alswaram snorted, tail flicking dismissively. “I don’t have energy to waste on brainless meat sacks.”

“Ouch. You’re pretty sharp-tongued, aren’t you?” Reiken laughed, relaxing further. “Reminds me of a certain someone…”

“Truth isn’t always pleasant to hear, Reiken,” the dragon replied, leaning in with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. “Perhaps he and I have more in common than you think.”

Reiken paused, studying the confident blue dragon in front of him. A small, tentative smile tugged at his toothy mouth. “I think I see where you’re coming from…” His powerful tail gave a slow, thoughtful flick against the side of the bunk. He knew exactly what the dragon meant. For as long as he could remember, others had looked at him and seen nothing but teeth and aggression—just another dangerous shark. And then there was Sorvaa’hr… the ruthless renegade everyone whispered about. No one wanted to work with him either.

“So what about you, then?” Alswaram asked, tilting his horned head with genuine curiosity. His golden eyes glinted with playful challenge. “What do you think of me? Do you object to having me as your CO?”

Reiken shifted on the bed, his grip on the spear finally loosening completely. “No… well, I think I used to. At first I was a little suspicious. But after hearing all that?” He offered a small, toothy smile. “I don’t mind anymore. I’m glad you’re real—and not some mechanical drone like the rumors say. You clearly think for yourself. Unlike those mindless soldiers who charge into battle just for the bloodshed, with no idea who or what they’re even fighting for…”

Alswaram’s brow ridge rose. “Are you talking about your friend, Sorvaa’hr?”

“No, Sorv is different,” Reiken replied quickly, a fond chuckle escaping him. “He seems like he only cares about battle, but I know he has his reasons. He’s not very talkative, but he means well. He’s saved my hide more times than I can count. Sure, he can come off as cold and calculating… but deep down he’s really friendly to those he respects. He worries about us, even if he doesn’t show it. His tactical skill is unmatched—that’s why they put up with him. They don’t have anyone who can outclass him.” He paused, then asked with real interest, “What about you, Si—… Alswaram? Why do you fight, if you don’t mind me asking?”

The dragon grinned, clearly pleased at the correction. “There we go—that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He stretched lazily, sapphire scales catching the light as his wings rustled softly. “My entire family comes from a long line of warriors and soldiers, so I guess it’s in the blood. Just thinking about being stuck in some stuffy office all day makes my hide crawl. I’d much rather be out on the field. And if I can help make things better for others while I’m at it? Even better.”

Reiken let out a soft laugh, his gills fluttering. “That’s pretty noble of you. Maybe a bit naive, too… So much for all the scary things we hear about you.”

“I’m glad you’re seeing things differently,” Alswaram said warmly. He leaned in just a touch, voice dropping into that smooth, rumbling register. “Let me return the question, though. Why are you here, Reiken?”

“Well… that’s a long story.”

“Give me the short version, then.”

Reiken hesitated, then sighed. “My parents disowned me.”

“What?!” Alswaram’s eyes widened in genuine surprise, his tail flicking sharply behind him. “Why?”

“Don’t look so shocked…” Reiken muttered, rubbing the back of his neck with one clawed hand. “Haven’t you read my file yet?”

“Skimmed it. I don’t care much for paper.” The dragon shrugged one broad shoulder, smiling gently. “I care about individuals—believe it or not… synth or not.”

That earned a genuine chuckle from Reiken. He was finally starting to relax, but now the truth sat heavy on his tongue. Lying had never been his strong suit, and something told him Alswaram would see right through it anyway.

“I understand…” Reiken continued, voice quieter. “My parents were very traditional. Really stuck on old principles and creeds.”

Alswaram nodded slowly. “I see. Disowned you because of your sexual preferences? That’s so old-fashioned.”

“Well… that’s not it exactly.” Reiken’s gray cheeks darkened further, a deep flush visible even through his tough shark skin. “Being male-inclined is just one part. The main problem was the first mate I had. He was a Kelva—like you.”

Alswaram blinked, tilting his head. “Excuse me? You lost me for a second there. A what?”

“A Kelva,” Reiken explained with a sheepish grin, showing a flash of sharp teeth. “It’s… kind of a rude word in my native dialect for ‘surface people.’ In my family, they still follow the really old traditions. They say we can’t mate with ‘land-dwellers’ or ‘air-travelers.’ Claims it upsets the water deities or whatever. I can’t help it if my own kind are just… boring and unattractive to me!”

Alswaram let out a rich, rumbling laugh, clearly delighted. “Oh, I do love those stuck on dusty creeds and beliefs. I’m so sorry you had to deal with that, Reiken. Of course, your parents thought they meant no harm… One question, though—may I ask what happened to that mate of yours?”

“Skimmed the file but still did your homework, huh?” Reiken teased lightly, though his tail was flicking nervously now. “Truthfully, we were really close friends. We played around intimately a few times, but we never went far. I think my claspers weirded him out—they’re a bit… alien to most land-dwellers. Anyway, he was heading to medic school and I chose military life. We drifted apart gradually. Eventually we both agreed it was better to go our separate ways. I haven’t really looked for anyone else since. Besides, it’s not like I have much time for that anyway…”

Alswaram nodded, a small, almost satisfied smile curving his draconic muzzle as he shifted closer on the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight. “I see. Don’t you get lonely sometimes?”

The question hung in the air. Reiken’s heart suddenly hammered against his ribs as the dragon settled beside him—close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from those sapphire scales. A part of him wanted to push back immediately. Another, much louder part didn’t want to resist at all.

He had tried so hard to get closer to Sorvaa’hr, but all his efforts had been gently (and sometimes not-so-gently) denied. They were like brothers in arms, but Sorv’s fear of real intimacy always kept things strictly “business.” And now here was his commanding officer—a confident, strikingly handsome blue dragon—openly propositioning him?

Reiken knew full well this could earn him serious sanctions from the military board… but if Alswaram was making the first move, he clearly wasn’t planning to tell anyone. Blood rushed hot through the shark’s veins. It had been so long since he’d been this close to one of the Kelva.

His mouth opened, but all that came out was a flustered, unintelligible stammer. “Sir… I…”

Alswaram’s golden eyes sparkled. He leaned in even closer, voice dropping into a low, velvety purr. “For the last time, my name is Alswaram.” He winked, slow and deliberate. “Unless you’d rather call me ‘Sir’… intimately. That’s perfectly fine with me.”

The dragon chuckled softly, the sound warm and inviting, as his tail gave a lazy, teasing curl near Reiken’s.

Reiken blinked slowly, his pitch-black eyes widening as the realization fully hit him. Alswaram wasn’t just teasing anymore—he was proposing this. And then the dragon’s sleek, powerful tail slid suggestively over his side, tracing lazy patterns across his gray skin. A full-body shiver ripped through the shark before he could stop it. He bit his lower lip hard, trying to hold back, but ended up blurting out a messy, nearly incomprehensible string of words.

Alswaram’s golden eyes sparkled with amusement as he deciphered the flustered babble. He let out a low, rumbling chuckle and gently pried the spear from Reiken’s tightening grip, setting the weapon aside with deliberate care. Then he stretched out beside the shark, propping himself up on one elbow so they were face to face. His tail continued its slow exploration, brushing lightly over Reiken’s thin, sharp-looking flukes—the graceful tail fins typical of most sharks.

The dragon’s gaze wandered appreciatively over the shark’s body, drinking in every detail. He marveled at the smooth, pale curve of Reiken’s underbelly contrasting with the slightly rougher texture along his back. That sturdy dorsal fin, thick and strong rather than oversized, combined with the lighter tiger-stripe pattern on his gray hide, was unexpectedly adorable to the dragon. Alswaram had always harbored a quiet fascination with the ancient sea-faring Hilandra race. Having a friend—or better yet, a mate—from among the shark morphs had been a long-held fantasy.

He lost himself for a moment in those deep, hypnotic black eyes.

“I don’t think you’ll need your spear for a little while, Reiken,” Alswaram murmured, voice warm and teasing. “Let me safeguard you instead.”

Reiken shivered again as the dragon pressed closer, their bodies brushing together. Being a shark, he had already caught Alswaram’s scent earlier, but now he focused on it fully. It was familiar in the way most dragons smelled—deep woody notes with spicy undertones—but there was something unique: a faint, appealing sweetness, like engine oil that had soaked into warm scales. It was surprisingly nice.

Alswaram rolled onto his side for a moment, grinning playfully, before sliding on top of the shark. He leaned down and dragged his tongue in a slow, zigzagging lick from Reiken’s smooth belly all the way up to his snout, savoring the differences. The shark had almost no visible pectoral muscles—his body was mostly flexible cartilage—yet he felt incredibly strong beneath him. Those hidden muscles must be powerful indeed.

Reiken lay there flushed dark across his snout and gills, still unsure what to do with his hands.

“What is it?” Alswaram asked with a mischievous grin, eyes half-lidded. “Embarrassed? Yes, you’re in quite the position, aren’t you, little shark? So… what now? Will you listen to what military school taught you and resist your superior? Or will you give in?” He leaned closer, breath warm against Reiken’s ear. “I don’t think resisting is very likely. Why don’t you show me a bit of that desire instead of lying there looking so adorably paralyzed?”

Reiken’s blush deepened, but his body was already answering for him. Deep down, the arousal was undeniable. His claspers were slowly swelling against his will, thick and eager. Alswaram noticed immediately and grew bolder. He slid his tail downward, brushing teasingly along the shark’s claspers before exploring the sensitive slit just behind them.

“Hm… You’re fairly different from what I’m used to,” the dragon purred, clearly delighted. “This should be very interesting!”

