Chapter 8: Book of Eli

  Blood in the sand.

  Blades bare under the raging sun.

  The howls of Ashur’na still echoed in my skull as I drank the brooding liquid.

  But slowly, the omnipresence of Bulkhead Nine returned to me.

  We lowered our glasses to the table with a soft, unified clack—settling into the kind of silence only ancient stories and hard-earned survival could bring. The kind that wasn’t just satisfying—but sacred.

  “And now you’re still here,” Eli said, tilting his head slightly, ears flicking forward, those wide amber eyes fixed on me with an almost wild glee.

  “Still limping back into the ring every day. That means something, Human.” His voice had a low, rumbling pride—like a growl held just behind the teeth.

  But then the clarity cracked again. Doubt surged up like bile—sharp and unwelcome.

  I swallowed hard.

  “But Eli…” I stammered. “What the hell could be so bad that she needs someone like me?”

  “You’ve seen me—I’m decent, maybe. But I’m no match for her. Why not do it herself? Or pick someone else like you?”

  Eli didn’t answer right away.

  His slitted amber eyes narrowed, ears angling forward. Then he exhaled—slow and heavy, like shedding an old weight.

  “She’s betting on you because she has to. You’re not a warrior yet, Varr. Not fully. But she sees something. And I trust her to be right.”

  He bared his teeth again into that jackal-like grin.

  “Trust me, if she didn’t? She wouldn’t waste her breath on you Human.”

  I held his gaze, searching for any sign of exaggeration. But Eli just nodded—slow, certain, ears relaxed.

  “Maybe it’s not about strength or skill,” he said. “It’s about potential. Not the kind you build in the gym. The kind hammered into you after you’ve been cracked open—then welded shut with spit and fury.”

  He took a long pull from his mug. Half-empty now. Foam clung to the fur around his chin and upper teeth.

  I frowned.

  “But why me?”

  Eli gave a low grunt, more thoughtful than frustrated. “That’s the howl at the moon, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe you don’t know how to quit. Maybe you remind her of someone... or maybe... it’s just that you haven’t run yet.”

  His grin widened into a toothy flash.

  “And trust me—more than a few did. Claws at their heels! Ha!”

  He sat back, claws tapping his mug in a thoughtful rhythm.

  “I don’t know what it is, Varr. But she thinks you’re the only one who can do it now. And whether that’s a gift or a curse…” He tilted the mug. “You’ll find out either way.”

  He rubbed under his chin like a dog scratching a scar. His tone softened—still edged with respect.

  “Whatever the reason… you’re surviving. That’s impressive. Don’t ignore it.”

  “Even I didn’t go through what you’re facing. And I’ve had my bones snapped more times than I can count!”

  Rhai had said something similar that morning. But looking at Eli—just like I had with her—I wasn’t sure I could fully believe him.

  Then he looked at me—sharp, leaning forward, voice dropping. Like he could see straight through my doubts.

  “Hang on, you don’t even realise, do you?”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “How long you lasted, this morning with Zeth. How significant that was.”

  I shook my head.

  “Over five hours,” he said. “I checked the time-logs after she returned.”

  I thought it was four. But still, compared to them…

  “Five hours, Varr! No Medbay. No breaks. Just her fists, claws, and your mad-dog determination!”

  He tapped a claw to the table.

  “For her first session, Rhai lasted thirty-seven minutes. I lasted twenty-nine. Most of the newer recruits?”

  He snorted. “Closer to ten. If that.” His amber eyes narrowed, gleaming.

  The air left my lungs.

  “You didn’t win. But you endured. And that? That’s rarer than talent. That’s what she saw in you Varr.”

  His voice lowered: “That’s why she’s betting on you. And why I do too.”

  I didn’t speak. The truth settled deep—beneath the bruises, beneath the shame that was finally beginning to thaw.

  A spark of something.

  “And I would follow that she-wolf,” he said, voice raw, “over scorching sands… toward the horizon of every setting sun.”

