sol Invicta

April 12th 2011, 10:22 AM

Dawnguard HQ, Downtown Brockton Bay, Solar Dominion of Brockton Bay

The grand conference hall, once a space of sterile bureaucracy and political negotiations, had been remade in the image of absolute dominion. The walls, once plain and whitewashed, now bore the crimson banners of the Sun Arisen, heavy fabric hanging like judgment itself. Each was emblazoned with the golden sigil of Sol Invicta, the ever-burning sun, a symbol of unchallenged authority.

At the far end of the chamber, atop a polished dais, stood the throne of Her sovereignty – cold, unyielding, a monument to control. It was not designed for comfort but rather for statement: stark, minimalist, and absolute.

A seat of power that none could question, none could defy.

Upon it sat Sol Invicta herself, the radiant center of this world she had forged.

She exuded dominance as if it were a second skin, her very presence suffocating in its intensity. Reclining ever so slightly, one arm rested languidly upon the arm of her throne, her fingers curling in idle amusement. To the uninitiated, she might seem at ease, but those who knew better could see it for what it was: supreme confidence. She had orchestrated this moment. This was not a simple hearing.

This would be another example of her stark, merciless justice.

To her right stood Colonel Artemis Solaria, her black Dawnguard uniform pressed to perfection, its sharp lines accentuating the disciplined poise of her stance. Emerald eyes locked forward, her face was an unshakable mask of discipline. Yet beneath that surface, a storm brewed. It was not doubt… no, doubt had no place in her heart. But something within her twisted, something fragile, something that whispered from the recesses of memory.

She crushed it beneath the weight of her duty. I am a weapon of the Sun Arisen. I am the Sword of my Mistress, forged to be unbreakable. I am Artemis Solaria. And nothing else.

To Invicta's left stood Colonel Aurora Videntia. Unlike Artemis, there was no trace of inner turmoil, no flicker of uncertainty. Aurora was a predator in human form, her mind a sharpened scalpel, cutting through all falsehoods and pretenses. Her uniform was pristine, every detail meticulously arranged, a reflection of the unyielding efficiency with which she carried out her duties. Her gaze swept over the gathered assembly with cool calculation, taking measure of them all.

The room was filled to capacity. Bureaucrats, military officers, and civilians; all those who had chosen to stand beneath the light of the Sun Arisen stood arrayed before the throne, leaving an empty space directly in front of her. They were the survivors, the loyal, those who had embraced the new order. And among them, positioned carefully for maximum exposure, were the cameras.

Her subjects would see this.

This is not merely a trial. This is theater. A demonstration... A lesson in the fate of traitors, Invicta thought to herself darkly, her lips curling in a slight, victorious smirk.

A hush fell over the chamber as Sol Invicta shifted in her throne. The mere act of her movement was enough to command silence. Anticipation rippled through the gathered masses, like the charged air before a storm.

Then, she spoke.

"My faithful servants."

Her voice was smooth, its cadence rich and unwavering, yet beneath the surface lay the weight of iron.

"We stand here today in the wake of treachery."

A ripple of unease passed through the audience. No one dared speak.

"A conspiracy, hatched in the sewers, where waste belongs, festering like a disease beneath our feet." Her amethyst gaze swept across the chamber, the weight of her scrutiny palpable. "A plot to massacre my innocent subjects."

A sharp inhale of breath echoed at this pronouncement.

"A plot to starve the people of Brockton Bay, to tear apart what we have built, to poison the well of progress."

Gasps and murmurs of outrage filled the silence after her statement. The horror spread through the gathered ranks exactly as she had intended. There was no room for questioning. No space for nuance. The narrative had been set, and the people reacted accordingly. It certainly helps when it's true, the sardonic thought shot through Invicta's mind.

"But they failed."

A pause. Measured. Absolute.

"They failed because my Inquisition…" her gaze flickered toward Aurora, whose cold, green eyes glinted with quiet satisfaction, "...and my Directorate of Order…", her eyes then settled upon Artemis, who stood rigid, unwavering, her pride a thing of steel "...ensured that their cowardly rebellion was crushed before it could ever take root."

A wave of approval swept through the room, murmurs turning to agreement. There was no tolerance for those who would dare betray the light.

A faint smile played at Invicta's lips, amusement barely concealed beneath the mask of justice.

"Bring them forth."