He licked over Reiken’s lips, then nipped his way down the shark’s upper chest—not quite biting, but firm enough to spark instinct. Reiken groaned softly, instincts igniting as he finally reached up and grasped the dragon’s shoulders.

But Alswaram wasn’t about to surrender control so easily. With a playful growl, he shifted and pressed his half-emerged cock against the shark’s claspers, grinding slowly to tease him.

Reiken’s toothy grin flashed suddenly. In one smooth motion, he contracted his powerful legs, trapping the dragon’s throbbing length between his claspers with surprising strength.

“You should know better than to try to top a shark,” Reiken teased, voice husky.

Alswaram yelped in surprise, golden eyes widening as the shark rolled them over with ease. Now on top, Reiken grinned down at the dragon, flashing every sharp tooth while he slowly massaged and ground his claspers along Alswaram’s cock.

The dragon growled lowly in protest, clearly not used to being on the bottom, but the sound only encouraged Reiken further. Secretly, the shark was loving every second of the dragon’s predicament. He fought the urge to get too rough as he ground deeper, his own pleasure building until he started trembling. Soft, high-pitched chitters and squeals escaped him—sounds Alswaram clearly hadn’t expected from such a toothy predator.

Reiken drove the pace harder, his claspers working with relentless, slick pressure until Alswaram tensed and roared out his climax. Thick, sticky ropes of draconic cum splattered across the shark’s groin and claspers.

Reiken groaned in response, angling one of his own stiff claspers and pressing it slowly against Alswaram’s tailhole, drawing a deep, surprised moan from the dragon.

“Ohhh… Reiken, you feel so different!”

The shark’s predatory instincts surged. He pressed down, grinning playfully. “Mmm! Hah! I thought you were the commander here, Alswaram? Did you really think I’d let you dominate a shark? In your dreams, maybe!”

He pushed the smooth, gorged clasper deeper, earning more hisses and growls mixed with reluctant moans from the dragon. “So smooth and warm… Reiken, you feel incredible!”

Encouraged, Reiken set a deep, steady rhythm, thrusting harder and faster as his panting grew louder. His gills fluttered with each breath, leaking a thin, oily mucus that Alswaram quickly noticed and lapped at. The taste was bitter yet tangy, like exotic acidic fruits with a distinct fishy finish.

The attention to his sensitive gills made Reiken shiver and moan. In response, Alswaram reached down and wrapped a clawed hand around the shark’s free clasper, stroking it firmly. The dual stimulation overwhelmed Reiken—he had never felt anyone touch both at once. Pleasure crashed through him in waves until he sped up, nearly pounding the dragon as soft squeals escaped between his thrusts.

With a sudden full-body shudder and a high, squealing cry, both of Reiken’s claspers erupted at once, spurting rhythmic streams of warm, watery seed deep inside Alswaram and across their bodies.

Alswaram moaned loudly at the sensation, arms wrapping tight around the shark as he purred deeply. Reiken cooed softly in return, smiling as he stroked the dragon’s scaled chest with his strong, thick-fingered hands.

“So… who’s the commander now, hotshot?” Reiken teased, still catching his breath.

Alswaram replied in a sultry, purring tone, eyes half-lidded with satisfaction. “Mmm… don’t get used to it. I’ll get you back for this, Reiken.”

“I think I’ll like it here…”

“That’s good to hear.” The dragon nuzzled closer, then added with a mischievous glint, “Later I’ll have to get your friend to warm up. He’s kind of stiff, isn’t he?”

“You mean Sorv?” Reiken chuckled. “Good luck with that. You’ll hit a wall. He’s difficult to get close to. Forget trying to get into his pants right away—you’ll need to earn his trust and his respect first. Also, as far as I know, he usually prefers females when it comes to dragons… though he can go both ways. Usually when he’s with another male, it’s to humiliate them. Except humans. He likes humans.”

“I see. And you know this from experience?” Alswaram asked, raising a brow ridge.

“Well… maybe…” Reiken blushed darker and let out an embarrassed little giggle, looking away shyly.

Alswaram smiled knowingly and nodded. He understood now that Sorvaa’hr would require a much more careful approach than simply barging into his quarters.

The two held each other for a long while afterward, nuzzling and sharing soft, lazy kisses. Warm scales pressed against smooth shark skin as the last of their sexual tension melted away.

“Mmm… I’d better get back,” Alswaram murmured eventually, though he sounded reluctant. “If I could, I’d stay here with you for days. Let’s do this again sometime. Sexual tension or frustration is no good on the field.”

Reiken tilted his head, still smiling. “Is that the only reason you did this? You were just horny?”

“No…” The dragon gave him a gentle lick on the snout. “I did it because I wanted to. I’ve always wanted to have my way with a shark. I may prefer synths but I’m organic like you. I can’t wait to do this again. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yeah… it is.” Reiken’s grin softened into something warmer. “You felt really good, too. Thank you, Alswaram.”

Reiken kissed him again, slow and sweet, then pulled Alswaram into a tight, affectionate hug. The blue dragon returned it warmly, nuzzling the shark’s snout before reluctantly sliding off the bed. He gave himself a quick, full-body shake, trying to look casual as he slipped out of the room and headed straight for the showers.

Steam hung thick in the air as Alswaram stepped inside. He spotted Sorvaa’hr under one of the sprays, back turned, silently washing himself. The black dragon seemed lost in thought and didn’t glance over at first.

Alswaram took the stall a couple spaces away and began rinsing off, but his golden eyes kept drifting. He couldn’t help admiring the other dragon’s sleek, powerful form — obsidian scales glistening under the water, broad shoulders, the way droplets traced down strong haunches and the subtle shift of wings and tail.

After a long minute, Sorvaa’hr finally turned his head, crimson eyes narrowing.

“What are you looking at?” he grunted. “Didn’t get enough of fucking Reiken?”

Alswaram nearly dropped the soap. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“Oh, come on…” Sorv rolled his eyes, turning fully to face him. Water streamed off his horns and down his chest. “You think I’m fucking stupid? It reeked of sex the second you walked in. Don’t worry — I couldn’t care less what you do with him, so I won’t tell anyone. I hate the higher-ups just as much as you do. Besides, I know Reiken has a thing for our kind. He’s actually pretty sweet… definitely naive, though.”

Alswaram chuckled, lathering up his sapphire chest as hot water beat against his scales. “Thanks for keeping this between these walls. He sure is… So what about you, then? Don’t you ever get sexually frustrated?”

“Sometimes, yeah. Like everyone does. I’m alive, you know.” Sorv shrugged, scrubbing roughly at one arm. “That said, I do prefer females myself.”

“And male humans, from what Reiken said?” Alswaram asked with a playful smirk.

Sorvaa’hr stiffened, tail lashing once. “He said that?! I’ll skin him alive…!”

The black dragon sighed heavily and grumbled, clearly embarrassed. “Anyway… yes. I do like them. Is it a problem?”

“Not at all,” Alswaram replied easily, rinsing suds from his wings. “I have my own twisted desires.”

“So I smell.” Sorv’s nostrils flared. “Oil, isn’t it?”

“Yeah… you can tell?” Alswaram sounded surprised. “Reiken couldn’t…”

“I’m sure he could. He just ignored it.” Sorv turned off his shower and shook himself lightly. “He’s got an extremely sensitive nose. That smell lingers on you. I used to repair machines myself, so I know it well. Guess it suits you, considering…”

Alswaram’s eyes lit up. “Wow. You actually said something nice!”

“Don’t get used to it,” Sorv muttered, already turning toward the exit.

Before he could take more than two steps, Alswaram caught his wrist gently but firmly. “Wait… you’re not going to leave me here all worked up after that little chat, are you?”

Sorvaa’hr paused, glancing back with a raised brow ridge. “Worked up? You just finished with Reiken. Go cool off.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m satisfied,” Alswaram purred, stepping closer into the shared spray. Steam swirled around their bodies as water sluiced over sapphire and obsidian scales. “Besides… you’re standing here looking far too tempting. All wet and glistening like that.”

Sorv snorted, but he didn’t immediately pull his wrist free. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Commander.”

“Oh, I think it already is,” Alswaram murmured. His tail slid slowly around Sorv’s thigh, the tip brushing teasingly along the inside. “Come on, Sorv. Just a little relief. No one has to know.”

The black dragon growled low in his throat, clearly conflicted. “This is a bad idea…”

“Feels like a good one from where I’m standing,” Alswaram countered, pressing closer until their chests brushed. Hot water poured over them both, making their scales shine. He leaned in, lips hovering dangerously close to Sorv’s.

Sorvaa’hr’s breath hitched. His body betrayed him — his cock was already starting to emerge from its slit, thick and hardening despite his reluctance. Alswaram’s own length slid free moments later, and he rolled his hips forward, letting their cocks press together under the warm spray.

A low groan escaped Sorv as Alswaram began to grind slowly, slick water helping their shafts slide and rub against each other. The friction was delicious — hot, hard flesh gliding together while steam thickened the air around them.

“Fuck…” Sorv muttered, claws digging lightly into Alswaram’s hip even as he tried to hold back. “We shouldn’t…”

“But you’re not stopping me,” Alswaram whispered, voice husky. He rocked his hips more deliberately, cocks rubbing firmly from base to tip, the heads bumping and sliding with every movement.

Their faces drew closer, muzzles nearly touching. Alswaram tilted his head, golden eyes half-lidded, lips brushing ever so lightly against Sorv’s in a teasing almost-kiss. Sorv’s crimson eyes fluttered, breath coming faster as the grinding grew more insistent. For a moment it seemed like he might close the distance —

Then Sorvaa’hr suddenly jerked his head back and shoved Alswaram away with a firm hand to the chest.

