We were over halfway through our journey to the jump-point entrance linking into the Zhaguai Nexus and, thanks to a proprietary regeneration coil, my left arm was almost completely healed.

The technology was one of our earliest medical breakthroughs. Though it was a little embarrassing that the innovation was necessary due to how prone Zhaguai were to losing their limbs in battle.

Mourning Crow agreed to transcribe everything she knew about the Graven to save time in the upcoming interrogations. I set her up on the bridge to record journal entries detailing all of her encounters, their rituals, and any other relevant details during her stay in Thorngate. She was surprisingly compliant and took the liberty to organize and cross-reference each entry by name, type, and ability.

However, I discovered a peculiar inconsistency.

The majority of her entries were in-depth and comprehensive. She even included original songs written in tribute to each extended battle. But there was one empty file labeled PASSIVE that contained no designation or linking tabs. Days went by and still, she ignored it.

Plenty of time remained before the jump, but I questioned if accessing file's intended contents would necessitate manual extraction.

"By what means did you travel?" I entered the bridge while Mourning Crow was taking a well-earned break between entries.

"After Thorngate?" Mourning Crow pondered silently while twisting a blue multi-headed screwdriver engraved with two overlapping clouds on the handle to unscrew a narrow hatch on the outer shell of her guitar.

She'd abandoned her speckled human attire for her more practical razkur two-piece.

"Not really sure," the razkur shrugged. "Killing a Graven creates a conduit between you and its essence. The substance can be expelled but I think the connection continues to linger. Plus, surviving Thorngate came with its own consequences."

"Like?" I settled into my Alpha's chair as she continued tinkering with the motley of wires hidden within the instrument. The razkur's ears crimped into a formation I classified as frustration.

"It's weird, alright," she sighed. "A few days after Thorngate I'd get this funny prickling sensation, like something in the distance calling me over and wanting to say hi."

I leaned back in skepticism.

"I can't make sense of it either," Mourning Crow huffed. "I was alone and trapped on a big ball of nothing, so I went to check it out. Next thing I knew, time passed like I was walking in a trance and then, bam! Everything around me was different, sky, trees, stars. I was on a completely different planet. A few days after that, I found signs of another Graven."

I knew the abominations were powerful, but the ability to generate point-to-point interplanetary wormholes was daunting.

Through Mourning Crow's recordings, I learned that killing a Graven gave the victor access to immense power at the cost of their sanity. The only path to true conquest was to ignore the power and reject it.

I was still in the early stages of comprehending the full extent of the Graven's capabilities, but the potential for generating a personal stable wormhole was one hell of a temptation!

"Do you think this other Graven summoned you?"

"Oh, for sure!" Mourning Crow bobbed her head vigorously. "The transport happened like clockwork every time I killed a Graven. I reckon, annihilating every Graven in Thorngate put a big fat target on me. Either that, or I've been branded unfinished business or declared officially delicious."

"Should I be concerned that they will yank you from my ship?" I sat up, questioning if I should activate my shields and whether that would even be effective.

Mourning Crow shook her head. "Would have happened already if it was going to."

"And you intentionally omitted the possibility!"

Mourning Crow's ears sank over her shoulders as she looked away. "I know it's stupid, but when I didn't feel the call... I..."

Her eyes returned to mine. "I didn't want to jinx it. The sensation always worms in a few hours after I'm walking. I thought... hoped... getting as far away from that planet would sever the connection. Or maybe you hanging me upside down and draining that rot out of me faster than normal was enough to interrupt the cycle."

Her ears rose assertively. "I'm done listening to their orders."

I sighed with a heavy hiss and leaned back in my alpha's chair. Mourning Crow had complied with nearly everything I'd asked with zero complaints, despite being aware that her life on Sahei would be one of captivity.

I wanted more, but demanding absolute obedience was beyond dishonorable.

"You should take a break."

"I am," she plucked her guitar and ocellated the note into a series of entirely different electronically generated tones.

"No," I pointed to the doorway. "Your work is complete for today. You will use the remainder in the hygiene chamber and the dormitory to rest."

"Are you trying to say I smell?" She grinned and raised her arm to sniff her armpit.

"Yes," my long quills wagged with amusement. "But I do not find your scent offensive."

Mourning Crow nodded and tidied up her guitar and tools, then she strolled off down the hall with her ears wagging playfully back and forth.

The second she exited the room, I opened the files to review her latest entries. PASSIVE was still empty.

My long quills swished in annoyance. Had she not gotten around to it or was she intentionally omitting it?

Four more days, I would be patient.