The heavy steel doors at the back of the chamber groaned open, and through them came the condemned.

Dragged forward in chains, the prisoners stumbled into the harsh, unrelenting light of judgment. Some resisted, struggling against their captors, snarling in defiance. Others had already crumbled, their bodies slack with resignation, their eyes hollow.

They were forced to their knees, arms wrenched behind their backs, heads bowed. The bruises and wounds upon their skin told the story of their capture. Some still bore the marks of interrogation, reminders of their failure, of the inevitable outcome that awaited them now.

Artemis stepped forward. She could feel the eyes of the hall upon her.

Her voice rang out, clear and sharp.

"James Royce."

The first prisoner flinched at the sound of his name.

"Charlie Tenneson."

A younger man's jaw clenched in rage, but his shoulders trembled.

"Roger Stamford. Annabelle Winn. Hector Waller."

One by one, their names were spoken. One by one, they were stripped of all power, reduced to nothing but traitors before the world.

And then,,,

A pause. A sharp inhalation.

For a single, unbearable moment, her emerald eyes fluttered shut.

Then, they snapped open once more, their clarity sharper than before.

"Alan Barnes."

The name dropped like a stone into a vast, silent abyss. She did not look at him. She refused to look at him.

Her shoulders squared. Her chin lifted. Her posture was flawless, unshakable.

He was is longer my father… He is just another name.

Just another traitor to be judged.

Sol Invicta's gaze flickered to her Sword, amusement dancing in her dark amethyst eyes.

Then, she turned her attention to Alan Barnes, who, despite his chains, despite the weight of inevitability crushing down upon him, refused to kneel fully. His body was tense, his gaze burning with hatred, with defiance.

Invicta smiled.

A slow, cruel thing.

"Alan Barnes."

The silence deepened, the moment stretching, suffocating.

"Did you truly believe your pathetic little scheme would succeed?"

The room held its breath.

Alan Barnes knelt, bound and unyielding, his presence an affront in the vast chamber where judgment reigned supreme. Though the golden glow of Sol Invicta's radiance bathed him, suffusing the very air with an almost divine authority, there was no reverence in his expression. There was no awe, no submission… only a defiant scorn burning behind his weary, sunken eyes.

He did not look at the gathered assembly, nor the rows of solemn, watching figures. He did not bow his head beneath the weight of his chains. No, his gaze flickered, sharp as a knife's edge, to the figure standing near Invicta's right hand. The woman who wore his daughter's face, but was no longer his daughter at all.

Emma… no… not Emma. Not my little pumpkin… the dark thought, a mix of longing and loathing pulsed through his head, Artemis… the wretched, fake name repeating over and over inside him, every repetition raising his hatred for both Invicta and what had become of his little girl.

Something inside him twisted, though he let none of it show. He had once dreamed of finding her, saving her. But that dream had rotted away, devoured by the thing standing before him now.

And then, his lips curled, and he let the name slip from them like a poisoned dagger.

"Taylor."The temperature in the room did not change, but the weight of it did, a sudden oppressive stillness that thickened the air like a gathering storm. The smirk on Invicta's lips faded, wiped away in an instant.

No one moved.

A single misstep in that silence might have shattered the entire room. A pin dropping would have echoed like thunder.

And then, his voice, calm and steady, carrying the fury of a man who had already lost everything.

"You're just an idiotic teenager playing at being queen." You'll have your meltdown from my words, and they'll all see they're serving an insane psychopathic child!

Alan pressed forward, his words cutting through the quiet like a blade, sharp and full of venom.

"You think you're some grand ruler, some savior, but the truth is, you're just another pathetic girl throwing a tantrum. Because you wanted to live out your little power fantasy, the people of this city are suffering!", his vitriol echoed in his voice.

"You're a monster. A murderer. You kill with impunity, torment and butcher anyone who dares to stand against you! And the worst part?"

His voice rose now, raw, defiant, as he turned his gaze not to Invicta, but to those who watched from the shadows of her radiance.

"You've all gone mad too! Following that stupid Sun bitch willingly, bowing before the same tyrant who tore your old lives apart!"

Silence was left in the wake of his rant, as none of the other occupants dared to utter a word, fearing the inevitable and imminent eruption about to explode from the throne. But despite his insults, Invicta remained unmoved. Unbothered.

She sat, watching, expression smooth, save for the gleam of something colder in the depths of her amethyst eyes.