“Enough,” he growled, breathing hard. His cock still throbbed visibly, but he shook his head sharply. “This stops here.”

Alswaram blinked, surprised but not angry, a playful smirk still tugging at his muzzle. “You sure? You seemed to be enjoying yourself…”

Sorv turned away quickly, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist to hide his obvious arousal. “I said enough. I’m not in the mood for your games tonight.” His voice was gruff, but there was a slight roughness to it that betrayed lingering heat.

He headed for the exit without another glance, tail lashing once behind him.

“Sleep well, Sorvaa’hr,” Alswaram called after him, voice still warm and teasing.

“Same to you, Commander.”

Sorvaa’hr gave Alswaram one last firm pat on the back, then grabbed his gear and towel before heading out of the shower room without another word. For once, the black dragon didn’t feel quite as much like an unapproachable stone wall.

Alswaram finished washing up, letting the hot water rinse away the last traces of the evening’s activities. Once clean, he made his way back through the complex and out into the cool night air, heading toward the nearby hangar where his true sanctuary waited.

The moment he stepped inside the dimly lit bay, a chorus of warm, synthetic voices greeted him like old friends.

“Welcome back, Commander.” “Good evening, Alswaram.” “Systems nominal. Glad you’re here.”

He smiled softly and waved as he passed the rows of AI-equipped vehicles and smaller mechs. At the far end of the hangar stood a single, much larger unit — a Hunter-class battle mech roughly the size of a large tank in width and length, and as tall as a two-story building. The dragon-shaped machine shifted with soft mechanical clicks and whirrs, its shiny dark metallic-blue hull reflecting the overhead lights. Heavy jet-engine modifications adorned its wings, and its sleek turquoise optics glowed softly as they locked onto Alswaram.

The deep growl of starting engines filled the air, followed by the rich, earthy, slightly sulfurous scent of exhaust mixed with heavy machine oil. To most it would have been overpowering. To Alswaram, it was instantly comforting.

“Hi there, big guy…” he called up, voice warm. “Everything okay?”

The massive mech tilted its head down toward him.

~ Hello, Alswaram. I could ask you the same question. You are late tonight. ~

“I know. Sorry, big guy. I made a new friend today.”

~ A new friend? Is your new friend an organic? ~

“Yes, he is. His name is Reiken. He’s a shark — a Hilandran! He’s really sweet, and I think he likes me…”

The mech let out a low, amused synthetic chuckle that rumbled through the hangar.

~ This is good to hear. Do you like him more than me, then? ~

“Don’t be silly!” Alswaram laughed, though a flicker of mock offense crossed his face. “I still feel more natural and comfortable with you… But Reiken was nice to me, and he doesn’t seem to mind my… quirkiness.”

~ Is being attracted to me quirky for organics? ~

“Well, to most organics it is. They don’t like machines the way I do. They see you all as nothing but tools. They think you don’t feel anything… or smell good.”

~ Why is that quirky? I find it rather nice. Most think we are only good for battle. You treat me like a friend. ~

“You’re more than a friend, Lancer,” Alswaram said softly, stepping closer. “Just don’t listen to them. They’re all imbeciles… They think because you’re AIs it doesn’t matter if you get hurt. They just use you as shields.”

~ Is that not what we were made for? ~

“That’s what they want you to believe!” Alswaram growled, stroking one massive metallic leg affectionately before pressing himself against it in a hug. “They’re close-minded and stuck-up, as always. I’ll never let them get close to you.”

Lancer responded by lowering his stance with a smooth hydraulic whine and gently scooping Alswaram up into his much larger arms. This was their private ritual — their snuggle time.

“Mmmm… I love you,” Alswaram murmured, relaxing completely against the warm iridium-alloy plating.

~ Alswaram, we have a guest. ~

“What?!”

Before Alswaram could react, a familiar voice cut through the hangar.

“So that’s where you disappear to…” Sorvaa’hr stepped out from behind a support pillar, arms crossed. “I see. So the rumors are true.”

“Sorvaa’hr??” Alswaram blinked in surprise. “How did you—”

“Planted a tiny homing beacon on your back in the showers,” Sorv said bluntly. “I was curious why your name wasn’t on any of the dorm registries. You don’t have quarters, do you?”

“Clever bastard…” Alswaram sighed, still cradled in Lancer’s arms. “No… I stay here with Lancer.”

“Lancer?” Sorv raised a brow ridge, looking up at the massive dragon-shaped mech. “That’s your mech’s name?”

“Yeah.”

~ Pleased to meet you, Sorvaa’hr, is it? ~ Lancer’s voice was calm and surprisingly gentle for such a huge machine.

“Yeah. Hello, Lancer.” Sorv gave a small nod. “So… Commander Alswaram is your battle partner, then?”

~ Yes. When he goes into battle, I follow. ~

“I see… Interesting. Pretty loyal, aren’t you? That’s to be expected from your kind.”

~ You have nothing bad to say? You don’t seem hindered by my exhaust, either. ~

“No. I’m used to this smell. I used to be a mechanic. Yours is nowhere near as bad as some of the rust-buckets I had to deal with from lazy pilots.” Sorv shrugged, surprisingly casual. “You’re quite unusual for a Hunter-class. Immaculate condition, well maintained… and mingling with organics like this. Guess I have the Commander to thank for that.” He paused, then added, “I should head back. Sorry for the intrusion.”

It was rare for Sorvaa’hr to apologize for anything, let alone sound so relaxed. Alswaram felt an immediate spark of connection — the black dragon was actually treating Lancer like a living being instead of just a tool.

“Wait, Sorvaa’hr! Leaving so soon?”

“Yeah. I was just curious where you actually slept.” Sorv turned to leave, then stopped and looked back. “Oh — and you’d better take good care of Reiken, you hear me? He’s sensitive and way too naive. If you hurt him, I don’t care what rank you are — I’ll hunt you down and rip your heart out.”

Alswaram chuckled softly. “Are you always this hostile? Don’t worry, I’ve got Reiken covered. I feel something real for him… my heart spins when he’s near.”

“Is that so?” Sorv’s expression softened just a fraction. “Good to hear you weren’t just using him as a fuck toy. I might’ve had words otherwise. Good night, Commander.”

He started walking away again, only to be stopped by Lancer’s deep, calm voice booming gently through the hangar.

~ Sorvaa’hr, please wait. I rarely get organic visitors besides Alswaram — and even then, only when I need critical maintenance. Would you stay? With us? ~

Sorv paused, tail flicking. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but I’m not into males… and I’m definitely not ‘into’ mechs. Well — I like machines, but not on that level. Sorry.”

~ I am not asking for intimacy. I am asking for companionship. From a friend to a friend. ~

The word “friend” seemed to catch Sorvaa’hr off guard. It always felt foreign to him. Yet something in Lancer’s honest, gentle tone made him hesitate.

Alswaram leaned forward in Lancer’s arms, offering a warm, encouraging smile. “Come on, Sorv. Just for tonight. No weird stuff, I promise. It’s actually really comfortable in here, and Lancer runs nice and warm. You don’t have to sleep alone in that cold bunk if you don’t want to.”

Sorv crossed his arms tighter, clearly wrestling with himself. He glanced up at the massive mech, then back at Alswaram, grumbling under his breath. “This is ridiculous… I’m not the cuddly type.”

~ You do not have to be, ~ Lancer replied softly. ~ Just rest. That is all. ~

After a long pause, Sorvaa’hr let out a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine… Just for tonight. And if either of you makes this weird, I’m leaving immediately.”

Alswaram’s face lit up. “Deal.”

Lancer carefully lowered Alswaram to the ground, then extended one massive hand toward Sorvaa’hr. The black dragon hesitated again, tail lashing once, before he finally stepped forward and allowed the mech to gently lift him up. Lancer brought both dragons close to his broad chest plate. A hidden half-cylinder platform smoothly slid out of a panel, creating a surprisingly spacious and warm cradle lined with soft padding and warmed alloy.

Sorv climbed in with obvious reluctance, keeping a careful distance at first. Alswaram settled in beside him without hesitation, curling up comfortably against the warm metal. After another moment of stiff awkwardness, Sorv finally relaxed just enough to lean back against the plating, arms crossed over his chest as if trying to maintain some dignity.

“Mmm… see? Not so bad,” Alswaram murmured sleepily, already starting to doze off.

“Shut up,” Sorv grumbled, though there was no real bite in it. His crimson eyes slowly drifted shut as the gentle, constant hum of Lancer’s systems and the pleasant warmth of the alloy lulled him. “This doesn’t mean anything…”

Lancer’s turquoise optics dimmed softly with quiet contentment as he held both dragons securely against his chest. The low rumble of his engines acted like a soothing lullaby. Soon, both Alswaram and Sorvaa’hr were snoring peacefully — one completely relaxed, the other still faintly scowling even in sleep.

Part III: Chaos and confusion

-- The following day, 0600 hours.

Alswaram stirred awake, cradled in Lancer’s arms. For a moment, everything felt calm—almost too calm. He leaned in, nuzzling the familiar metal frame, but the stillness around them quickly set him on edge. The hangar was completely silent. No distant footsteps, no hum of activity, not even the usual background noise he had grown so used to. It was as if the entire place had been abandoned. His eyes scanned the empty space before he tilted his head up at Lancer, confusion written all over his face.

Lancer met his gaze, equally alert. Something was clearly off. The surroundings didn’t match where Alswaram remembered falling asleep, and the feeling of disorientation wasn’t just from waking up too quickly.

“Lancer…?” he asked slowly. “Where’s Sorv?”

“~ He left sometime during the night. I’m sorry, ~” Lancer replied.

Alswaram let out a small sigh. “Aww… that’s okay. Still… feels strange. I don’t hear anyone at all.”

