Calling the district a slum would be a misnomer, more a concentration camp. Phaedra had seen it all. Only a thin transparent line separated segregation from systematic isolation and racial suppression. She walked with head bowed low, ignoring the devoted gaze of every supposedly corrupted demon spawn. Unfortunate children born of a union between Menkarans and any of the multitude of species on Vatune were what they were.
Phaedra sauntered through, seeking a place to lie low. Prudent choice would have been to abandon Aermire. Wait out in the hills or the forest. Away from all. Just like in Zelnir, on the desolate planet, where her encroaching madness could claim no victims. But she stayed in Aermire, because of the anathema that was Hallie.
At that thought, her hand rose and touched her wrist. A spot where Hallie grabbed her. The warmth and the tenderness of the hold still lingered on her skin. Her flesh, that remained impassive to the cold of the space and the heat of a red giant, responded to her touch.
“You are no sacred ancestor.” A voice cried. Another nameless and battered half-breed Menkaran. Phaedra ignored such trivialities. “You are THE POTENTATE herself. Come to gather us in your benevolence.”
Grime covered, callus-defined, open palms in total submission reached in veneration to touch. They were performed with the same glacial slowness and trepidation of touching the divine.
“Stop!.” Her words snapped, booming with the potency of a cannon fired. “Don’t touch.”
“A million apologise Potentate.”
Around Phaedra, all heads bowed deeper in genuflection. No place to find her footing. Phaedra stood alone in a sea of lowered heads and bent backs.
“Begging forgiveness. It was impetuous of us to seek to touch the one we are not worthy of.” Voices, fearing voices, revering voices all spilled from the crowd before her.
None approached closer. They might bow in reverence. Be filled with gratitude. Yet they understood one thing.
Never to touch the sacred one.
“I turn to your goodwill for a place to rest.” Phaedra’s throat hitched. The voice of a Prime was not meant for begging. “Only for three nights. I have neither coins nor goods to trade.”
“How can we turn you down? Any favour for the Potentate blesses us. We are eternally beholden.” A decrepit elder with a drooping chin and broken limb cried.
A crumbled hut awaited. That was the place they could offer to their Revered.
Not much of a shelter. Nor did she need one. Her enhanced senses would pick anything within Aermire. No sounds, no conversations, no secrets were locked from her ears. Now, they were all singularly attuned to the one person, a lone human girl, hosted in the lavishness of the Aermire cathedral and protected by the finest of knights.
Phaedra shifted on the cold, hard floor while listening to the sounds of Hallie. The peal of laughter that spilled to the congregation, The ‘I-could-do-it huff’ she released when the Eraskine Bishop spoke, the sounds the flowing fabric of her gown made when she collected them in her hands, the sigh of relief she gave when she closed the door of her room and realised she was alone.
The sounds of Hallie’s heartbeat slowly climbing to escalating levels made Phaedra flicker her eyes open. Then they kept rising to a crescendo.
“Phaeadraaa!” Hallie’s lips twitched as she called her name. Well, actually, Hallie moaned her name.
And Phaedra twisted and shifted in obvious discomfort. Years of isolation rendered her incapable of responding to one of the few disadvantages of her enhanced abilities. She wished to turn it off with a command, so she wouldn’t have to know all of Hallie’s feelings.
Actually, Phaedra knew exactly what Hallie was feeling. She was feeling herself.
“Phaedra, three fingers pleasee!” Hallie moaned. Again. The sounds were quite salacious.
Phaedra glanced at her palm. Those were fingers that would reduce neutron star debris to cosmic dust.
Hallie continued. “Add one more finger, Phaedra.”
She clamped her ears tight with both palms, hoping that the strength of her hands would prevail against whatever Hallie was inciting. Then, her hyper aware olfactory senses got jinxed by a particular scent of Hallie.
A single leap and she could be on Hallie’s balcony.
Tell her to stop.
And then what?
She would be called a creep and a pervert. As far as Hallie is involved, those were most likely to happen within the realm of possibilities.