And then, she laughed.

Soft, at first. Amused.

She leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on the arms of her throne, gaze locked upon him like a predator savoring the final, inevitable moment before striking.

"Well, if we're being so familiar, 'Uncle Alan'..." she purred, her voice thick with mockery, "...then you won't be offended if I rebuke these outrageous ramblings of yours."

Her smile was a blade now, sharp and gleaming, the amusement in her voice a whisper of something far more sinister.

"Yes, I have killed," she said, tilting her head as though considering something trivial. "And I will kill again. Many, many more."

The hush that followed was absolute.

"But those I kill?" She exhaled, her smile widening, her words deliberate, measured. "Villains. Criminals. Traitors. Those who harm the good and the innocent… whether it be this city, this country, or the world. I kill…"

Her voice hardened, her very presence pressing down upon the chamber like an iron fist.

"Vermin."

The single word rang through the air, final, damning.

Alan flinched, despite himself.

She leaned back, her posture relaxed, entirely unbothered. "You call it murder? I call it pest control."

She stretched out an arm, her fingers flicking in lazy dismissal. "You've accomplished nothing. Your grand rebellion, your pathetic little plot?"

A chuckle, cold and mocking. "All it got you was a front-row seat to your own execution."

Alan's smirk remained, but there was something desperate in his eyes now, something furious. He had one last dagger to twist.

"Annette would be ashamed of you."

The chamber itself seemed to recoil.

Invicta's aura flared violently, a golden corona of light igniting around her. The air itself trembled beneath the weight of her fury, and the temperature surged. The golden glow suffusing the room became blinding, searing, as though the very sun itself had turned its wrath upon him.

"Keep her name out of your filthy, traitorous, degenerate mouth!"

Alan grinned, but the malice in his eyes was tinged with something else now: victory. He had struck a nerve. He had cut deep. And so, he twisted the knife.

"Then again, Annette was just another dumb bitch, really. Hooked up with that idiot Danny and ended up spawning the worst thing to ever happen to this city-"

"Be silent, worm!" The command cracked through the room, sharp as a whip.

Alan turned sharply, and for the first time, saw Artemis move.

She had finally snapped.

The crack of Artemis' voice echoed through the vast chamber, silencing the crowd with its sheer, commanding weight, the raw disgust curdling the air like a storm on the horizon.

Alan's head snapped toward her, startled, though he did not immediately falter. He had known this moment was coming, but it did not make it any less brutal.

Artemis stood rigid, her posture unshaken, her emerald eyes blazing with an intensity that swallowed all hesitation. Her hands, clenched into trembling fists at her sides, spoke of a rage barely contained, a fury that had been simmering for too long beneath the surface.

"I cannot believe," she spat, each word laced with venom, "that I ever hesitated over your fate."

Her voice carried through the chamber, cutting through the murmurs, through the weight of the moment, through the very fabric of whatever connection once existed between them.

Alan's breath came sharp, shallow. For the first time, he seemed to truly see her – not as the daughter he had lost, but as something else entirely. Someone else.

She advanced a single step, slow, deliberate, a viper poised before the kill. "You stand here, a broken, pathetic traitor, and yet, even now, you spit venom like a rabid dog."

Her voice lowered, thick with contempt, coiling around him like a noose tightening. "You are not my father."

The words landed like a hammer to the ribs. Alan's body tensed involuntarily. There was something different now, something in the way she said it. Before, he had heard defiance, the last flickers of the girl he once knew, resisting. Now there was only steel.

His lips parted, as if to say something, to offer some final retort, but no sound came. His throat locked, his fury coiling into something heavier, something uglier.

Then, Artemis turned, swift and without hesitation, and dropped to one knee before Invicta. Her head bowed, and for the first time, her voice softened, not with doubt, but with unshakable conviction.

"Mistress, I beg forgiveness."

A sharp hush overtook the chamber. The audience held its breath.

Alan stared at her, something raw and desperate in his expression. But she did not look at him.

"Not for him," she continued, and her voice, though quiet, rang clearer than any cry of loyalty. "But for myself. For ever feeling even the slightest hesitation, the slightest weakness."

She bent lower, forehead nearly touching the floor, her next words heavy with unshakable certainty.

"For the shame of having ever been associated with this filth."