“~ I know. Something is very wrong, ~” Lancer continued, his tone shifting into something more serious. “~ I came out of standby two hours ago. By then, everyone was already gone. This isn’t our hangar. My scans can’t pinpoint our location, and there’s a gap of at least nine hours in my data logs. It’s as though that time was deliberately erased. I detect no signs of tampering, but deeper scans suggest my systems were completely shut down during that period. I waited for you to wake before investigating further. Also… I am detecting multiple life forms nearby. ~”

Alswaram stiffened. “Life forms? Organics?”

“~ Yes. And I believe they have us surrounded. What did you do this time? ~”

“Nothing!” Alswaram shot back defensively. “I didn’t do anything, I swear!”

“~ Then what would they want with us? ~”

Alswaram frowned, thinking back. “Nero and Kristana were missing last night too…”

“~ I noticed. I can’t locate their beacons either. ~”

A low growl escaped Alswaram as frustration bubbled up. “This is getting bad. No one messes with my MAUs and walks away. Can you warp us out of here?”

“~ I’m afraid not. There’s some kind of force field blocking any warp or gravitic jump. ~”

“Great… just great,” he muttered. “Alright. I’ll go take a look myself.”

“~ It is likely a trap, ~” Lancer warned.

“I know that! Of course it’s a trap,” Alswaram snapped, then softened slightly. “But what choice do we have?”

“~ …None, I suppose. ~”

“I’ll be back,” he said, already moving. “Don’t worry.”

He retrieved a kinetic-energy pistol from a compartment within Lancer’s inner hull and stepped out cautiously, senses sharp. He hadn’t gone far before he found them—seven figures standing in formation, weapons raised and aimed directly at him. They were unlike any single unit he’d seen before. Each one belonged to a distinct species, forming a strange but deliberate mix. Recognition dawned slowly, followed by disbelief. This had to be them—the shadowy Sirian organization whispered about in rumors and dismissed as myth.

The group was said to operate in complete secrecy, answering only to the Sirian council. Its members were rumored to be the elite of the four major sentient races of Sirius: the Kelva, large, draconic, reptilian beings with heavy builds; the Elvani, human-like but enhanced with razor-sharp senses; the Balmodan, hybrid beastmen with varied animal traits; and the Hilandra, amphibious beings adapted to both land and sea, often bearing features of sharks or cetaceans. For generations, the Hilandra had been viewed as traditional and resistant to change, but over time they had secured their place as a respected and integral part of the Sirius super-cluster. Even high-ranking military officers rarely spoke of this organization with certainty. Most treated it like a ghost story told to scare recruits. Yet here they stood—very real, very armed, and very dangerous. Alswaram would later learn their name was nearly impossible for Terrans to pronounce, something like “Lax-dhoul,” loosely translating to “visionaries” in the Sirian tongue.

One of them stepped forward—a human man with black hair, a dark beard, and piercing eyes. He looked middle-aged, but there was a hardness in his expression that suggested authority. He lowered his weapon slightly, though not enough to seem friendly.

“Commander Alswaram Osdanil,” he said. “I expected someone more… impressive, given your file.”

Alswaram smirked despite the situation. “Well, aren’t you charming. And who exactly are you supposed to be?”

“My identity is irrelevant. You’re coming with us.”

Alswaram let out a dry laugh. “You show up uninvited, refuse to give your name, and expect me to follow you? Give me one good reason.”

“You’re outnumbered,” the man replied flatly. “I’d say that’s reason enough.”

“Not really,” Alswaram shot back. “I don’t need numbers. I’ve got Lancer—and he’s more than enough to deal with all of you.”

“Empty threats,” the man said calmly. “Your friend is currently immobilized. The field we’ve deployed has locked down his systems—weaponry, defenses, everything. Frankly, it’s remarkable he managed to boot up at all. But make no mistake—he won’t be helping you today. If he so much as tries to move, we will shut him down completely.”

A sudden zap echoed from behind, followed by a strained mechanical groan.

“You bastards!” Alswaram snarled. “Fine! I’ll go with you. But if you touch Lancer again, I’ll rip you apart myself!”

The man’s lips curled slightly. “Such passion. Typical Kelva behavior. Don’t worry—he won’t be harmed. We only need you… and your shark companion.”

Alswaram froze. “Reiken?! If you’ve hurt him—”

“Not at all,” the man interrupted. “He came willingly. Far more cooperative than you.”

“Why?” Alswaram demanded. “What do you want with him? With me? What is this—some kind of twisted agenda?”

“Enough,” the man snapped, his patience wearing thin. “Drop your weapon. Now. Or your friend’s safety becomes… uncertain.”

Behind Alswaram, weapons clicked as they were readied. He clenched his jaw, then finally tossed the pistol aside. This wasn’t random. It was calculated—precise. Whoever these people were, they had orchestrated everything flawlessly. His mind raced. How had they moved an entire hangar without him noticing? Advanced tech? A massive warp operation? None of it made sense. But one thought cut through the chaos: Reiken.

Was there a traitor? Someone close to him? Sorvaa’hr? The memory of the previous night nagged at him. Sorvaa’hr had acted strangely… yet his record was spotless. It didn’t add up. Before he could piece it together, a sharp blow struck the back of his head. The world tilted violently as he collapsed, barely conscious. A sharp sting followed in his arm—an injection. Sedation.

His body grew heavy almost instantly. He fought to stay awake, but it was useless. The last thing he registered was the deep, steady hum of a spacecraft engine. Normally, he found that sound comforting. Now, it only filled him with dread. Still, as darkness closed in, he clung to that familiar vibration—holding onto it as long as he could before everything faded away.

-- Meanwhile, back at Second Fleet’s HQ

Sorvaa’hr let out a low groan as he stirred awake, his body heavy and his head throbbing with a dull, persistent ache. He stretched slowly, trying to shake off the grogginess clinging to him. Light filtered into the room. Daylight? He blinked, disoriented. “Damn… how long was I out?” Sleeping in like this wasn’t normal for him. His senses, usually sharp and alert, felt muted—like something was dulling them from the inside. The night before came back to him in fragments. After Alswaram had fallen asleep, he had quietly slipped away to his own bunk. Lancer had promised not to say anything, though he admitted feeling uneasy about it.

That hadn’t been the full truth. In reality, Sorvaa’hr hadn’t left because he was uncomfortable being there—he had left because he was uncomfortable with himself. With what he was starting to feel. The thought lingered, unwelcome and persistent. Feelings for the blue dragon? No. He shut it down immediately, refusing to even entertain the idea.

With a low growl under his breath, he pushed himself upright and began getting dressed, strapping on his gear piece by piece. His mind drifted back to the previous night, to Alswaram’s words, to the way things had felt… off. He needed to clear his head. Training would help. Something physical. Something simple. The moment he stepped out into the hangar, that idea fell apart.

Silence.

Not the usual quiet of early hours—but a deep, unnatural emptiness. His eyes widened slightly as he scanned the area. Every craft, every vehicle… gone. No movement. No voices. No signs of life. He was alone. “…Where is everybody?” he muttered, stepping forward cautiously. “Did they all just leave without me? No… that doesn’t make any sense. There were too many ships. I would’ve heard something…” He paused, pressing a hand to his temple as the headache flared. “Ugh… I still feel off. Fuck. Was I… drugged?”

The thought made his stomach tighten. Without wasting time, he headed straight for Reiken’s quarters. This time, he was the one pounding on the door, impatience creeping into every movement. No answer. He checked inside. Nothing. No trace of him. His frustration grew as he searched further, only to come up empty-handed every time. Eventually, he returned to his own room to grab the rest of his equipment—but as he stepped inside, something new caught his eye. A small device sat on his bedside table. He frowned. “What’s this…?” He stepped closer, picking it up—a hologram generator. A holo-vid. “Who put this here?” he muttered. “Was it Alswaram? Did they already leave and just… abandon me?” His voice rose, agitation bubbling over. “Damn it…!”

Without hesitation, he activated it. The projection flickered to life, revealing unfamiliar faces—and then his breath caught. Reiken. And Alswaram. Both of them were confined, restrained inside what looked like a cell. A voice followed.

“Greetings, Sorvaa’hr Ol’rath. You may not know us, but we know you. We have your partner and your commanding officer. As you can see, you are alone—the only one left behind. The others have been relocated. They will remember none of this when it’s over. They were not needed. You, on the other hand, are needed.”

Sorvaa’hr’s grip tightened around the device.

“If you want to see them alive, you must act quickly. By the time you view this message, we will already be several star systems away. A shuttle awaits you in Bay 4. The coordinates are preloaded. Engage autopilot, and when you arrive… the main act of our carefully planned performance will begin. Everything is in place.” A pause. “All that remains… is you.”

The message ended.

For a moment, Sorvaa’hr stood frozen. Then a low, dangerous growl rumbled from his chest. “What the hell is this?” he snapped. “Who are these clowns?! What do they even want?!” His anger spiked fast, sharp and uncontrolled. “Reiken… damn it! What did that machine-obsessed idiot get himself into this time?!”

He started pacing, agitation turning into restless energy. It was easier—safer—to blame Alswaram. To point the finger outward instead of dealing with the knot forming in his chest. “‘It’ll be fun in Second Fleet,’ he said…” Sorvaa’hr scoffed bitterly. “Yeah, real fun. How did you even manage to get captured like this, Reiken? Now I’ve got to come drag you out of trouble again!” It wasn’t the first time. Somehow, Reiken’s adventurous nature had a talent for finding danger.