In the meantime, I did find her dossier on razkurs particularly intriguing. The most prominent being that sound was to razkurs as unfettered combat was to the Zhaguai. Not all razkurs chose singing as a profession, but song was the lifeblood of their species. I added a note urging the institute to treat this facet with the utmost regard.

Mourning Crow persisted in excluding specific astrological way-marks that might help the Zhaguai identify her homeworld but she provided a general account of the planet.

Menthla possessed a severe landscape and had forged their society into a fierce network of tribes and city-states. They weren't particularly militant but combat was integral to their culture. Limited resources and a toxic terrain had conditioned them with a resilient primal temperament.

Perhaps this is why the Graven chose them for their ritual.

"Eh'kt," Mourning Crow chirped from behind me. "I need your assistance."

She was standing in the doorway, completely naked.

Of course, to razkurs modesty was irrelevant. In her ears, everyone was naked.

She waved for me to follow her into the hygiene chamber. The sterile black metal room was pristine, as though freshly scrubbed by the sanitation drones. Even the bathtub was bone dry.

"How does it work?" Mourning Crow looked up at me. "I couldn't locate a hose or bucket."

It took a moment for her query to register.

Did she seriously not recognize a bathtub? No, obviously, she wouldn't.

I waved my claws over the faucet sensors to activate the water.

The razkur jolted back and her ear shot up sharply as her spine went rigid and her entire face contorted into pure horror.

"It's clean, no radiation," I assured. "The water is filtered and recycled."

"Ok, that's enough!" Mourning Crow balled her fists and twitched her ears up and down in defiance as the giant Zhaguai-sized tub flooded nearly to the top with water. "That's more than plenty!"

It was difficult to comprehend that this was the same female I'd fought side-by-side with only a few days ago. All that confidence and prowess gone, just by adding water.

I began unclamping my armor and discarded the pieces one-by-one on the floor.

"What are you doing?!" Mourning Crow's pale eyes darted back and forth between my body and the tub.

It was oddly entertaining seeing this once mighty razkur fret at the sight of me undressing on account of being aware of what I intended to do next.

"You don't have to," she cringed backward but craned her eyes forward, thoroughly entranced by my audacity to climb into the water and sit down.

"Perfectly safe," I slapped my hand on the water's surface and splashed her with a few drops.

She yelped and recoiled, then inched toward the tub.

I extended my hand and she reached out, touching her fingers to the ledge. Eventually, she took my hand, put her weight on it to climb over, and joined me in the water.

Up close, her ivory skin shined like a marine mammal and I caught a glimpse of a delicate trail of iridescent speckles cascading down her pelvis as her hips crossed my eyeline.

No fur, or scales, or reptilian slit. Only a pair of smooth little plump lips.

She sat down across from me, between my feet, with her legs tucked neatly, high to her chest, and then settled down and relaxed on her knees.

Submerged, she was like a completely different person, off balance and sloshing the tips of her ears through the water like a suckling being dunked in a river for the first time.

There was some measure of comfort in her ambivalence to our proximity, making it evident that she viewed me neither as a threat nor a viable mate.

"Do razkurs swim?" I ended the silence.

"Not really," Mourning Crow bequeathed a tiny smile. "Enough to paddle to shore in the event of an unintentional plunge but we sink easily. Our bones are too dense."

I ran my hand against the basin's ledge to open a small compartment containing soap and a washcloth. She startled briefly when the tub's auto-filtration system began swirling the water.

"Before I left, the radiation contamination was in the process of getting better," Mourning Crow took the soap and started to lather. "But deep bodies of water were still chock-full of nasty biters."

"From your recordings, I gather your people are quite tenacious," I tried to offer some comfort. "Perhaps today's Menthla is a world abundant in filtered water.

Mourning Crow bobbed her head in wistful agreement, but her ears sagged with melancholy.

I erred in reminding her how much time had passed in her absence.

"What's the Dread Rite?" The razkur raised her eyes.

"It is a confirmation of the Zhagaui's unrivaled power," I reared my chin. "Normally, our laws forbid us from revealing ourselves to offworlders but the Dread demands we lay ourselves bare. There are rules of engagement on when and how we can make our kill and there are strict limitations on what tools and weapons are permitted. Melee weapons, of course, no military grade cannons or heavy blasters. There's a narrow category of explosives and drone models that are acceptable, and only a single non-lethal firearm is allowed. Phantom Blinds are forbidden. It's a defensive holographic bubble reserved for concealing sentry guards within our territory. Beyond that, it's simple. We must seek out the strongest, alone, and claim evidence of our kill."

"You hunt people?"