A slow smirk curled at the corners of Invicta's lips, and she rose, her presence towering over Artemis like a sun cresting over the horizon. The radiant glow of her power shimmered faintly in the air as she extended a hand, lifting Artemis' chin gently with the tip of a single gilded finger.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, my dear Artemis," she murmured, her voice smooth, rich with satisfaction.

Their gazes met, amethyst and emerald, fire and steel.

"Your loyalty was never in question. Your honor, never in doubt."

With a slow, deliberate motion, Invicta's hand fell away, her attention shifting now to Alan, still kneeling, still defiant, though the edges of his composure had begun to fray.

Her lips curled once more, a slow, dark smile.

"Emma Barnes is dead, after all..."

Then, Artemis rose.

Her shoulders squared, her back straight as a blade. Her voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of finality.

"Yes," she murmured. "She is."

A long pause stretched, the moment thick with unspoken meaning, and then, Artemis' expression hardened.

"Mistress," she said, her voice firm, unwavering, "may I have the honor of ending him?"

There was a beat of silence. Then, soft, lilting, melodious as a cruel wind, Invicta laughed.

"Tempting," she mused, her eyes gleaming with something like amusement, something like cruelty. She began to move, slow and unhurried, pacing toward Alan with a measured grace, each step echoing through the stillness. "But no. I have a different fate in mind for dear old 'Uncle Alan.'"

Alan, who had remained rigid throughout it all, suddenly looked up, something flickering behind his gaze. Not just defiance anymore. Something else.

Realization. Fear.

"Coil could use some company, after all. So lonely these days…"

The blood drained from Alan's face. His breath hitched in his throat, and his fingers curled instinctively against the restraints that held him.

"No."

Panic seized him like a vice, clawing up his throat.

"No, no, no-"

The words came faster now, tumbling out in desperation, as if sheer repetition could reverse the inevitable. He lurched forward, his chains clattering against the floor, but the guards at his side held firm.

"Please, just kill me! I don't-"

But it was already too late. Invicta lifted her hand, golden light gathering at her fingertips, curling and twisting like living flame.

Her smile widened, slow and terrifying. "Ah, but you should receive your reward, Alan..."

The air became thick with shimmering heat, the glow intensifying until the very walls seemed to hum in resonance. Alan struggled, his breath ragged, the sheer terror now overtaking even his defiance.

And then… the light burst forth.

A golden wave of raw, burning power, cascading over him like molten judgment.

The moment it struck, his body seized, his limbs locking in place. A scream tore from his throat, raw and agonized, more than pain; it was something deeper, something that scraped at the soul itself. His form trembled, frozen mid-motion, his mouth twisted in a silent, eternal plea.

And then, it was over.

Where Alan Barnes had once knelt, there was only a statue.

Frozen in his final, desperate horror.

Invicta tilted her head, admiring her work, then turned back to the gathered assembly, her voice light, almost sweet. Another masterpiece. Perhaps a garden of statues might not be amiss after all…

"Rewarded as traitors deserve."

The chamber stood in utter silence. No one dared breathe, no one dared move.

The stench of urine filled the air.

A wet patch darkened the floor beneath one of the remaining prisoners, the man trembling so violently that his chains rattled. His face was pallid, his eyes wide, unseeing, drowning in pure, unfiltered terror.

Invicta's gaze snapped toward him like a viper scenting weakness.

The man whimpered, shrinking inward, as if his very existence could be folded clined in her throne, her fingers tapping a slow, languid rhythm against the gilded armrest.

"The rest of these wretched traitors," she said, voice laden with boredom, "are not even worth my time."

A flick of her wrist. A gesture as careless as swatting away an insect.

"Take them away. Execute them by firing squad."

The Dawnguard moved in unison. No hesitation, no wasted motion. Prisoners were dragged to their feet, their fates sealed. Some struggled weakly, others barely reacted. None screamed, none cursed.

Instead, a horrifying sense of relief flickered across their faces. A grim, broken gratitude.

They had seen Alan's fate. They had heard his screams, seen the horror left behind in stone. A simple bullet was a mercy.

Their footsteps faded down the corridor.

The door slammed shut.

Invicta stretched languidly, rolling her shoulders as though she had just finished an unremarkable, menial task. Her amethyst eyes flickered toward Aurora, a slow smirk playing on her lips.

"However," she murmured, her voice thick with amusement, "the festivities of the day are not yet finished."