Sorvaa’hr let out a long breath, forcing himself to steady. He checked his gear one more time, slipping the holo-vid device into his pack. Beneath the irritation and anger, something else simmered—something sharper. Protectiveness. Most of the time, Sorvaa’hr was composed, calculating, always thinking ahead. But when it came to Reiken… that control slipped. Anyone who got between them usually didn’t last long. Perhaps he felt that way towards Alswaram too, now. He just didn’t want to admit it to himself. He moved quickly toward the docking bays—but halfway there, something unexpected made him stop.

A massive form shifted in the hallway ahead.

“…Lancer?!”

The dragon mech was there, struggling forward, movements uneven and strained.

“~ Sorvaa’hr… I was looking for you, ~” Lancer said, his voice weaker than usual.

“For me?” Sorvaa’hr stepped closer, concern replacing irritation. “This is about Alswaram, isn’t it?”

“~ Yes. He was taken. I intend to retrieve him. ~”

Sorvaa’hr glanced over Lancer’s condition, frowning. “You? In that state? No offense, but you don’t look like you’re going anywhere. Did they mess with your systems? I might be able to help—I used to work as a mechanic.”

“~ I will recover, ~” Lancer replied. “~ They weakened me, but I managed to overload a jamming field to break free. It likely caused them… some frustration. The overload damaged my nano-repair system, however. My core is stable, but I am not at full capacity. ~”

Sorvaa’hr raised a brow. “Nanites, huh… So he really does know his machines,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Guess he’s more than just a ‘machine lover.’”

“~ Much more, ~” Lancer said. “~ Will you assist me? ~”

Sorvaa’hr blinked. “Me? What for? You’re basically a walking arsenal—cannons, missiles, the whole package.”

“~ That may be so, but I would prefer not to act alone. If my systems fail, I will need someone I can rely on. I will handle navigation. You only need to come aboard. ~”

Sorvaa’hr hesitated, glancing down the corridor toward the bays. “I’ve… never really done anything like that before.”

“~ Are you afraid? ~” Lancer asked, a faint hint of amusement in his tone.

Sorvaa’hr shot him a glare. “Don’t be stupid. I’m not afraid of anything. I just don’t love space travel, alright? Basic flying, sure—but warp jumps? Not my thing.”

“~ Then I will support you. Come. Climb inside. ~”

Sorvaa’hr exhaled slowly, then nodded. “Fine. Let’s go get them back.”

With a long, pressurized hiss and a series of metallic creaks, the mech’s blue armored plates began to unfold. The sound alone was enough to make Sorvaa’hr pause. His eyes widened slightly as he stared at the opening, unsure for just a moment of what he was actually supposed to do. The night before, Alswaram took the lead. He had always admired mech pilots from a distance. To him, they were something more—more skilled, more capable, almost untouchable. And now, here he was, being invited inside an advanced AI-driven war machine like it was nothing. Which belonged to his commanding officer, no less. A flicker of hesitation crept in. Not fear—he would never admit to that—but something close enough. Still, pride won out, as it always did. Without another word, he stepped forward and climbed inside. The interior fit him perfectly, as if it had been designed with him in mind. Thick anti-G padding cushioned him from all sides, firm but comfortable. As the plates sealed shut around him, he felt enclosed in a way that was strangely reassuring rather than confining. Warmth spread through the compartment, and the low, steady hum of Lancer’s internal systems created an almost calming atmosphere.

“~ Are you comfortable? ~” Lancer asked.

Sorvaa’hr shifted slightly, testing the space. “Well… yeah,” he admitted. “You actually feel pretty good. I’m ready. Do you even know where they went?”

Despite himself, he relaxed a little. The tight space reminded him of the night before—though this time, he was alone. For a brief second, his thoughts drifted to Alswaram… but he quickly pushed that aside.

“~ As it happens, I do. I keep a tracking beacon on Alswaram at all times. We are departing. ~”

Sorvaa’hr blinked. “A tracking device? Seriously? That’s all it took? They fell for something that simple?” A smirk tugged at his lips. “That’s almost embarrassing.”

A faint note of amusement passed through Lancer’s voice. “~ It is subcutaneous—undetectable without a targeted scan. I suspect they just did not anticipate my ability to escape the electromagnetic field. ~”

Before Sorvaa’hr could respond, a deep vibration rippled through the mech. He tensed instinctively, already knowing what was coming. Within seconds, Lancer was positioned on the launch platform. A sharp, rising whine filled the air as the quad reactors powered up, growing louder and more intense until— a thunderous burst. They were launched forward, hurling off the magnetic ramp and into open sky. The sudden acceleration pressed Sorvaa’hr back into the padding as Lancer’s shields and cloaking systems activated mid-flight.

“~ How are you holding up, Sorvaa’hr? ~”

“Don’t worry about me,” he replied quickly. “I’m fine.”

“~ Very well. My reactors are currently operating below optimal capacity. The ride may be somewhat unstable. Try to remain relaxed. ~”

“…Thanks,” Sorvaa’hr muttered. Lancer was so nice to him. He began to understand why Alswaram would team up with him and to his own surprise, he actually meant it. Lancer had a way of grounding him—keeping him steady in situations where he’d normally be on edge. Once they cleared Sirian space, the mech engaged his FTL drive. Space itself seemed to tear open as a hyperspace rift formed ahead of them, and in an instant, they plunged through it—emerging after a moment in what looked like a vast, empty stretch of deep space.

Sorvaa’hr frowned, scanning the void. “There’s nothing here…”

“~ Appearances can be deceiving. At the exact coordinates ahead lies a small space station. ~”

He raised an eyebrow. “You can pick that up from out here?”

“~ Even in my current state, my sensors far exceed organic perception, friend. ~”

Sorvaa’hr gave a small nod. “Fair enough. Let’s move in.”

There was a brief pause. “~ That presents a complication. I will not be able to approach the station directly. My size would make us immediately detectable. ~”

Sorvaa’hr smirked faintly. “So no ‘guns blazing’ entrance this time?”

“~ Under normal circumstances, I would not object. However, given my reduced capacity, such an approach would be… unwise. I would not be effective backup. ~”

“Yeah, alright. I get it.”

“~ I will transport you inside via short-range warp. I have identified what appears to be a relatively secure room. I will also provide you with a cloaking device. From that point onward, you will need to proceed alone. I will maintain limited contact through a beacon when possible, though I must remain mostly silent to avoid detection. ~”

Sorvaa’hr exhaled slowly. “Perfect… just the way I like it.” He cracked his neck. “I’ll go by my usual callsign—Blackie. I’m ready. Send me in.”

A brief moment of tension passed as Lancer prepared the jump. Then— a sharp, disorienting pull. The world twisted around him, and in an instant, Sorvaa’hr was no longer inside the mech. He staggered slightly as he materialized inside a cramped, gray-walled room. The air felt stale. A narrow bunk sat against one side, and faint echoes of distant voices and movement filtered through the walls.

He glanced around, unimpressed. “So much for ‘safe.’”

“~ Do you detect any lifeforms nearby? ~” Lancer’s voice came through faintly.

“No—but that’s because this is an isolation cell,” Sorvaa’hr muttered. “Come on… you couldn’t do better?”

“~ Less complaining. More action. ~”

He sighed, rolling his shoulders before checking his gear. His sidearm was in place. His rifle—his preferred weapon—rested securely at his side. Finally, he took the cloaking device Lancer had provided—a compact, bracelet-like mechanism—and fastened it around his wrist.

The faint hum of its activation was almost comforting.

He closed his eyes briefly, steadying his breathing. When he opened them again, the hesitation was gone—replaced by a sharp, focused anger.

“They picked the wrong targets…” he muttered under his breath. His jaw tightened as his thoughts locked onto the only thing that mattered now.

“I’ll kill you all, you traitorous snakes! Reiken, Alswaram… I’m coming.”

Part IV: Search and rescue

-- 25 000 B.C.E, within a complex disguised as an artificial satellite in the middle of nowhere within the Sirius constellation

Sorvaa’hr moved carefully through the endless maze of corridors, his cloaking device humming faintly against his wrist. He crossed paths with several Elvani in medic gear and dispatched each one without hesitation—silent neck breaks or precise shots from his suppressed pistol. Mercy had never been part of his vocabulary, and right now, with worry for Reiken burning in his chest, he felt even less inclined toward it.

The facility looked less like a military installation and more like a sprawling medical complex. He passed through multiple wings lined with what were essentially cells: bare rooms containing only a bunk and minimal amenities. Most of the occupants looked to be in terrible condition—wasted, broken. The sight twisted something in his gut. The same fate could be waiting for Reiken and his new commanding officer. For one of the rare times in his life, urgency clawed at him.

Just my luck, he thought bitterly. What a fantastic way to start my service in the Second Fleet.

Voices crackled over comms. He followed the sound into a large commons area filled with tables. The occupants weren’t medics—they were soldiers in full combat gear, not unlike his own. Sorvaa’hr stayed perfectly still beneath his cloak.

Better watch myself here. Being outnumbered would be… inconvenient.

He slipped out and continued down another corridor until he reached an empty office. Unable to access the terminal, he rifled through the paperwork until he found a layout of the facility. Tucking the map under his arm, he scanned it quickly. One name jumped out at him beside a holding cell in a nearby wing.

Marek? Of all people… He almost smirked. Well, I could use the extra help right now.

He didn’t particularly relish the idea of rescuing a third person, but a familiar face—even a rival’s—was better than nothing. He made his way through the suspiciously empty wing until he reached the correct cell. The lack of heavy surveillance set his instincts on edge.

