The demi-urge paused before the entrance, lined with the obsidian-masked guards, and received an ionic sweep of her form, her entire contour glowing with an amethyst light.
With a dulcet beep, the privacy plexiglass doors whispered open, switching from opaque to clear as they walked into the threshold.
The sliding aperture shut behind them, enclosing them inside the cube.
At one end was a desk, a massive slab of volcanic stone.
Shelves displaying artifacts of ancient carnage flanked it. Above, a rotating celestial map bathed the room in a warm glow.
The man behind the work surface rose, tapping the tip of a synth-cheroot into a diamond ashtray.
Idan got hit with genuine shock.
It was rare for him to encounter a soul who matched his energy.
However, in the last few days, since meeting his brother and the Riders, he had come to appreciate that men of immense power existed beyond Sacra.
Nevertheless, this man was no human, as Idan spotted the flare of a lethal spectral dragon swirling around their host.
Still, his humaniform was impressive.
His sable hair swept back from a broad forehead, and thick brows framed eyes the color of molten copper and hazel fire.
Below the glowing orbs was a hooked nose and a sculpted mustache, emphasizing lips that suggested a capacity for both extreme cruelty and calculated ecstasy.
A cartography of scars traced his jawline, the old claw marks cauterized with inset diamonds that glinted with every movement.
He towered over them, his shoulders stretching the silk of a tailored ebony shirt.
Gold sigils, etched like forbidden constellations, drifted across the sinewed flesh of his half-unbuttoned chest, shifting with a life of their own.
‘Welcome, friends,’ the spectral force rasped, in a timbred growl that thundered with potency. ‘Lord Zavier Phanos Draquis at your service.’
‘Sante,’ Molan murmured, proceeding to introduce his companions.
TheDraquisleader gave Sheba and Mirage an old-fashioned bow and a nod of genteel politeness to the brothers before raising his hands and slashing two fingers through the air.
In a whirl of dracolich energy, a muscled, tall figure materialized in the room.
‘The Most Honorable, Marquess Maxim Dorrien Pierce. My second, and right hand,’ the dragon master drawled.
Maxim offered a cool smile of welcome.
His black hair featured a single argent slash, and he appeared as if he could unravel the fabric of the galaxy with a whispered incantation.
‘I shall admit,’ Zavier continued, his star-savage eyes locking onto the brothers, Mirage and Sheba. ‘I harbored a deep wariness when Miko passed on your request. Our history withSacrans is written in betrayal and ash. But she assured me you are kin to Kainan Sable, and we all know the man cannot be turned down.’
His gaze pivoted, landing on Sheba with the force of a spotlight. ‘Your identity?’
‘Sheba Munene,’ she replied, raising her chin. ‘Human. No one of consequence.’
Idan stepped forward, his hand resting possessively on her waist, claiming her. ‘She’s Kainan’s sister-in-law and my woman.’
Zavier’s expression shifted, arching a brow as his molten eyes flicked from the warrior-god to Sheba.
‘Selene’s sister, ay?’ he growled, a flicker of respect crossing his scarred features. ‘In my world, that makes you a queen. Sit. Tell me why you have come to the Cinder-Born.’
Sheba and Mirage occupied a divan along one of the silver-and-obsidian walls while Idan and Molan dropped into armchairs across from Zavier.