Aurora's expression mirrored hers, a cold, knowing satisfaction gleaming behind emerald eyes.

The assembled bureaucrats and civilians stirred uneasily. Murmurs of confusion spread, a collective uncertainty settling upon them.

Who else remained?

The doors swung open again.

This time, the atmosphere changed.

The guards who entered were different. There were more of them, their grips tight on their rifles, their postures tense. Two of Victoria's squadmates, Alec and Rob, stood at the flanks, their eyes like stone, their stance unwavering.

Between them, a woman was dragged inside.

Bound in heavy restraints, far more secure than the traitors before her.

Golden blonde hair, tangled and unkempt, spilled over her shoulders. Her blue eyes, burning with hatred, darted across the room, searching, seeking. The civilians. The officers. The guards.

And then-

They locked onto Invicta.

And pure loathing twisted across her face.

"Carol Dallon," Aurora declared, stepping forward, her voice sharp and crisp.

Victoria stiffened, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

Aurora unfolded a piece of paper pulled from her pocket and began reading in a clear, unwavering tone.

"Carol Dallon stands accused of the following crimes against the Solar Dominion…"

Her gaze swept over the condemnation order swiftly.

"One: The crime of being a rogue parahuman, having not registered herself as such with the Inquisition."

"Two: Assault with a parahuman power."

"Three: Attempted murder with a parahuman power."

"Four: Capital villainy."

A ripple of murmurs spread through the chamber. Even among the most hardened bureaucrats, the final charge sent a chill down spines.

Villainy was not a charge given lightly. Everyone knew by now that Invicta's tolerance for villains was less than zero.

Carol lifted her chin defiantly, her voice razor-edged with venom.

"I will not participate in this abject mockery of justice."

Invicta's laughter was soft, amused.

She rose from her throne, stepping forward, her presence suffocating in its intensity.

"Oh? And I suppose your version of justice was superior then? Your justice of procedures and rehabilitation and paperwork?" She spat out, each word more venomous than the last.

"The justice that allowed villains to run rampant? The justice that let rapists and murderers walk free on technicalities? The justice that prioritized bureaucracy over righteousness?"

Her smile sharpened.

"Oh, I know your 'justice' well, Carol Dallon."

Carol did not speak. She would not give Invicta the satisfaction.

But then…

Invicta's gaze slid past her.

To Victoria.

"Tell me, Major," Invicta purred, her voice silk and steel, "what do you believe should be done with this one?"

The room shifted, every eye drawn to Victoria.

She exhaled slowly. When she spoke, her voice was void of emotion.

"I don't care."

Carol's lips parted, a flicker of something uncertain passing over her face.

Victoria's expression was unyielding.

"She tried to murder my sister."

Her voice did not waver.

"She tried to kill Amy. Just out of spite. Just because things didn't go her way."

Her hands curled tighter.

"She can rot for all I care."

Carol's eyes widened. Her mask of defiance cracked.

Victoria did not falter.

Invicta smiled, slow and pleased.

"Very well."

She stepped closer to Carol, who was forced to meet her gaze.

"The evidence is incontrovertible. I hereby find you guilty on all counts laid against you."

A golden glow gathered in her palm, light twisting, solidifying into a blade of pure radiance.

"The sentence is death."

Her smile was cruel.

"And I will execute true justice… personally."

The sword fell in a single, fluid motion.

Carol Dallon's head struck the ground with a muted thud.

Her body crumpled.

Victoria turned away, her face unreadable.

The chamber remained frozen.

Then, Invicta lifted her blade high, her voice ringing through the hall, absolute, unshakable:

"I will not tolerate parahuman villainy in my domain."

The glowing blade flickered out of existence.

"No exceptions."

She gestured idly toward the Dawnguard.

"Clean that up."

As they moved to obey, she turned back to the assembly.

Her gaze swept over them all, drinking in their silence, their awe, their fear. Then, with the air of someone concluding a day's work, she spoke, her voice cool and imperious:

"This tribunal is concluded. You are dismissed."

The bureaucrats and officers wasted no time in filing out, some moving with reverent efficiency, others stiff and pale. The doors closed behind them, sealing the room in silence once more.

Invicta turned back toward her throne, exhaling softly, savoring the moment.

Justice had been done.