Leaning close, he slid open the small viewing panel and peered inside. A lone human lay on the floor, body wracked with violent, uncontrollable spasms. Marek’s skin was slick with sweat and inflamed around the cybernetic ports—angry red welts and weeping sores where metal met flesh. Thick, fibrous scar tissue had begun to form ugly capsules around the implants, pulling the skin taut and distorting the muscle beneath. Every tremor sent mechanical whirs and wet, grinding clicks through his body as the augments fought against rejecting tissue.

“Marek?” Sorvaa’hr whispered, voice tight. “What the hell have they done to you…?”

The human turned his head in jerky, unnatural increments. His eyes were glazed and bloodshot, pupils flickering with faint digital artifacts. When he spoke, his voice came out raw and layered with electronic reverb, like static dragged across torn vocal cords.

“What do you want now, fuzz man?”

“It’s me, Marek. Sorvaa’hr.”

Marek pushed himself up with obvious agony, limbs shaking so hard the cybernetic reinforcements in his arms audibly strained. Sorvaa’hr’s stomach turned. The implants—jagged metal vertebrae along his spine, reinforced shoulder ports, and what looked like neural lace threading under the skin of his neck—were visibly failing. Pus and clear fluid leaked from inflamed insertion points. The surrounding tissue had gone necrotic in patches, blackening at the edges where the body was trying to wall off the foreign invaders. Toxic shock had set in; Marek’s breathing was shallow and ragged, his skin alternating between fever-flush and clammy pallor.

“By the gods… is that really you?”

“That voice… Ol’rath? So they dragged you here just to laugh at me too.”

“What are you talking about?” Sorvaa’hr hissed. “How did you even spot me while I’m cloaked?”

“Can’t you tell?” Marek rasped, a wet cough rattling in his chest. “My senses are sharper now… whether I want them to be or not. The pain helps. Everything hurts so much it sharpens the edges.”

“What did they do to you…?”

“None of your concern.” Another violent shudder ran through him; one of the spinal implants sparked faintly, sending a fresh wave of convulsions that made his back arch. “You’re still free, aren’t you? Then get the hell out of here before they turn you into this.”

Marek shifted, and the mechanical sounds grew louder—grinding servos fighting against locked, inflamed joints. The sight made Sorvaa’hr’s scales tighten with revulsion and something uncomfortably close to pity. He had always respected Marek’s strength as a soldier, even when they were rivals. Seeing him reduced to this broken, half-machine thing… it stirred a protective rage he hadn’t expected.

“Marek, I’m coming back for you. I promise.”

“For me?” Marek gave a harsh, glitchy laugh that dissolved into a pained wheeze. “Don’t be stupid. You hate my guts. Just go, you moron.”

“I can’t. Not yet. I still need to find my partner and my commanding officer. Have you seen a shark-like being or another Kelva around here?”

“I heard they brought in the commander of the Second Fleet not long ago. They’re planning to use him for the MA project.”

“That’s him! Wait—what’s the MA project?”

“Shh—not so loud!” Marek glanced toward the door, his enhanced eyes twitching erratically. “It’s an experimental military program. That’s what they did to me. Forced integration… no proper immunosuppressants, no time for the body to adapt. Just… raw augmentation and hope the meat doesn’t fight back too hard.”

“So my partner and my CO are next in line for whatever sick experiments they’re running here? This whole place is some kind of classified research lab?”

“Too long to explain right now. You’re going to get spotted. Go. In aisle 3 of the East wing there’s an archive room. You’ll find the project outlines there—if you can stomach the read.”

“Forget it. I hate reading. What about you? You seem to know this place pretty well…”

“This upgrade has its perks,” Marek said bitterly, tapping a port on his temple that oozed fresh fluid. “I remotely hacked the main database before the rejection really kicked in. The pain… it’s like fire in every nerve they rewired. But it keeps me sharp.”

“You what? How the hell—”

“Damn it—too late. A guard’s coming. You have to go. Now.”

“Shit. Alright… I’ll be back for you. Hang in there. Don’t get yourself killed. I still have questions.”

“You’ve changed, Sorvaa’hr. You’ve gone soft. You would’ve killed me before.”

“Shut your trap. I haven’t changed—I’m just trying to fix this mess. Stay alive, you hear me?”

Sorvaa’hr slipped back into the corridor, barely dodging the approaching guards. His hands trembled with barely contained rage and disgust. The image of Marek’s convulsing, leaking, scar-encased body burned behind his eyes. What was the purpose of this “MA project”? Some new kind of weapon that devoured its host from the inside? He had no time to dig through archives. His priority was rescuing Reiken and the commander… and now, apparently, one stubborn rival as well.

This just keeps getting better and better…

He keyed his comms.

“Lancer, come in.”

“~ Is there a problem? ~”

“And then some. This place is a research facility. I just added a third rescue target.”

“~ Someone you know? ~”

“Yeah. An old rival. I’d normally leave him to rot… but no one deserves what they did to him.”

“~ I see. Keep me updated. ~”

“Will do. Blackie out.”

Sorvaa’hr kept his focus sharp as he navigated the identical-looking corridors, occasionally glancing at the stolen map to avoid getting turned around. The transparent tempered-glass tunnel between wings offered a brief, disorienting view of the facility’s scale before he slipped into the next section. That was when he heard it—a familiar voice echoing faintly from a nearby room.

Reiken.

Heart pounding, Sorvaa’hr ducked into a ventilation shaft and listened. It was definitely him. He checked the map again, then silently took out the lone soldier in the adjacent security room with a clean neck snap. While his cloaking device recharged, he flipped through the camera feeds. There—on a lower level in a large lab—his shark partner sat under harsh lights, surrounded by figures in blue lab coats. They looked like they were conducting an interview or interrogation.

A cold chill ran down Sorvaa’hr’s spine. What the hell did these bastards want with Reiken?

He memorized the route, slipped down a flight of stairs, and moved through an empty hallway until he reached the lab area. The door was sealed; he couldn’t hear anything from inside. All he could do was wait. Eventually, Reiken emerged, escorted by several guards, and was led back toward his cell. Sorvaa’hr used the moment to ghost inside ahead of them. Once the guards had locked the door and moved on, Sorvaa’hr let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Reiken’s head snapped up. “Sorv? …Thank the Ocean Mother. You actually came.”

“Of course I did,” Sorvaa’hr whispered, deactivating just enough of the cloak to lean his head into view. “Did you think I’d leave you here? The guards were probably tired of your constant whining anyway.”

“Hey…!”

Reiken nipped at him playfully. Sorvaa’hr sat beside him on the bunk and, without thinking, pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of his beak. Reiken exhaled softly, tension melting from his shoulders for the first time since his capture. Questions spilled out quickly. “How did you get here? Where’d you get the cloaking device? What’s the plan? How are we getting out?”

“Easy, one thing at a time,” Sorvaa’hr murmured. “I came in with the Commander’s mobile unit. He gave me the cloak and weapons. As for the plan… still working on that. Do you know where they took Alswaram?”

Reiken’s expression darkened. He shuddered visibly. “Oh no… Alswaram. Sorv, they took him. I think they’re going to give him the treatment.”

“Treatment? He’s not sick.”

“No, you idiot. This isn’t a hospital.” Reiken’s voice dropped. “They’re going to administer the gene therapy to turn him into a mechanical activator.”

“A what?”

“You haven’t pieced it together yet? This whole place is a special unit development facility. They don’t just treat people—they manufacture super-soldiers. The MA project is only one division. I picked up rumors back home, and when I tried to escape the first time… I learned enough to know it’s bad. Really bad.”

“That’s my toothy. Good job on the intel.” Sorvaa’hr gave a small, proud smirk. “So what exactly is this MA thing?”

Reiken sighed, the familiar impatience of someone who actually paid attention to science while Sorvaa’hr chased weapons specs. “I’m not surprised you don’t know. All you care about is battlefield updates. You’ve at least heard about the food shortages for the land-dwelling civilians, right?”

“Yeah. Erosion’s eating the arable land, military gets priority rations, everyone else gets scraps. Smells like Council bullshit to me.”

“You’re probably right. Either way, they’re looking for ways to cut military food costs. Gene therapy is one route—either remove the need for food entirely or change what the body can process.”

“Change the source?”

“Exactly. The MA project started for mobile unit pilots. ‘MA’ stands for Mechanical Activator. They’re modifying the pilots’ bodies so they can consume the same fuel their machines run on. Raw fuel.”

Sorvaa’hr recoiled. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. A pint of refined fuel carries nearly 8,000 calories—more than twice a normal soldier’s daily intake. Pilots already burn through three times the calories of regular troops because of the neural link. If they can make the body process fuel without destroying tissue… it solves a lot of logistical problems.”

“But fuel is acidic as hell. It’d shred any normal digestive system.”

“That’s where the ‘therapy’ comes in. They force massive molecular restructuring through aggressive chemical cocktails and cybernetic implants. It’s supposed to convert the subject into something that can burn fuel directly while also letting them interface with machines on a deeper level—EM manipulation, bio-electric field control. They don’t just pilot the suits anymore. They activate and commune with them.”

Sorvaa’hr’s stomach turned. “That’s fucking twisted. It’s genetic conversion straight out of a nightmare.”

“Yeah. Most test subjects don’t survive the later phases. The body fights the changes hard—rejection, toxic shock, necrosis around the implant sites. I saw what it did to some of them before they dragged me away.”

“Shit… and Alswaram’s the perfect candidate. Machine-obsessed bastard that he is.”

“Exactly. We have to get to him, Sorv. He’s not in a regular cell like me. They moved him to some special examination area—probably the treatment aisle in the other wing.”

Sorvaa’hr nodded, pulling out the map. “I think I know the two possible spots. One’s a hangar I already passed—nothing but shuttles. The other is the treatment wing. That has to be it.”

“When you get him, then what? Hijack a shuttle?”