  Eli didn’t smile. Just nodded once. Like that was the only answer that ever mattered.

  "That’s why she’s betting on you. You carry it—that mad warrior spirit. Not learned. Born with it."

  His voice grew quieter, almost reverent.

  “She’s not doing this to punish you. Something’s coming. And since K’arreth left... she’s been different. Focused, desperate even.”

  He leaned in, muzzle angled just enough to let me feel the weight of his stare.

  “She doesn’t plan to face it alone.”

  “And for reasons above both our paygrades—she’s chosen you. And for good reason, eh?”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  He raised his mug and tapped it against mine.

  “I think you’re earning something none of us ever got.”

  “Her respect. Her full attention. And she’s never careless with either.”

  He smirked with a flicker of pride.

  “That means you’re doing something right—even if you’re tragically fucking Human. Ha!”

  I snorted. But the laugh didn’t last.

  My eyes dropped to the swirl in my mug...

  The truth was… I didn’t care about her attention. Not really.

  Not for the pain. Not for the bruises.

  But for the indifferent silence.

  For the way she left me guessing. Every barked order. Every unanswered look. The total absence of clarity. Or compassion.

  If this mission mattered—if I mattered—didn’t I deserve more?

  It was like the unknowing was the test itself.

  I felt my chest tighten. But before Eli could read too much, I forced a breath. Then cracked a grin.

  “I’m doing something right? Look at me Eli! That terrifies me more than her fists.”

  That got him.

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  He barked a sudden laugh—loud, guttural, sharp enough to make nearby heads turn. A splash of beer arced from his mug and splattered across the table.

  He wiped it with the back of his sleeve, still grinning like a wolf at a fire.

  “It should! That means it’s real Varr!”

  He leaned forward, claws tapping the metal tabletop.

  “So keep surviving. Learn from every hit. You’re still breathing, Ensign. Don’t waste it.”

  Eli gave me a final grim smile. “Let’s see what she does with someone who refuses to fall.”

  He narrowed his eyes, ears stiff. “Someone who can face the sand in their eyes, eh?”

  We clinked mugs again—this time with something older behind the sound. Like the echo of a rite we’d just survived, and darting towards the ones to come.

  We drained most of our glass in one long pull, Eli's ears twitching at the afterburn and me wincing at my own, and we lowered our mugs together with another soft, unified clack—into the kind of silence only warriors or desert ghosts ever shared.

  For a moment, I didn’t feel alone.

  And yet, it troubled me.

  Because if Eli and Rhai were afraid…

  What the hell was coming?

  And if it took a Khevarin desert hound and a monster like Zeth to prepare for it… maybe I didn’t want to know.

  But I didn’t run.

  So the question was—how far was I willing to go?

  I glanced sideways—out of habit more than hope. I was hoping to see Earth’s outer orbit through a viewport— or a calm sprawl of stars.

  Instead: blank metal. A bulkhead staring back without answers.

  Eli leaned in again, voice low.

  “She’s pushing you harder than she ever pushed us.”

  “She’s trying to shatter you, Human.”

  He grinned—flat-toothed, knowing. “And for our kind? That’s the highest of honours.”

  “I’ve noticed,” I muttered, and downed the rest of my drink in three gulps.

  Eli and the Khevarin were always mad bastards—but something in their philosophy always struck a chord.

  And it gave me an idea...

  “Eli…” I said, setting my mug down. “Tell me something.”

  His ears twitched with interest.

  “Zeth... Can I learn to beat her?”

  Mid-sip, he choked. Hard. Ale spluttered down his jackal-like muzzle, clinging to the fur. He wiped it away, never breaking eye contact.

  He stared. Slitted pupils tightening. Fur twitching along his jaw. When he spoke, his voice was lower. Measured. Almost ritualistic.

  “You can try. But you can’t. Not yet.”

  He let it land. Let it settle like stone on sand.