——————————————————————————————————————————

The warehouse hummed with life, the once-abandoned industrial shell now transformed into the beating heart of the Directorate of Works. What had once been a mere staging ground for the ragtag Dawnguard was now something far grander, a temple of industry, a forge where the future of Brockton Bay was being shaped with steel, fire, and unbreakable will.

The air thrummed with the rhythmic clash of metal against metal, sparks cascading like molten fireflies as welding torches flared to life. Heavy machinery groaned under the weight of progress, gears grinding, hydraulics hissing, all moving in perfect synchrony toward a singular purpose.

At the heart of it all, Sherrel worked with an ease that belied the sheer complexity of her craft. Her fingers danced across the control panel of the ETM device, the massive construct towering over the workshop like a sleeping titan. This machine, her machine, would eliminate hunger in Brockton Bay, a technological miracle born from the ashes of destruction.

Her greatest creation.

Second only to the new version of herself that Invicta had forged.

Sherrel no longer thought of herself as Squealer. Squealer… was worthless scum. I cannot believe that… that thing… used to be me once… That name belonged to someone else now. A ghost. A woman of wasted potential and addiction, of failures and regrets. That woman had been burned away in the cleansing fire of Invicta's Light. Major Sherrel Bailey. Faithful servant of the Sun Arisen. That is who I am. Who I was meant to be.

And she was not alone.

Across the workshop, hunched over a cluttered workstation, Shawn worked with manic precision, his black hair sticking up at odd angles, a smear of grease on his cheek as he muttered calculations to himself. He was brilliant in his own right, an engineer with an instinct for design that rivaled even hers, though lacking her flare for the dramatic. And his power was cooperative for once, ever since Invicta had shown him the… error of his old ways.

But Sherrel's attention wasn't on Shawn.

No, the real puzzle, the real enigma, was the man across the room.

Colin Wallis.

Armsmaster.

Or at least, the man who had once worn that name with pride.

He was silent as he worked, his broad shoulders rigid, his jaw clenched as he adjusted the power conduit on one of the secondary relay stations. The precision of his movements was impeccable, each adjustment meticulous, measured, efficient.

Sherrel allowed her gaze to linger.

The square set of his jaw. The way his muscles flexed subtly beneath the form-fitting uniform. The sheer, imposing presence of him.

Damn, but he was fine.

A man's man, in every sense of the word. Strong, capable, disciplined.

And yet…

Completely and utterly clueless.

Sherrel had flirted. She had teased. She had made comments so overt that even the most oblivious fool would have caught on.

And Colin?

Nothing.

Not even a flicker of recognition. Just a nod. A polite, gruff acknowledgment before returning to his work.

Sherrel smirked to herself.

Fine.

She was nothing if not persistent. What I want, I get…

And Colin Wallis?

She definitely wanted him.

Colin, however, was lost in a battle entirely his own.

Everything around him was wrong.

His mind screamed that he had been changed, warped, twisted into something he was never meant to be. The man he had once been, rational, methodical, unwavering in his principles, would have fought this, would have resisted with every fiber of his being. Invicta is a tyrant. A dictator. She's a murderer. A queen… A goddess… My Radiant Mistress- NO! No… get a grip, Colin. She's the en-, he could not even finish the thought. She is not the enemy. She is the Mistress. She is the rightful Queen of all that exists. She will save the world…

Whenever he thought of Invicta, when he recalled her voice, her presence, her sheer, overwhelming existence…

His chest swelled with warmth. With reverence. With devotion.

It's all wrong.

He knew it was wrong. He knew, on an intellectual level that he was forced into feeling this way. That he was made to obey her.

It still felt more right than anything in his life. Is this what addiction feels like?

He had tried to resist. He had searched for some last kernel of himself that could fight back.

But there was nothing.

No spark of rebellion. No flicker of defiance. Just acceptance.

I belong to her now.

And it enraged him.

A hand on his back startled him from his spiraling thoughts. He stiffened on instinct, his mind snapping back to the present.

Sherrel.

She was watching him, her blue eyes filled with something he couldn't quite place. Curiosity. Amusement. Understanding.

"Hey. You okay, Colin?"

Her voice was light, but there was weight beneath it.

"I'm fine", he replied brusquely.

Sherrel narrowed her eyes slightly in scepticism, "You sure? Cause I could hear your teeth grinding from over there."

Colin exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just... it's hard."

He hesitated, struggling to put words to something so vast, so incomprehensible. "Everything I knew, everything I thought I knew, it's all upside down now."