“Lancer’s in orbit. We won’t need to. We’ll improvise.” He paused. “There’s… one more person we need to extract.”

“Oh?”

“Marek.”

Reiken’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”

“No. They tried the treatment on him. It didn’t take well. He’s got cybernetics jammed into him—spine, shoulders, neural ports—but his body’s rejecting them hard. Inflamed ports leaking pus, violent tremors, toxic shock. He looked like he was dying in slow motion. If we leave him, he’s finished.”

Reiken studied him for a moment, then grinned teasingly. “Look at you… you do have a heart after all.”

“Shut up, toothy,” Sorvaa’hr grumbled, though there was no real heat in it. “I need to get moving. Stay out of trouble while I’m gone, alright?”

“I know. Leave that to me.” Reiken leaned in, smiling and brushing his beak against Sorvaa’hr’s jaw. “See you later, Blackie.”

Reiken suddenly doubled over, groaning loudly and making wet, heaving sounds. It worked. A guard hurried over to check on him. “Sick… think it was something they gave me…” Reiken slurred, then dramatically fainted.

The moment the human unlocked the door, cloaked Sorvaa’hr slipped out like a ghost. Reiken was quickly sedated and left to “sleep,” silently placing his trust in his partner once more.

Sorvaa’hr moved through the corridors with grim purpose, but his mind kept drifting to dark places—what they might be doing to Alswaram, and especially to Reiken. If they lay one finger on him, every last one of them dies screaming.

He crossed another translucent glass tunnel, the warped perspective sending a flicker of vertigo through him. On the far side, he followed the map toward a larger chamber. Crossing an overpass, he froze.

Below, in a brightly lit lab, was Alswaram.

Unusual cybernetic veins—dark, metallic threads—had been etched across his fully spread wings like living circuitry. The rest of his body appeared untouched, but he was hooked to multiple monitors, IV lines, and thick hoses. He wasn’t roaring or thrashing; he simply looked… altered. Doctors and technicians monitored every reading from various terminals.

Sorvaa’hr’s stomach twisted. This wasn’t torture in the traditional sense, but the sight filled him with helpless dread. Battle he understood. This? This was beyond him.

He waited for an opening, then slipped inside behind a technician. For several long minutes he watched, trying to make sense of the procedure. It was the same nightmare they had inflicted on Marek—gene therapy, forced integration, turning flesh into something mechanical. He felt paralyzed. Rushing in now would get them all killed. He believed in leaving no one behind, but he was badly outnumbered.

Before he could decide on a move, medics unhooked Alswaram. The dragon crashed to the floor, dizzy and unsteady. Unbeknownst to Sorvaa’hr, the therapy had already been administered multiple times. The changes were accelerating.

They moved Alswaram to a larger, more comfortable holding room—clearly reserved for higher-value subjects. Sorvaa’hr ghosted in behind them using the same trick as before. Once the staff left, he swept the room for surveillance devices, found none, and dropped his cloak.

“Sorvaa’hr?!” Alswaram growled in surprise.

“Why so shocked? You really thought I’d abandon you and Reiken?”

“Well…”

“Oh please. I have more loyalty than that.” Sorvaa’hr smirked faintly. “Surprised they didn’t bug this place. Careless… or just stupid.”

“They probably assume I can’t go anywhere like this.”

“You do look like shit,” Sorvaa’hr admitted. “How are you feeling?”

Alswaram hesitated. “They’re changing me.”

“Besides the fancy new wing veins, you look mostly the same to me.”

“Thanks… I think. But the real changes are inside.”

Sorvaa’hr’s jaw tightened. “The MA project?”

“You’ve heard?”

“Reiken filled me in. I was with him earlier—he’s alright for now. They were planning to use him as leverage against you, but it seems you didn’t need much convincing. Why the hell did you agree to this?”

“They said it would be good for me,” Alswaram said quietly. “That I could drink fuel freely, bathe in a mech’s scent without limits, and pilot Lancer like it was second nature. That I could commune with any machine instinctively…”

Sorvaa’hr stared at him. “You’ve lost your damn mind. Most people would call that torture.”

“For me, it sounded like paradise.”

“You damn fool. They’re killing people with this! Marek is here too—his body is rejecting the implants. He’s in toxic shock, leaking pus, convulsing. I’ve seen the dead listed. You’re only surviving because you’ve been huffing Lancer’s exhaust for years. Irony at its finest.”

“Lancer… is he alright?”

“He’s here. Orbiting right now. I came in with him.”

Alswaram’s expression softened with visible relief. “I was so worried…”

“You worry more about him than living beings sometimes, don’t you?”

“Maybe… a little.”

Sorvaa’hr grinned fiercely. “Good. We’re busting out of this hole.”

“How?”

“The fun way,” Sorvaa’hr said, eyes gleaming. “We’re forcing our way out.”

“I should have known…”

“Got a better idea, Commander?”

“Fair enough.”

They repeated Reiken’s trick. Alswaram feigned illness; when the guard opened the door, Sorvaa’hr lunged from cloak and snapped his neck with brutal efficiency. From there it was a storm of controlled violence—rifle fire and silent takedowns as they cleared a path back toward Reiken’s cell.

But the cell was empty.

Rage ignited in Sorvaa’hr’s chest. He grabbed the next guard, slamming him against the wall hard enough to crack the plaster.

“Where did you take my friend?!” he snarled.

“W-what—?”

“The shark! Where?!”

“They’ll kill me if I talk!”

“Three seconds or I kill you myself. Talk!”

“The main lab! They took him to the main lab!”

Sorvaa’hr’s grip tightened. Only Alswaram’s hand on his arm stopped him from crushing the man’s skull.

“Worthless sacks of meat,” Sorvaa’hr spat, hurling the guard aside where he crumpled unconscious.

Alswaram watched him closely, seeing both the dangerous weapon and the rare flash of fear beneath the fury.

“Commander, head back to Lancer. Now,” Sorvaa’hr ordered. “We’re outnumbered. I’ll meet you there shortly. I’ve got one more to pull out.”

“Someone else?”

“Cut the shit and go.” He handed over the map. “Take this.”

“I don’t need it. I can tap the security system now… new senses.” Alswaram quickly scratched Reiken’s last known location onto the map with Sorvaa’hr’s knife. “We’ll meet you on the ramp.”

Alswaram vanished down the corridor. Sorvaa’hr turned toward Marek’s wing.

He found the human still alive, though clearly worse—tremors stronger, skin feverish, ports leaking. Marek looked stunned when Sorvaa’hr shot the hinges off with his custom sidearm.

“That’s not standard issue, is it…?”

“Nope. Move. Now.”

“You actually came back, Sorv…” Marek’s voice trailed in disbelief. “And your friends?”

“Alswaram’s already heading to our ride. Reiken… I’ll have to come back for him with Lancer. We’re no good to him dead. Can you keep up?”

“I’m slower, but I can manage.”

“Good enough. Go!”

They stormed the halls as alarms began to blare. Sorvaa’hr’s rifle sang, dropping guards before they could raise full alert. When the power cell ran dry, his sidearm took over with precise, vicious shots.

They reached the launch pad where Lancer waited, cannons still glowing hot from clearing his own path. Alswaram stood beside the mech, clearly disappointed Reiken wasn’t with them.

“Who’s your friend?” he asked.

“Marek Jusal, Commander. Former First Fleet. Now I do independent contracts.”

“A free sword, then.”

“You could say that.”

Alswaram looked to Sorvaa’hr. “And Reiken…?”

Sorvaa’hr lowered his head “Out of reach for now. We’ll get him back.”

Before anyone could argue further, Alswaram stepped forward. “You two go with Lancer. I’m staying.”

“Commander, that’s suicide!” Sorvaa’hr snapped.

“I have to try. Reiken’s probably terrified. I have followers who can replace me. This is something only I can do, as his commanding officer.”

Sorvaa’hr stared at him, knowing Alswaram’s feelings for Reiken ran deeper than camaraderie. A calculating part of him wanted to knock the commander out and drag him aboard. But he understood. He handed over his rifle and cloaking device.

“Take these. The rifle’s modified—high-velocity rounds. I built her myself. Don’t get yourself killed.”

“Loud and clear, Commander Ol’rath.”

“Not funny, asshole. Move your ass and get back alive.”

Alswaram vanished into the facility. Sorvaa’hr growled in frustration.

“~ Do not worry so much, Sorvaa’hr. ~” Lancer’s voice resonated directly in his mind—calm, measured, with a subtle warmth that no standard AI could replicate. “~ Alswaram is a survivor. I have monitored his vital patterns for years. He adapts… even to this. ~”

The words carried quiet confidence, but Sorvaa’hr caught the faint undercurrent of concern. Lancer wasn’t just relaying data; he felt the stakes.

“Thanks for trying, Lancer… Let’s go.”

The mech opened his plates with a smooth hydraulic sigh. It was a tight fit for Sorvaa’hr and Marek, but they managed. Sorvaa’hr wouldn’t admit it, but the press of Marek’s body against his felt strangely grounding.

Lancer launched hard, dodging debris as he broke for orbit. Once clear, he spoke again, his tone almost gentle.

“~I will return for them. Both of them. My partner’s safety is… paramount.~” There was a brief pause, as if the AI was choosing his next words carefully. “~ As is yours, Sorvaa’hr. You have done well today. ~”

The subspace window opened, and they jumped. Once back in orbit around their homeworld, Lancer descended and landed at Second Fleet’s bays. Sorvaa’hr and Marek disembarked. Sorvaa’hr’s voice lacked its usual confidence.

“Thanks, Lancer. Now go get them. Hurry.”