Phaedra tapped the ground, twice with languid lethargy, and then leapt, through the open clearing in the roof, and away from Aermire.
She would rather not hear Hallie masturbating while calling her name with lust-filled lips. Not listen to Hallie writhe and pant and the sound of her hips rocking her bed frame. Better to ignore the squeaking of the pillows that she piled up, or the noise of her inner thighs rubbing against fabrics, or the way Hallie moaned her name to the pillow.
That softness was all that Hallie would have to contend with. For starters, her own hips and waist were all chiselled, rock hard, and solid cuts. If Hallie wrapped her thighs around...
Stop.
Those thoughts were every bit as lethal as lingering close to the boundary of an event horizon.
Phaedra landed atop a rock on a treacherous mountain with jagged edges and decided the solitude to be welcoming. She would stay low for two days. Loitering anywhere close to Hallie carried a significant risk.
After all, Hallie was a pure disaster, when moaning her name repeatedly like a mantra, begging for four fingers deep inside her while belligerently proclaiming that she obviously would never trust her.
Alone. Phaedra was alone with her clarity. The occasional spikes of madness, their frequency alarmingly increasing, were absent. The proximity of Hallie, her touch, her presence had kept the recesses of the inextinguishable inferno invading her mind. The lingering effect of Hallie’s laughter — even when they carried their own signature brand of insanity — clung to her consciousness.
That was the power of an Anchor. The ability to guide her mind through the turbulent and all-consuming maelstrom of delirium.
Phaedra was no glass-eyed Menkari girl on the cusp of puberty to not know what attracted her to Hallie. It was her body seeking a cure for a condition. A supposed panacea, one that still carried significant risk of propelling them into the irreversible calamity. Should they even mind-meld, should she ever roam far deep into the void of madness, should it prove too hard for Hallie to reach and pull...
Her eyelids clamped tight shut. But that did not prevent the mental images, or their onslaught on her reeling mind. That only consolidated one more regret on top of her non-erasable list of guilt.
Of all those people in Aermire who venerated her presence. Offered her shelter despite their own destituteness. They looked up to her for salvation, and she would gift them disappointment in return.
“You did this to me.” The fragile voice of a dying Lorvian child accused Phaedra. “My mother died. All the other children’s lives ripped out. The Koravecs have razed us because you failed to reach.”
“You led us to doom.” The agony-filled sounds of her squad blamed her. “We were your responsibility, Marshall. Now we are no more.”
“My daughter was taken.” An angry Menkaran father screamed. “We were dragged from our containers. Our properties stolen and shared between them. The Menkarans everywhere are homeless. Unprotected. Because you rejected us.”
Her own people. The Lorvian settlers. Her renowned squad. Shorin. Vierna. Regrets consolidating upon regrets.
Then Phaedra did the thing she hadn’t done in a long time. Her hands rose to feel the stumps hidden by her matted hair. Twin spots where her horns used to be. Her imposing and gallant horn that completed her heroic form of the past. Just gone. Extracted.
They cut and sew, cut and sew and cut and sew her. An endless cycle wrought by cruel curiosity. Not to study her innards, but to test the limits of her pain. Their first attempt with her left horn was disastrous as her cries of anguish shattered the restraining barriers. The generators maintaining the force field failed to her screams. Neither lasers nor ionic cutters nor atomic thin slicers could prevent the regeneration. The rapid regrowth of her horn fascinated the unseen masters of Tethkaryis. Eventually, after repeated failures — each one a futile attempt, a fractured strategy — they settled on cutter saws, sharp and unforgiving, to cut through.
Their aim, to break and put her back. Keep pushing enough to reach the point where her newly evolved regenerative abilities reached their limits.
Watch her pain. Measure her torment. Observe. Gather data. Analyse.
Over and over, they repeated the ritual. But none could ever push her to the threshold, the breaking point. When she fainted and collapsed, they tossed her inside a controlled furnace, to monitor the growth of her flesh and cartilage under hostile temperature.
For Phaedra, it meant the opening of another state in her unending torment. Her very existence became an extension of their experiments, an open and displayed exhibition for the insatiable curiosity of the hidden powers behind the labs of Tethkaryis.