Sherrel nodded, a knowing smile playing at her lips. "Yeah, I get that."

Colin frowned slightly, turning to face her fully. She crossed her arms and leaned against the workbench, watching him with an air of casual ease.

"I was Squealer once."

The name hit him like a shock.

His eyes widened slightly as realization dawned.

That's why she looked familiar.

"Squealer."She nodded. "A lifetime ago."

There was no shame in her voice. Only certainty.

"I was a drug-addicted wreck. A failure. A complete and utter waste of flesh."

Colin's expression darkened, but he said nothing.

Sherrel's voice softened. "But Lady Invicta saw something in me."

Her eyes gleamed, filled with something more than loyalty – faith.

"She saved me. Gave me purpose. Gave me Light."

She gestured toward the ETM device, her lips curling into a small, satisfied smile. "And now? I'm building things that matter."

Her gaze flicked back to Colin, appraising, studying. "And I think you will too. You'll find your place here soon enough."

Colin held her gaze, and for a moment, something in him shifted.

This was familiar.

This is how I had once spoken about the Protectorate.

Before it all fell apart.

Sherrel's smile turned playful. She let her gaze drop, blatantly, unashamedly.

"Oh yeah… I can think of a few places you could… fit into."

She dragged out the last words, her lashes fluttering just slightly.

Colin blinked. "Thank you."

His voice was completely serious.

Sherrel paused, her expression flatlining. She had never met a man so utterly, completely oblivious. How does he not get it? Is he… into guys? That's gotta be it. Damn it, why are the hot ones always gay!

Her shoulders slumped slightly. "You're welcome."

She turned back to her work, resisting the urge to groan in exasperation.

Colin simply watched her for a moment, his thoughts tangled in a storm of contradictions.

But soon enough, his attention was drawn back to the marvel of Tinkertech sitting before him. The ETM machine loomed over them, a testament to boundless ambition made manifest in steel and circuitry. A towering behemoth of polished metal, intricate wiring, and energy conduits thrumming with untapped potential.

Colin had seen some of the most advanced Tinkertech in the world, but this… this was something else entirely.

For once, his fascination had nothing to do with the ever-present reverence that his Mastered mind held for Invicta.

This machine. This concept…

It could change the world.

The sheer scale of it, the audacity of its purpose… it's staggering.

The end of hunger. The end of scarcity. The first step toward true post-scarcity civilization.

Colin exhaled slowly, tracing his fingers along the schematics sprawled across the worktable, his mind already tearing into the intricacies of its design, looking for flaws, for inefficiencies. And what he found was astonishing.

It worked.

It actually worked.

Not because Invicta willed it to work, not because his forced devotion dictated it, but because Sherrel and Shawn had done the impossible.

He knew who they had been.

A junkie and a laughingstock.

Squealer and Leet, a pair of punchlines in the world of Tinkers.

But now? Now they had built something that could feed an entire city.

Colin swallowed, his grip tightening on the edge of the schematic table.

Why?

Why had it taken someone like Invicta to bring this about? Why hadn't the Protectorate done something like this? Why hadn't the PRT poured resources into something that actually solved problems instead of just fighting the same battles over and over again?

Why have I wasted years clashing with villains over bloodstained streets while the real solution sat in the hands of those society had cast aside?

His mind groped for an answer.

And found only the one his conditioning provided:

Because Sol Invicta is perfect. Because she is the salvation of humanity. Because she is the Light.

Colin gritted his teeth, forcing the thoughts away. No. Not now. I need to focus.

His eyes scanned the blueprints again, his mind pulling apart the design, rearranging components, refining circuits, until suddenly, his fingers stopped, landing on a critical weak point.

"There's a problem here."

Sherrel and Shawn both turned toward him immediately, snapping to attention like hounds catching a scent.

Colin pointed to three distinct sections on the blueprint.

"If you install power inverters here and here, you'll stabilize the energy draw and eliminate the oscillation feedback loop that's been capping efficiency at around seventy percent."

Sherrel's eyes widened, already seeing where he was going.

"Oh, shit, yeah! That would keep it from overloading the capacitor array when the transmutation cycle kicks in!"

Colin nodded, already moving ahead in his mind.