"No," I shook my head sternly. "Hunting is for eating. However, there is often some light stalking involved... to locate a suitable adversary. We challenge anyone who attacks or displays themselves as capable of fighting. This is how we make our might known. Other worlds may or may not know the name Zhagaui, but they fear us all the same."

"So the dread is for them, the ones you challenge?"

"Yes," I let out a hearty hiss that made the water shimmy. "We prove our power, not through our technology but with our guile and physical indomitability."

"But it's all secret...?" The razkur splayed her ear asymmetrically. "You just show up, fight, and then bug out without a trace. How do other worlds know to fear you?"

"What is more frightening?" I grinned. "An enemy you can see and quantify, or a whisper of death lurking behind a veil of distant stars?"

"If it ain't broke, I guess," Mourning Crow snickered. "What would you have acquired for challenging me and presenting my bones?"

"It was my intention to preserve your ears," I chittered. "Something to hang from my quills."

Mourning Crow smirked and paddled her ears along the water's surface.

"You're easily worth a larger ship," I reiterated. "Not that I would have received it. You're an unknown species and rewards are bestowed at our Supreme Elder Oru's discretion."

"Are you kidding? This thing is enormous!" Mourning Crow waved her hands up around the spacious room.

"In comparison to razkur dimensions, I imagine it would appear that way," my eyes dilated on Mourning Crow's fingers combing through her hair as they massaged in the bubbles. "My ship, Venom Heart, is... moderate in scale to other models. I am not as old as most who have earned a ship of this rank, and the armor I've gained is far superior to my tailless brothers and sisters."

"Tailless?" Her ears perked up.

I pulled forward an old metal necklace with a tiny link of bones dangling at the center.

"It's vestigial," I displayed what remained of my severed tail. "We slice the nubby things off after completing our first Dread Rite. It marks adulthood."

Her ears fanned out curiously to inspect the little talisman.

"All Zhaguai must submit to The Dread once a cycle from then on to prove our worth within the Nexus."

"And then you gotta cut off and show off other people's parts instead of your own?" She giggled.

"Yes, but I'm still far from achieving what I truly desire. One day, if I can maintain this momentum, I will gain enough victories to prove that I am a warrior of Forged status. There's more to attain after but for now, this goal keeps me focused."

"I get confused," Mourning Crow dunked and rinsed the soap from her hair, all the while remaining careful to avoid making accidental contact with my body. "To your people, which is more important, status or honor?"

"Honor," my eyes narrowed suspiciously. Her precise inquiry made me question whether it stemmed from a naivety about my culture or a subtle challenge at my motivation. "My pursuit for status is something personal."

Once again, she submerged the washcloth and then scrubbed the remnants of dried mud from behind her ears. She was only a foot shorter than me but significantly slimmer. If she wanted to, there was plenty of room for her to stretch out in the basin.

Why was I annoyed that she avoided contact? Did I want her to touch me?

"What was that substance you put on my arm?"

"Razkur blood," she stated matter-of-factly.

I held my breath.

"Not mine," she added. "Someone was kind to me. No contagion. Our blood is a well-known industrial-grade acidic neutralizer."

She held the cloth over the water and squeezed out its contents. Immediately, images of the Graven's heart locked in her fist engulfed my thoughts.

My blood flow quickened, and I knew from her silence and the twitch in her ears that she heard the brief surge redirect and descend.

"It was not my intention to divert the conversation," I lowered my head.

"No worries," Mourning Crow grinned and straightened her posture. "I've witnessed all shades of indecency going on in Thorngate. Crazy people or animals rutting in the street."

Her ears banked back as she grit her teeth in jesting disgust. "Even the occasional awkward combination of the two."

Mourning Crow flapped her ears cheerfully as if to shake out the unnerving image. "Also, my father was a musician. Never a shortage of willing groupies."

"Do razkurs not take lifemates?" I draped arms along the basin's ledge.

"Ha, in a way. Yeah," Mourning Crow dragged the washcloth between her little clawed toes. "We call it bonding and when it happens, it's locked in for life. Which is often cut short early on Menthla."

I nodded empathetically. "If a Zhaguai takes a mate, it's for life as well, but brief liaisons are common, particularly during mating season to propagate our lineage."

"Liaisons?" Mourning Crow snickered. Then she dunked her head under the surface to smooth out her hair. "How many mini Eh'kts are climbing about on Sahei?"

"None," my long quills kinked in agitation. This was a subject I loathed discussing.

"Oh," Mourning Crow's ears swung up into a confused asymmetrical slope.

"I am often refused," I spat out with a growl. "And the few pairings I've claimed weren't successful."

"How old are you?" She leaned forward.