“~ I will return soon. Minor maintenance first—my systems are running at 87% efficiency after the engagement. Then I will retrieve them both. ~”

Sorvaa’hr nodded and without another choice, he put his trust in Lancer. Sorvaa’hr led Marek to his quarters. They talked for hours—reminiscing, trading stories, old rivalries softening into something closer. Exhaustion finally claimed them both. They passed out leaning against each other, the dragon’s arm unconsciously draped over the battered human

Part V: Twist of fate

-- Meanwhile, back at the artificial satellite

Alswaram panted heavily, lungs burning as he pushed through the corridors. Using his newly enhanced connection to the facility’s network, he had pieced together a rough mental map and was homing in on a strong power signature in a distant wing. The alarms still blared, but he had realized they weren’t for him—most personnel had already evacuated or converged elsewhere. The eerie emptiness only deepened his dread.

He followed the rising energy spike until he reached a vast open test chamber filled with terminals, monitors, and humming equipment. At the far end loomed a massive, heavily armed black mech, connected to a web of hoses, cables, and diagnostic arrays. Alswaram’s heart stuttered as he spotted Reiken—his shark, his potential mate—slumped unconscious in a reinforced cradle, hooked into the system.

He wanted to charge in. Instead, he forced himself to watch from the shadows.

A senior scientist stepped forward, addressing the gathered team with triumphant zeal.

“There we have it, gentlemen! This will teach the Confederation not to interfere with us!”

“Doctor, are you certain it will function as intended?”

“This mobile unit is our ultimate secret weapon. It’s programmed to respond instantly to any aggression, powered by a complete copy of the memories, personality, and combat instincts of this Hilandran soldier—Reiken Arvalan. Longtime partner of Sorvaa’hr Ol’rath. The primal focus and ferocity of the Hilandra make him the perfect template. Are we ready?”

A technician at a holoscreen nodded. “Transfer sequence initiating. Routing full neural engram to the main operations core.”

Reiken suddenly convulsed. A guttural groan tore from his throat, escalating into a high, agonized squeal as the machine began siphoning everything—memories, identity, vital essence. His body arched violently, eyes rolling back while faint blue energy arced between the ports in his skull and the mech’s core. The black mech’s optics flickered, then blazed to life with cold, predatory light.

Reiken’s body slumped lifelessly in the cradle, eyes glazed and vacant, like a puppet with its strings cut. No breath. No spark. Just an empty husk, skin already taking on a waxy pallor.

“It worked! The unit is awake!”

Cheers and applause erupted, as if they had just unveiled a new toy.

“Excellent work, everyone. What shall we designate this new asset?”

“We’ll use the project codename. Henceforth, it is Storm.”

Alswaram staggered backward, bile rising in his throat. He barely made it out of the chamber before vomiting violently, knees buckling against the cold floor. He had just watched the being he loved—body and soul—drained dry in front of him. Not killed outright, but erased. Copied. Replaced by a weapon wearing Reiken’s face in its code.

Mechanical activator or not, nothing could replace the real Reiken. A broken part of him wanted to storm back in, seize control of the new mech, and turn its guns on the scientists in vengeance. But the rest of him felt hollowed out, too shattered to move. For a long moment, death seemed preferable. Only the faint thought of those waiting back home kept him going.

He retraced his steps toward the launch pad on autopilot. Lancer was waiting, sensors already picking up his distress.

Alswaram didn’t need to speak. The mech’s deep, resonant voice entered his mind with quiet gravity.

~I see what they have done. The transfer was… complete.~ There was a rare note of sorrow in the AI’s tone. ~Your shark is gone. Only the echo remains inside that machine.~

Lancer extended a medical injector from a compartment and administered a powerful sedative. Alswaram barely registered the sting before collapsing, tears streaming as unconsciousness claimed him.

The mech carried him home in silence.

---

--

-

Alswaram panted heavily, lungs burning as he pushed through the corridors. Using his newly enhanced connection to the facility’s network, he had pieced together a rough mental map and was homing in on a strong power signature in a distant wing. The alarms still blared, but he had realized they weren’t for him—most personnel had already evacuated or converged elsewhere. The eerie emptiness only deepened his dread.

He followed the rising energy spike until he reached a vast open test chamber filled with terminals, monitors, and humming equipment. At the far end loomed a massive, heavily armed black mech, connected to a web of hoses, cables, and diagnostic arrays. Alswaram’s heart stuttered as he spotted Reiken—his shark, his potential mate—slumped unconscious in a reinforced cradle, hooked into the system.

He wanted to charge in. Instead, he forced himself to watch from the shadows.

A senior scientist stepped forward, addressing the gathered team with triumphant zeal.

“There we have it, gentlemen! This will teach the Confederation not to interfere with us!”

“Doctor, are you certain it will function as intended?”

“This mobile unit is our ultimate secret weapon. It’s programmed to respond instantly to any aggression, powered by a complete copy of the memories, personality, and combat instincts of this Hilandran soldier—Reiken Arvalan. Longtime partner of Sorvaa’hr Ol’rath. The primal focus and ferocity of the Hilandra make him the perfect template. Are we ready?”

A technician at a holoscreen nodded. “Transfer sequence initiating. Routing full neural engram to the main operations core.”

Reiken suddenly convulsed. A guttural groan tore from his throat, escalating into a high, agonized squeal as the machine began siphoning everything—memories, identity, vital essence. His body arched violently, eyes rolling back while faint blue energy arced between the ports in his skull and the mech’s core. The black mech’s optics flickered, then blazed to life with cold, predatory light.

Reiken’s body slumped lifelessly in the cradle, eyes glazed and vacant, like a puppet with its strings cut. No breath. No spark. Just an empty husk, skin already taking on a waxy pallor.

“It worked! The unit is awake!”

Cheers and applause erupted, as if they had just unveiled a new toy.

“Excellent work, everyone. What shall we designate this new asset?”

“We’ll use the project codename. Henceforth, it is Storm.”

Alswaram staggered backward, bile rising in his throat. He barely made it out of the chamber before vomiting violently, knees buckling against the cold floor. He had just watched the being he loved—body and soul—drained dry in front of him. Not killed outright, but erased. Copied. Replaced by a weapon wearing Reiken’s face in its code.

Mechanical activator or not, nothing could replace the real Reiken. A broken part of him wanted to storm back in, seize control of the new mech, and turn its guns on the scientists in vengeance. But the rest of him felt hollowed out, too shattered to move. For a long moment, death seemed preferable. Only the faint thought of those waiting back home kept him going.

He retraced his steps toward the launch pad on autopilot. Lancer was waiting, sensors already picking up his distress.

Alswaram didn’t need to speak. The mech’s deep, resonant voice entered his mind with quiet gravity.

~I see what they have done. The transfer was… complete.~ There was a rare note of sorrow in the AI’s tone. ~Your shark is gone. Only the echo remains inside that machine.~

Lancer extended a medical injector from a compartment and administered a powerful sedative. Alswaram barely registered the sting before collapsing, tears streaming as unconsciousness claimed him.

The mech carried him home in silence.

---

--

-

When Alswaram finally awoke nearly two days later and delivered the horrifying news in a broken voice, the room went deathly still.

Sorvaa’hr stood frozen for one heartbeat. Two. Three.

Then all hell broke loose.

A guttural roar tore from his throat—raw, primal, nothing like any sound he had ever made in battle. It wasn’t rage alone; it was grief and unbearable loss forged into something monstrous. His claws slashed out instinctively, raking deep gouges into the metal wall beside him as if it were flesh. Furniture exploded under the impact of his tail and fists—chairs splintered, consoles shattered in sparks and flying shards. He didn’t stop. Sorvaa’hr’s eyes burned with feral intensity, pupils narrowed to slits. Scales bristled along his spine as he overturned everything in reach, roaring again and again until his voice cracked into a ragged, bleeding snarl. For a few terrifying seconds it looked like he might turn that same violence on the people in the room—Alswaram braced, expecting blame, expecting claws or teeth or worse.

But the dragon didn’t see them anymore. He saw only Reiken’s empty, lifeless eyes. The shark’s playful nips. The quiet sigh of relief when they had brushed one another in that cell. All of it stolen. Copied. Reduced to code inside a soulless machine called Storm.

Sorvaa’hr’s chest heaved, breath coming in violent, shuddering gasps. For one fractured instant the rage cracked open and something far worse flickered through—raw, childlike pain that made his whole frame tremble. Then the fury slammed shut again like a vise. With a final, earth-shaking bellow that rattled the windows, he stormed out, slamming the reinforced door so hard the frame buckled. No words. No accusations. Just the thunder of his footsteps fading down the corridor until silence swallowed him.

He was never seen again and eventually filed as MIA. The shock had shattered something vital in the once-unbreakable soldier. Whatever remained of Sorvaa’hr Ol’rath vanished into the void, consumed by a rage too vast to contain.

Alswaram fared little better. Shaken to his core, he resigned his command of the Sirian Second Fleet and departed with Lancer for Lemuria, Terra’s colony, seeking some semblance of a new beginning far from the ashes of what they had lost.

Marek tried to follow Sorvaa’hr, but the dragon—his psyche utterly fractured—turned on him with feral, broken threats that left the human reeling. Marek’s already failing body, ravaged by toxic rejection and cybernetic failure, could endure no more. He took his own life in a small loft in the Sirian capital, found only days later in a state which no words can describe.

Everything had unraveled. The team, the bonds, the futures they once imagined—all torn apart by one facility’s monstrous ambition. Many questions lingered unanswered.

What remained of Reiken now lived on as Storm, a weapon that might one day turn its guns on the very people he once fought beside? Would the real Reiken’s thoughts ever surface in that cold machine mind? Where did Sorvaa’hr go? What would Alswaram find on Terra?