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Until Vierna infiltrated Tethkaryis. Carried her broken body through bullet rains and lasers and automated defence gunning them.
Dreaded Vierna, the ‘wraith class’ Covenant Phantom — whose whim dictated the rule of planetary emperors and Imperiums — boldly claimed Phaedra as her daughter. With the wispy tendrils of alacrity nudging her mind, Phaedra could see it more clearly now. Vierna sought her out in her isolation on Zelnir, braving the elements and the hostile habitat. Contrary to what Vierna claimed then, the consummate Covenant Phantom required no one’s assistance to locate her missing biological daughter. Vierna came for her. To save her. Because...
That is what mothers do. Always ensure that their daughters are safe.
And Vierna pleading her to take the task of locating Astra, just the Covenant Phantom’s way of getting her to abandon her self-imposed prison.
All Vierna wanted was to give a motherly hug, to provide a warmth to her fragmented self, but she attacked in return. Lashed out in her delirium. Too volatile. Too lethal. She pushed the Covenant Phantom dangerously close to death.
That was her. The only gift she offered to those close to her led to a singular lane of desolation.
Phaedra draped her arms around her chest, clutching the last vestiges of emotion before surrendering to absolute nihilism. And the nihilism she welcomed convinced her of the need to get Hallie to Kyrnnos. Treat it as one final assignment. Escort her to Earth.
And absolutely, never give into any feelings.
With an interminable resolution, Phaedra leaned back against a jagged crystalline edge. The sharpness of it threatened to lacerate her back. Yet, she ignored. Against her diamond-shattering skin, those razor-like edges would fail. But she can’t fail. Phaedra made certain that she would not fall for Hallie during their journey to Kyrnnos.
When Phaedra reached Aermire, the peal of Hallie’s laughter alerted her senses. The human turned saint sauntered through the commercial district, the one meant for upper class, frequented by the so-called nobility and rich merchants. Phaedra leapt to land on top of the highest watchtower, the one she left remaining.
In the distance, she discerned the sharp form of Hallie. Her hair, meticulously washed and held with a single braid, glistened under sunlight while she cavorted across streets full of people greeting with reverence.
“Taaaaaadaaaa.” Hallie gave a prancing twirl as she paraded before Taebitha Faeyth’s steadfast eyes.
The Dame Commander clapped, rather respectfully and gently. She then liberated her right palm from the confines of her gauntlet and offered it for Hallie to grab, claws voluntarily pulled in, letting only the softness for Hallie to take.
Phaedra’s gaze was veiled by a hooded squint. She felt the tension coil inside when Hallie grasped the Dame Commander’s palm, fingers stroking through the double coat of fur.
“You are surprisingly very, very soft,” Hallie said, a small smile of contentment lingering on the edges of her lips.
“Surprising, huh?” Taebitha Faeyth brought their joined hands up and flashed her canines in a grin. “Your hand is small and frail compared to mine. No retractable claws. Almost defenceless. It makes one want to hold and protect you.”
“Hmmmm.” Hallie deliberately pointed her eyes upward, holding it there for a brief moment and then jutted her jaw forward. “Is that a confession, Dame Commander?”
Something about the way Hallie addressed her companion, in the last two words, almost felt like they were filled with subtle innuendo.
“Hallie.” The Dame Commander sounded genuine, even caring. She called her directly by name. Not Holy Maiden. Very personal.
Something stirred in Phaedra. Something that she should ignore but could not.
“I must confess, though.” Taebitha Faeyth continued. “There is something deeply personal, in touching bare skin, without any layer of intervening fur. There is no one like you on Vatune. This sensation of your palms, I will never forget.”
“I will hold you for this, then.” Hallie laughed, her usual amusement-filled laugh.
Phaedra stared at their conjoined hands, joined by an act that had seemed so natural for both parties. Taebitha Faeyth tugged her forearms in, bringing Hallie along with it. They were now close.