"As of this cycle, I am sixty-eight," I huffed, grinding my fangs. "I have no physical deficiency, and my conquests and merits far exceed others within my rank."

"Ah, and earning the rank of Forged will improve your odds."

"In theory," I dipped my head begrudgingly. "There's a stigma hovering over my progression."

"Like a curse or a blood feud," Mourning Crow's ears stood up with genuine concern. "How bad are we talking? Are you currently working off a long sentence of atonement?"

I didn't want to admit the origin.

Mourning Crow sat patiently but did not press the issue.

"I was small," I confessed.

"And that's... illegal?" The female tightened her gaze.

"For Zhaguai, it might as well be," I hated that she knew, but it was a weight off me to no longer keep it concealed. "I was almost culled when I was a pup."

"Are you still..." she circled her index finger around me. "Small?"

"NO," I thrummed. "I achieved my full bulk a few cycles before my first Dread. But my victories are always doubted."

"So even if you become Forged," Mourning Crow sneered off into the corner. "The haters will always assume you cheated."

I nodded.

"Fuck um," she curled her hand into a fist on the surface and squirted my face with water.

"Agreed," I flicked a wave of water back at her and drenched her entire head.

"It'll happen. I can see it now," Mourning Crow shook off the excess water and pinched her thumb and index finger together. "Hundreds of tiny widdle Eh'kts swarming all over Sahei."

I rolled my eyes and threatened a second tidal wave, only holding fire when the razkur tossed her hands up in surrender.

"Do you have any siblings?

"Nope," Mourning Crow swung her head side-to-side. "My father's triad died shortly before my birth. I don't think he ever got over the loss. I know he was lonely, his music spoke as much. He even wrote earworms about each of them to ensure we'd never forget."

"Triad?"

"For razkurs," Mourning Crow wiped the excess water from her face. "The males carry the offspring. Two males and one female are average. But there aren't any official rules. Triads take whatever form the members require. Full bonding isn't for everyone. Some seek it, some don't."

"And what do you seek?"

"Dunno," Mourning Crow's expression was distant and blank. "In Thorngate, there was barely enough time to slip away and sleep. Once in a while, I'd encounter someone coherent, but it was always fleeting. We'd chat and keep watch while taking turns eating. Then the fighting would rev up again. Not necessarily with each other, though that did happen now and again."

She wiggled on her legs like she was defying the urge to flex them.

I pulled my legs back, exposing my knees above the water.

"Occasionally, I'd dream of experiencing more but," the female unfolded her legs, stretched, and seated herself cross-legged. "I came to terms a long time ago with traveling the rest of my days solo."

"Oh," I clicked absentmindedly. "So that's why you sing even when you're alone."

Shit, I didn't mean to say that out loud!

Mourning Crow's ears shot straight up and her cheeks flushed bright pink before she bit her lip and dunked her face halfway underwater.

Fuck. My blood flow veered again.

We sat motionless, staring at one another in complete silence.

Eventually, Mourning Crow rose from the water, stood up, and activated the drying pad when she exited the tub. She took a few steps towards the door and then stopped.

I got out, dried, and stood naked behind her.

"Eh'kt, do you want me as a liaison..." Mourning Crow turned to me, lifting one ear. Then, determined to eliminate all traces of miscommunication, she raised the second one. "Or are you seeking a permanent lifemate?"

Everything was uncertain until the moment she confronted me.

I stepped toward her and leaned in, my face less than an inch from hers, and raised two fingers. "YES."

Unambiguously emphasizing her second option.

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Terms & Translations:

U'la'ke = alien cat species that are mortal enemies of the Zhaguai that have stinger tails with paralytic venom. Known as "The Felija" to humans. They live in large Prides. Lieges are the biggest, both sexes, have large manes, and thirteen tails

The Dread - An annual solo combat rite - first Dread involves a zhaguai cutting off its tail after presenting their kill. Marks adulthood and clan marking is permanently inlaid in metal onto their face.

Touch-quills = Zhaguai short quills on sides of face. Three on each side. (6 total)

Long quills = Zhaguai basic head quills, can be long or short, thin or thick

Short quill = Zhaguai nubby body quills

Stone-maker Glove - non-lethal weapon that petrifies organic matter

Zhaguai = Reptilian warrior species with horns and long wriggling quills instead of hair

Razkur = A pale, formally subterranean species with long ears, and pale pupiless eyes.

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Author's Note:

Thank you for reading. If you're enjoying please remember to click the ⭐star🎇 to vote and help others discover this book. Wattpad counts votes for each chapter. And as always, comments are most appreciated.

 I appreciate the support.

~A. E. Shelly (a.k.a. Oloo)