  “You fight until you fail. Then rise. Again and again. Until it burns into your bones.”

  “That’s the true test. Not to win. To withstand. To be unyielding against burning sun and sand.”

  I blinked. “You’re saying she wants me to lose?”

  ““I’m saying… she wants you to endure.” His nostrils flared. Ears flicked with emphasis.

  “She’s watching your will to stand when everything says fall.”

  “Because that’s what this mission will demand.”

  His jaw tensed, silhouette catching the light. Lean. Ancient.

  “Not strength. Endurance.”

  I stiffened. Breath caught.

  “You won’t beat her. Not now. Not soon,” he said.

  “She’s faster. Stronger. Smarter. Can read your stances like a book.”

  “You won’t win.” A pause. “But you will learn.”

  I scoffed quietly. “By letting her put me through hell every day?”

  “By letting her teach you Human.”

  “You think this is punishment?”

  He leaned in.

  “It’s the best education you’ll ever get.”

  “A gift. From the claws of Ashur’na herself.”

  The weight of it all settled across my shoulders.

  Maybe he was right. But the feeling didn’t shift.

  Not even with Khevarin ale warming my chest…

  “Eli…” I said, barely above a whisper. “I still don’t think I can do this.”

  He didn’t answer at first. Just stared.

  Then, without ceremony, he raised his mug and tapped it lightly against mine. A soft clink of alloy on alloy.

  “That’s what makes you dangerous, Varr. Even for a Human.”

  “Dangerous?”

  His ears perked, teeth flashing in a tight grin—feral, not unkind.

  “The ones who think they’ve already won? They die first.”

  He tapped his temple. “But the ones who doubt? They survive. They fight like they have to. Every second. Every breath. Until the last fucking sun sets.”

  He leaned back, but his gaze stayed locked.

  “That’s not weakness. That’s survival. That’s Khevarin. That’s Drac’kari. And at one time, it was probably Human.”

  “We don’t fight for glory. We fight because we were born with sand in our lungs and everything to prove against it.”

  He pointed a claw at my chest. Almost knowing.

  “Pain sharpens. Weakness dulls. And you? You’re still sharp enough to cut.”

  “You don’t need to be the best,” he added. “Just the last one standing at sunset.”

  “…Thanks,” I muttered.

  Eli grinned—wide, toothy. Not mocking.

  “You’re not fired or dead yet. That puts you ahead of most.”

  “I don’t know if I want to be.” It slipped out before I knew I’d said it.

  Eli didn’t flinch. He just tapped his temple again—slower this time. Measured. Amber eyes narrowing.

  “You’ve got something old in you. You got the darkness.”

  “Saw it in Sickbay. Not rage. Not panic. Silence. The kind that waits in the shadows.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “The part that doesn’t scream. Doesn’t break. The part that crawls through fire and keeps going when every other version dies. And then does so with fury into the scorching sunrise.”

  He tapped the table once. Then again. Like a countdown ticking through dust and blood.

  “That version? That’s the one who survives.”

  I blinked. “That sounds like losing control.”

  “Exactly.”

  “That’s what makes you a warrior.”

  “Not glory. Not revenge. Just the will to rise again. Even if it breaks you. Especially if it breaks you.”

  He exhaled slowly. “Letting it all go. That’s what she’s looking for.”

  “That’s mental, Eli.”

  He grinned. “That’s Zeth.”

  He rapped the table. “And you want to beat her, don’t you?”

  I didn’t answer.

  I didn’t have to.

  We sipped another beer in silence.

  The ship’s twin pulse—the Alcubierre Array's—ran beneath our boots, quiet but constant.

  But I wasn’t listening. I was elsewhere. Lost in Eli’s words.

  In the image of myself—not as I was…

  …but as something forged.

  Or broken.

  Then, Eli reached down below the table.

  From his belt, he pulled an H-interface—sleek, matte, scuffed along the edges like it had seen years of use—and slid it across the table. The soft clack as it landed sounded louder than it should have.