“A word of caution, Hallie.” The Dame Commander’s voice dropped to a level appropriate for conspiracy, but not the concern laced in them. Those were genuine and authentic. “The Bishop has refused my request to safeguard you till Kyrnnos. I cannot assign any of my templars, no further than Pass Khugrath.”
Phaedra could hear it all. Every rise and drop in pitch of their conversation.
“It would mean that on the remaining stretch of your journey, you would have to solely rely on the Archdemon.” Taebitha Faeyth stopped, staring intently at Hallie, worry and concern heavy in her expression. “That Pass is forbidden for my Order to enter. Trespassing, even for you, would be a violation of the Edict of Caeletis.”
“What’s so special about this Pass Khugrath?” Hallie had her unashamed inquisitiveness out. Her fingers stroked the fur-covered knuckles of the Dame Commander, unfazed by the sincerity of her companion’s concern.
“The truth is, the Pass is a solitary ground meant for those who undergo the trials and tribulations of the Seraphims.” Taebitha Faeyth laid out the stark and indisputable fact. “It is as much an insult to them as it is for us to trespass. These people, selected individuals who volunteered to bear the mark to hardened themselves, and should their souls prove worthy, Caeletis blesses them to herald as champions for the Ascension.”
“Oh, it is all so intriguing.” Hallie playfully nudged the Dame Commander with her shoulders.
“Purity of faith. Without flaw or impure intent. They represent the hope and dreams of the entire races of Vatune. Everyone aspires to be a champion and we all give reverences to those who have successfully undergone the trials. In short, we are forbidden entry to the Pass. It is their solemnity, and our responsibility is to leave it alone, untouched and unperturbed.”
Hallie appeared neither pensive nor disturbed, instead her mischief was laid bare in the wiggle of her brows. She leaned closer to the Taebitha Faeyth and a cocky smirk spread.
“That is all so nice of you, sweetie.” While Hallie fanned herself, the gesture came out extremely faked. “You really are worried about me. Aren’t you not?”
Phaedra baulked at the familiarity. “Sweetie.”
The Dame Commander blinked once and then twice.
“Hmmmmm.” Hallie drew the sound to a prolonged hum, smirking in her well-earned victory. Then she continued indulging her fingers in brushing the thick coat of the Dame Commander’s arms. “You know, you fur is so soft, silken and well-groomed, I could continue doing this forever.”
“No. You don’t.” Phaedra appeared before them. Her tone carried the potency of an explosion, shuddering anyone nearby. “Because we are going to Kyrnnos soon.”
“Awww... Can’t wait for you own kidnapping, can you?” Despite her dark and brooding presence, Hallie’s teasing smile still prevailed. “You are one eager abductee.”
For reasons she could not fathom, Phaedra could feel agitation in every part of her as she met the amused expression in Hallie’s eyes. Hallie always was nothing short of one calamity after another. Innuendo was definitely just her second skin. Therefore, she refused to be incited by any civilities initiated.
“Not much time left.” Phaedra stated instead. No hint of any altercation either in her face or her expression. “Preparations should be on full swing, I presume.”
Hallie scrunched up her nose as though she were insulted. The playful manner in which she sashayed close, along with the overflowing indulgences of her mischeviously wiggling brows, was directly playful and straightforward.
“And you.” Hallie let one corner of her lower lip be tugged up, pulling her entire face into a lop-sided pout. “Can’t keep your eyes off, and can’t help yourself either, can you?”
“It is my responsibility now to provide security for you till Kyrnnos.” Those were the lines she rehearsed to maintain her sanity and her emotions. “So I can watch and oversee the progress. And intervene.”
“What more watching do you think is possible? Not the overseeing. That you will do,” said Hallie while rolling her eyes for effects. “I am saying what watching do you intend to do? And more importantly, where do you plan to intervene?”
There was a very subtle invitation there. Somewhere in those words. Phaedra could swear they were there. She calculated seven risky paths their conversation might lead to and eight more possibilities if the Dame Commander joined.
“Nothing.” She grudgingly responded.
