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Chapter Four

The Riders take me in with open arms.

"We'll establish contact with Dawnlight and take you wherever they desire," one of the female Riders chimes in, a warm smile lighting up her features. "But for now, let's keep you alive."

We're walking towards their ship from the bar. They're going to take me up to their atmosphere's base and to their Commander. They have limited information on the status of Astreaus but just their presence gives me hope. I am going to survive.

I follow the Riders to the entrance of their Cordamae Starship. But an unsettling sensation grips me. Something is wrong; I can feel it in my blood.

I sense them before they emerge—Lunarii Shadows. One glance of them and the world shatters, a symphony of power clashing in the night. Lunarrii moon blades against Astran sun blades, a battle of opposing forces. Amidst the chaos, I find myself frozen, a gun is pressed to my temple by none other than the blue-eyed Rider.

"Traitor," the word hisses from my lips as his handsome smirk subsides. His grip tightens on my back, the intensity of the fight and the ache in his command causing his knuckles to turn white. The three Riders beneath his command are now dead, murdered by the Lunnarrii. I commit their loyalty to memory, vowing to honor their sacrifice.

“All I want is my daughter,” the Rider with the gun against my head demands of the Lunarii, his voice unwavering. So he's bargaining for his daughter with me. I forgot that people do that to me when I'm impersonating Irina.

"Order her release from Caleum Prime, now!"

The Lunarii leader nods, issuing commands into his shoulder communicator. It turns out betrayal tastes even worse the second time around.

I am pushed to my knees before Lunnarrii forces once more, the hatred in my glare evident. There are six guns pointed at my head. I am trapped. I hated being trapped. I would kill them all.

But then there is a flash of iridium armor.

The Kaimari emerges from the shadows, his movements a deadly dance. Each strike is precise, and every maneuver is calculated. I watch in awe and trepidation as he fights, fear and admiration swirling within me. His skill is undeniable, his prowess evident in each measured action.

It is as if the battlefield itself bends to his will. He fights not just as a warrior, but as a separate force of nature. As the gun is wrested from my temple, his helmet tilts downwards, his gaze catching mine.

Why does the hell does he keep saving me?

Wordlessly, he brings the blue-eyed Rider to his knees. As his hand rises, the gun poised for a fatal shot, my voice cuts through the charged air, "No!"

The Kaimari's helmet lifts, examining every inch of my body.

"Mercy," I implore, guiding his armed hand downward.

"Your planet has been infiltrated,” the blue-eyed Rider tells me, and my heart drops. “Everything is corrupt, trust no one and disappear for a while, at least six months, only then contact your family princess."

"Take my ship," he says, "not the one behind me, it's under Lunnarrii tracking. Take my T-86 cruiser. It's beyond the city, near Rowhouse. You can reach it by morning on foot."

"Thank you," I manage, then take the gun the Kaimari is holding.

As we turn to the city to retrieve the ship, I take the gun and shoot the rider.

The Kaimari is silent, but I know he approves of my action. I know because I am the same death-centered creature.

We reach the Riders ship by morning, just as he promised. The Kaimari and I take one of the two co-pilots' chairs. I am silent, just as he is. We do not need to speak.

As we leave the atmosphere of Cordamae, my gaze shifts toward the warrior. His iridium armor gleams in the moonlight, a stark contrast to the devastation that surrounded us. I should ask him why he saved me, ask him if he's coming on this mission with me to disappear and save myself. I should ask him why the hell he's here.

Before I can summon the words, his helmet shifts ever so slightly. A black visor meets my gaze, reflecting the stars and myself.

I don't need to ask the questions. There is an unspoken connection between us, a silent exchange that holds more weight than words ever could. For whatever reason, whatever strange history, he is staying with me. And something about his intensity makes me think he is protecting me, too.

The Kamari Warrior stands. I stand too. At my full height, I am still a foot and a half shorter than him. I am only a child. In that fleeting moment, as the cool void of space envelops us, I feel a bond form—one that defies the boundaries of our roles and histories.

