The laughter and chatter of reunion vanished, replaced by heavy-hitting silence.
Idan’s girth, muscle, menace, his ebony, flowing mane, and luminous eyes stopped the Riders in their tracks.
He rivaled Kainan and Kage in physical scale. However, he carried a different kind of mass, a god-warrior energy loaded with the threat of a looming celestial storm.
The Riders measured him with narrowed eyes, their instincts screaming as if an apex predator had just prowled into their midst.
‘Oh my,’ Harlow breathed from the divans, her gaze fixed on the glowing sigils burning through Idan’s skin.
The elevator chimed behind Idan and Sheba.
Molan stepped onto the deck, carting a carton of drinks in one hand and a bag of ice. ‘So I couldn’t find the spritzers you ladies wanted -.’
His voice fractured as his stare locked on the long-haired newcomer.
Across the space, the matching Third Eye glyphs on their chests began to thrum.
The ink flared, turning from dormant pigment to a map of solar fire.
Lines of pale gold light bloomed over their torso and arms, pulsing in perfect, synchronized rhythm with their hearts, a biological beacon of their shared heritage.
‘Fokkme,’ Rina whispered into the stillness.
‘What’s happening?’ Harlow murmured, her hand tightening on her glass.
Idan’s eyes sliced to Sheba for a fraction of a second, seeking her reassurance.
She gave it with a chin lift and a wink.
He took a breath that sounded like a tectonic shift and crossed the distance to Molan. They stood inches apart, two titans carved from the same celestial mold.
Idan swallowed, his throat working before he spoke.
‘Brother,’ he rasped, the word a heavy stone dropped into a deep well.
Molan stared, his frame jerking, eyes ogling. ‘Simi’Ren?’
Idan nodded. ‘Molaniades.’
‘Fokkin’ hell, I never dreamed I’d ever meet you!’
Molan let go of his bundles.
They crashed to the ground, and ice scattered across the deck in a chaotic spray as he lunged forward.
With a growl, he wrapped his arms around Idan in a fierce, bone-crushing embrace that bridged the heavens and a lifetime apart.
When they pulled away, Idan studied the man standing before him, arching a brow at their similarities, their sigils, and heightened god power.
Where he was leaner, Molan was a battering ram of might and a formidable, raw energy.
The obsidian silk of his tailored suit strained against the tectonic slabs of his shoulders, the fabric a thin membrane holding back an explosion of heavy musculature.
His skin possessed the luster of deep bronze, interrupted by iridescent sapphire rivets embedded into the bone of his temple and cheek.
Molan’s eyes burned like dying embers trapped behind smoked glass; dark, steady, and dangerous.
While Idan’s potency commanded the force of a wild, savage storm, Molan’s was subterranean, a coiled, living weapon and ruthless machine held together by pure, fortified willpower.