“Naughty one. Look who is being all suddenly shy. Did all that spying get to you? What? Embarrassment!” Hallie looked satisfied for a moment, but her eyes sparkled with new thoughts, and her lips curved to a delighted smile. “Those sweet feelings, all still not dried up? Want me, don’t you? Admit it.”
Phaedra refused to engage with the unfounded rhetoric that could only lead to one debilitating and fatal end, one in which all that remained would be a desiccated husk.
“Perhaps we could avail this moment to sort the nuanced nature of the preparation.” Taebitha intervened. Her gaze casually flew over Phaedra, dismissing her rag-clad form. “What sort of mount would you prefer?”
“No mount.” Phaedra kept it short. “I am faster on my feet.”
Hallie scratched her chin, seemingly considering her options. “Well, that means I can hop on something lively, right?”
“Holy Maiden.” The Dame Commander covered the grounds and stood a step behind. “For you and your escorting templars till Pass Khugrath, I have suggested glamour unicorns. Those sorts of unicorns are usually employed for princesses and oracles. Their manes are so soft, like running your fingers through clouds. They are majestic creatures. Gentle and noble. I am sure they would enrich your ensemble.”
“Wait. Gentle? Noble?” Hallie had an index finger raised up for dramatic effects.
If Hallie’s aim was to impress Phaedra with her mean girl routine, she was failing spectacularly with it. That much Phaedra could have told her.
“Indeed, Holy Maiden. Noble and gentle.” Taebitha’s chest rose to accentuate her sincerity. “No unicorn breeds could boast such an esteemed status.”
“No, won’t do.” Hallie twisted with extra-projected self-importance. “A maiden riding a radiant and gentle unicorn. Oh god. That is such a stereotype. What a drag.” The scoff that escaped her throat was artificial. “What other sorts of unicorn do you have?” She asked with the same dismissive attitude, as though unicorns were a common occurrence on where she came from.
“Well, there is the glamour unicorn meant for maidens and girls. Then, aquatic unicorns. No. That won’t serve you. And empyrean unicorns, but only our shock troops use those. We call them tactical assault unicorns.”
“Then, it’s settled. Tactical Assault Unicorn. It is.” Hallie turned and fixed Phaedra with a suggestive look. “I love wild and untamed things.”
Hallie exaggeratedly wiggled her knowing brow. On a factor of extremely cringe to super-extremely cringe, it came out at eleven by ten.
Phaedra shook her head and eventually gave up with a sigh of resignation. “Hallie, you are an IT professional on Earth. A software developer. Hardly the job to deal with wild and untamed things on a daily basis. For the love of all things, you write code for a living.”
“Well, my codes can be wild and untameable.” Hallie released an indignant huff. “Ever heard of spaghetti code?”
Phaedra’s face reverted back to their default state, which was expressionless.
“Look, Phaedra. I appreciate of the concern.” Hallie signalled the Dame Commander. “But if I want to ride a glorified, bigger, and badass stallion with a horn. I would do it and on my own accord. I don’t need your baby-sitting.” Then, she raised a single finger like ordering a drink from her favourite bartender. “One tactical assault unicorn, please.”
“Your wish is my command, Holy Maiden.” The Dame Commander gave a most formal bow.
“That is, if you can handle a war mount.” Phaedra maintained a careful observation, keeping her face a blank canvas.
Hallie gave a scornful glare. “What kind of rider would you peg me for? Some damsel who will scream and faint at the sight of a war mount.”
“You are a terrible rider. You fell with a Yamaha.”
“I also fell with my Hitachi wand. Your point being?” Hallie taunted back.
Phaedra had no viable response to that. She fell silent.
“If we are done with the logistic of riding mounts...” The Dame Commander’s slow words drew their attention. “Estrella has organised a sumptuously prepared meal and I am sure she would be delighted with one more host.”
Phaedra prepared to leap away when Hallie’s grip on her arms felt almost impossible to shrug off.
“No, really. It is not a problem.” The Dame Commander insisted. “My wife loves cooking for others.”
By all means, Hallie’s grasp was feather-lite. Should have been easy for a Prime to jerk free, but instead, Phaedra resigned.