He is going to protect me.

He steps forward, his movements deliberate. A gloved hand extends, not in a gesture of truce, but of understanding. My hand meets his, the touch electric with the promise of the unknown. It is a pact forged in the crucible of battle, an alliance birthed from adversity.

He is going to change my whole life, for better or for worse, but neither of us will make it out alive.

—----

The T-86 Cruiser has no tracking. The Rider didn't lie. We're completely invisible from Lunnarrii forces and break out of the atmosphere without being followed.

Of course, the Rider did fail to mention that we would have to navigate the old-fashioned way, by the stars.

The Kamari is more accustomed to battlefield strategies than celestial navigation. For days we drifted with no set location, mostly because he and I only knew coordinates for our home planets, and neither of us wanted, or could, go home. He sits in the pilot's lounge for days, hunched over the limited star charts we have available, trying to find a planet for us that is safe.

The image of him, surrounded by the weight of history and determination, makes me feel safe, even if I don't fully trust him.

He never removes his helmet. Never. I try to catch him without it on those first strange days together, but I quickly realize I don't stand a chance, I wouldn't be able to catch even a glimpse of his skin if I wanted.

We learn quickly that we are both stubborn. Incredibly, dutifully, hatefully, stubborn. Our interactions are limited to the essential tasks required for survival.

We don't talk to each other for twenty-two days.

The ship serves as our sanctuary—efficient and functional. The ship's layout offers two bedrooms, one for adults and another with bunks. I anticipated that he would claim the more mature space, but he surprised me, taking the bunks the first night without a word.

Clothes are available, though all designed for men. My outfits evolve into oversized Rider leathers and cargo pants cinched with a makeshift rope belt.

I am getting bored. I am dying to land on a planet, any planet. One that is full of flowers, or ocean, even just a mountainous flat rock like the surface of Cordamae that we crashed into will do. It can all be the same, for miles and miles on end, I just want to stop feeling so claustrophobic.

As time marched on, I think we both grew bored. Bored of sitting on opposite sides of the ships and pretending the other didn’t exist. The silence became unbearable, the empty chasm between us echoing with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. And then there were the nights, nights when my mind betrayed me, leaving me battling panic attacks that stole my sleep and left me hollow. But amid that chaos, I clung to my body's rhythms, trusting in my heartbeat and breath to lead me through the storm.

Wordlessly, one early morning (a red clock in the cockpit was our only indication of normalcy), he found a planet and began to descend.

I am in my room when he chooses to land. I am so excited I could cry. I remain in my bed as the T-86 lands on the new planet. The prospect of solid ground makes my heart soar. It can be a snowy landscape, a pristine ocean shore, or a rugged desert terrain—I would welcome and take care of any of them with open arms.

I hear the ship's plank open. I can't help but think what he's thinking in this moment. Is he planning on abandoning me again? Without a word? Will he return this time? Ever speak to me?

His behavior drives me mad.

He must hate me too, all Kaimari hate Astrans. They think we have magic, and they hate magic. It's considered taboo to their culture, as many cultures, but they particularly hate it more than any other place.

If he truly thinks I am Irina, he thinks I have magic.

Magic, demigods, ethereal fae, and enchantresses—these are the tales of lore spun from the depths of imagination that keep our six worlds broken. Irina has magic, yes, but it's logical and can be tested. She has a high level of ethereons in her blood, a high level of metal, if she can focus, she can move small metal objects. It's just simple science.

It doesn't matter if he hates me, I steel myself. What matters is this new planet.

I grab a jacket and a small pack. I would step out, assess where we are, and then survive, survive for Irina, with or without the six-foot-seven warrior.

The steps to the plank are like a progression to the unknown. My young heart is pounding more than I care to admit. I want nothing more than to play and run.

I turn to the plank and the white sun assaults me. I cover the glare with a bent arm and walk to the edge of the plank.

For the first time in weeks, I smile.

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