His eyes held mine for a moment, like he had a whole lot he wanted to say but was keeping it close to the chest. Instead, he asked, “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight? Somewhere quieter than the dining hall.”
The question caught me off guard. I studied his face for signs of a trap, but found only genuine curiosity there.
After a moment’s consideration, I shrugged. “Why not? The dining hall’s social dynamics are fucking exhausting anyway.”
He smirked. “Good. We can grab food first.”
We walked to the dining hall in companionable silence. I was acutely aware of the stares as we entered together. Draco seemed unbothered, efficiently filling two containers with food while I did the same.
“Follow me,” he said once we’d gathered our meals. “I want to show you something.”
He led me through corridors I hadn’t explored yet, up winding staircases that seemed to spiral endlessly. The higher we climbed, the older the architecture became, until we were walking through passages that felt ancient, untouched by modern renovations.
“Where exactly are we going?” I asked, slightly dizzy from the climb. “Please don’t be luring me somewhere secluded so you can murder me and wear my skin as a suit.”
“Patience,” he said in amusement. “Almost there.”
Finally, we reached a heavy wooden door with intricate celestial carvings. Draco produced an old-fashioned key andunlocked it, pushing it open to reveal what could only be described as an observatory.
The circular room was dominated by a massive glass dome ceiling that opened to the darkening sky. Telescopes of varying sizes were positioned around the perimeter, some antique brass models that looked centuries old, others sleek modern instruments. The walls were lined with bookshelves interrupted by star charts and maps of constellations. Comfortable seating areas were arranged throughout, with tables for study and observation.
“Welcome to the Constellarium,” Draco said.
I couldn’t hide my awe. “This is incredible. How do you have access to this place?”
“Scorpio privilege,” he said with a small smile. “We’ve traditionally been the keepers of celestial knowledge, which you know, given your parents are both university professors. And I spend more time here than anyone else, so the astronomy professor gave me a key.”
We settled in a seating area directly beneath the dome. As the last traces of sunlight faded, stars began to emerge overhead, more than I’d ever seen in my life. Away from city lights, the sky transformed into a sea of brilliance, the Milky Way stretching across the darkness like a river of light.
“It’s so damn beautiful,” I murmured, my food momentarily forgotten.
“Our true home is out there.”
I used to look up at the sky with my dad when we’d go on drives into the mountains. We’d stand on the cliffs, staring into the vastness of space, and he would point out every constellation that belonged to our species. Sometimes I got this strange empty feeling in the pit of my stomach that was hard to describe. The best I could manage was homesickness. Homesickness fora place I’d never been and never would go. Maybe they called ityearning.
We ate in silence for a few minutes, both of us gazing upward.
“Do you know what we were called, before the First Crossing?” he asked as he closed up his container.
I nodded. I did know. My dad had told me everything about the Scorpios, and where our ancestors came from. Our species was called the Aelari.Children of the stars, in the old language as far as we knew. But every designation, from each different world, had their own identities.
“The Naga,” he said. “The Scorpio designation wasn’t Scorpio at all until we came here. We were serpent guardians from a world with three moons and two suns.”
“The Naga,” I repeated wistfully. “How much do you know about the old worlds?”
“My family maintained more records than most. We were scholars before we were warriors.” He pointed to a cluster of stars. “There. That’s where our people came from, though humans later named it Scorpius. When we arrived on Earth, we adopted their terminology. It was easier than explaining the truth.”
I searched the sky until I found what I was looking for—a faint constellation near the celestial equator. “And there’s my other home. Ophiuchus.”
“The Serpent Bearer,” Draco nodded. “Though that’s not what your people called themselves.”
“Drakon,” I said quietly. “At least, that’s what I found in the Assembly archives. I always thought it meant I was basically a dragon.”
Draco’s lips curved slightly. “The winged serpent. Your people were the bridge between worlds, the only ones who could create permanent portals between them.”
“Is that why the Assembly is so interested in me? They think I can create permanent portals?”
He considered this. “Possibly. The bane incursions are getting worse, and it might eventually come down to needing an escape plan.”
