Zirene had served alongside unstable warriors before. He knew the signs—the too-still bodies, the erratic energy, the way dangerous males went quiet before they shattered.
V’dim had mentioned earlier, his voice low enough that only those nearby could hear: “The twin bond. The Verya severed it when they took Xenak. It’s like losing half for them.”
Zirene understood loss.
He’d nearly drowned in it when Selena had been taken—when their dreamscape connection thinned and stretched until he’d been sure it would snap. Those dark months had pushedhim to the edge of his sanity. His shadow had grown thick enough to swallow starlight.
But Ryzen’s pain radiated differently.
Sharper. Volatile. A wound that couldn’t close because the only thing that could ease it was in enemy hands.
“Sovereign.” Royak’s voice dragged Zirene back. “We need a decision.”
The war room waited.
His commanders waited.
The empire waited.
And somewhere across the galaxy, an enemy fleet burned through Aldawi space while another threat—older, more terrifying—hunted his mate.
“Continue the briefing,” Zirene commanded, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. “Full analysis on Quaww fleet composition, projected trajectory, defensive options. Prepare reinforcement deployments from Sectors Seven and Twelve.”
His claws flexed.
“And audit everyone with access to patrol schedules. Every name. Every log. I want the leak found.”
Royak nodded, immediately pulling up new displays. The room hummed with renewed purpose as officers coordinated, voices overlapping in controlled urgency. This was what they needed—clear orders, decisive action, a Sovereign who knew his next move.
This was what they needed from him. Certainty.
If only he felt as certain as he sounded.
A presence brushed the edge of his consciousness.
Gentle. Unmistakable.
Mwe.
Zirene’s shoulders tensed. He despised telepathic contact. Found it invasive, too intimate, a violation of the walls he’d spent centuries building around his mind. The thought ofsomeone else slipping through his consciousness, seeing the darkness that lurked there—it made his shadow writhe with protective instincts.
But Mwe wasn’t a soldier or a court manipulator. He was ancient. He’d earned a trust Zirene offered almost no one.
When Mwe initiated direct contact, it meant the universe had shifted.
Zirene accepted the link and stepped away from the central display.
Mwe’s voice filled his mind like starlight given shape.“Sovereign Zirene.”
There was weight in it. Not impatience. Not command.
Concern.
“We need to speak,”Mwe continued.“Privately.”
“I’m in the middle of a war council.”
“This concerns your war.”A pause—too long, too loaded.“And your mate.”