  I stared at it like a live weapon. Maybe it was.

  “Start here,” he said. “It won’t let you beat her. But it might keep your tiny skull intact.”

  I blinked. “What’s on it?”

  “Notes,” he said. “From my first few weeks under her. Technique. Footwork. Mindset. Sword drills. Some of it’s in Khevarin script.” He flashed a fang. “So do your homework.”

  I smirked. “Of course it is.”

  I turned the pad over in my hands, not opening it. Just… holding it. It felt heavier than it should’ve—like a Gjallar Epic made tangible.

  The word “sword” caught in my thoughts like a splinter. It sounded like something from a fantasy novel…

  I looked up, quieter now. “Sword drills? You were training to fight like that? But why?”

  He didn’t answer immediately. His ears swivelled slightly, like he was listening for something unseen. Then he tilted his head toward the ceiling, exhaled through his teeth.

  “Khevarin do. So did her people once. You’ve seen it. She’s learned from both—sparring, philosophy, honour. Especially the older ways.”

  He paused, voice growing more careful. “She probably thinks there’s clarity in it. It’s honourable.”

  There was something unspoken in his tone. Something he didn’t want to name. Something Zeth hadn’t shared with them either. Probably, these were his very own questions.

  His gaze and ears flicked to the far bulkhead, like he’d let too much slip already.

  He rose slowly, empty mug in hand, stretching his tall, jackal-framed silhouette with the stiffness of a soldier carved from war and bone.

  “Don’t think of it as surviving her, Human.” He smirked. “Think of it as earning something even the gods envy.”

  He nodded at the pad still under my fingers.

  “If you’re still breathing by the end of the week—that means something.”

  He took two steps, then turned, grin wicked—ears perked, eyes gleaming.

  “And if not…”

  He chuckled. “Well, that’s definitely something. Ha!”

  Halfway to the door, he stopped again—back still to me.

  “And when the time comes…”

  I looked up.

  “…don’t hold back, Human.” His fangs gleamed. “She never does.”

  Then he was gone. Just the scent of something wild in his wake. Something ancient. Something warm.

  But something lingered.

  Not comfort. Not clarity.

  A weight in my chest. A spark behind my ribs.

  Resolve. Raw and renewed.

  If what Eli and Rhai said was true, I can’t believe I lasted so long against her...

  And there might be something in here I can use for tomorrow’s session.

  I stared at the H-interface. My fingers curled around it like scripture.

  I thought of Rhai. Of the others who'd failed. Of Eli’s words—that this wasn’t punishment.

  It was preparation.

  A test of something deeper.

  Maybe I wasn’t just good. Maybe I was meant for this.

  Because when a warrior-born Khevarin hands you his lessons in code… it’s not advice.

  It’s prophecy.

  Eli’s book of scripture.

  Words that might save my life.

  Or perhaps, kill me even quicker.

  — Failure, a 21st Century band.

  For take off and for landing.

  She pulls on her black gloves.

  In case she needs to throw your burning body through the clouds.

  Her voice says you're OK.

  Just stand up.

  The eyes say something more.

  Like give up.

  'Cause I've finally found a way to release you.

  But I don't need anything you left me.

  From thirty-nine thousand feet.

  The heartland is echoed.

  The green of farms and dead-end streets.

  Hide its heavy load.

  A voice says wipe it all away.

  Start anew.

  History takes awhile to see through.

  'Cause I've finally found a way to release you.

  And I don't need anything you left me.

  And I've finally found a way to unseat you.

  And I don't want anything you left me.

  You keep your resistance in a jar pressed to the pane.

  Casting on the runway.

  Its former stain.

  You in your safe place.

  Receptive like a blown-out gate.

  Protected like a cavity beneath the waves.

  'Cause I've finally found a way to release you.

  And I don't need anything you left me.

  And I've finally found a way to unseat you.

  And I don't want anything you left me.