"And if you reroute the quantum transference coils to feed into the mechanograph here instead of through the primary relay-" he tapped another section of the schematic, "-you'll prevent the latent energy bleed that's been forcing the system into unnecessary reset cycles."

Shawn let out a low whistle.

"Damn. That's- yeah. That's actually fucking genius."

Sherrel practically vibrated with excitement. "Holy shit, dude! If this works, we're looking at, what, forty-five? Fifty percent efficiency increase?"

"Forty-six point two, assuming no interference from the ambient energy field," Colin corrected automatically. "But we'll need to reinforce the matter conduits, reroute them so they feed into this tertiary relay instead of the primary. Otherwise, we'll start seeing heat buildup that could cause microfractures in the core housing."

Sherrel grabbed his arm, squeezing it hard, her eyes shining with unrestrained admiration.

"Oh my fucking god, Colin! That's brilliant!"

Colin blinked, caught slightly off guard by her enthusiasm.

Sherrel, for her part, was already half bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Seriously, if this works, no, WHEN this works, I swear to god, we are getting hammered to celebrate."

Colin hesitated. "I don't-"

Sherrel cut him off immediately.

"No. Nope. I'm not taking no for an answer. As your commanding officer, I am giving you a formal order! We are getting drunk. Stupid drunk. Obliterated." She grinned, waggling her eyebrows. "I will find a way to make you cut loose, Wallis."

Shawn laughed, rolling up his sleeves. "Alright then, let's Tinker the hell out of this thing."

Sherrel was already moving toward the machine, eyes gleaming with excitement. "Colin, I swear, if we actually get this thing running, I might just kiss you." For some inexplicable reason, that statement made Colin's stomach tighten with… something. What's going on with me?

Colin exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Let's focus on making sure it works first."

For the first time in weeks, his mind was clear.

Hours later, the warehouse stood in near silence, save for the fading hum of cooling machinery. The air was thick with the scent of metal, ozone, and the lingering charge of electricity, as if the very space had been transformed by what had just occurred.

It was complete. It was functional. It was everything they had worked toward.

Three figures stood motionless before the looming machine.

Shawn was the first to break the silence, stepping back slightly, tilting his head in wonder. His fingers flexed unconsciously, as though itching to reach out and touch the impossible.

"Damn," he breathed, shaking his head. "It actually looks like something out of a sci-fi flick."

Sherrel, beside him, was practically vibrating with energy, her excitement a tangible force as she bounced on the balls of her feet. Her blue eyes glowed with triumph, her grin wide and electric.

"All thanks to us, baby!" she crowed, throwing an arm around Shawn's shoulder in exhilaration before turning her gaze to Colin. "And our big-brained genius ovooer here!"

Colin, arms crossed over his broad chest, allowed himself the smallest smirk. "According to the latest calculations, the modifications I implemented reduced the power draw by nearly eighty percent." His voice was steady, matter-of-fact, but even he couldn't entirely keep the pride from his tone.

Shawn let out a low whistle, his gaze flicking from Colin to the machine and back again, nodding in quiet awe. "Yeah… crazy stuff. If I hadn't seen it myself, I'd swear that was impossible."

Sherrel beamed, practically radiating joy as she clapped her hands together. "Well then! No more delays." She turned to the machine, her fingers itching to finish what they started. "Let's switch this puppy on!"

She flipped the switch.

The change was immediate.

The machine roared to life with a low, rolling hum, like distant thunder heralding an approaching storm. The sound vibrated through the floor, resonating deep within their bones. Overhead, the lights flickered, momentarily dimming before stabilizing.

Colin inhaled sharply.

He read through Sherrel's extensive testing logs. Every previous attempt had ended in failure, a blown circuit breaker, an unstable energy cascade, a catastrophic overload. But this time, the machine held steady. My God… it's going to work. Really work.

A strange buzzing filled the space, something beyond sound, something that resonated in the marrow, a frequency that seemed to hum through reality itself. The conduits along the machine's surface pulsed in sequence, golden energy flickering like firelight, gathering, stabilizing, preparing to forge something from nothing. The input port swallowed up the rusted metal plates deposited inside earlier, devouring the useless metal like a ravenous beast.

And then…

A flash.

A swirl of shimmering light at the output port, twisting, forming, assembling…

The light dissipated in a sudden *POP* and a pile of glistening red apples appeared.

The swirling energy field crackled, stabilizing as matter finished assembling, locking into place with an almost anticlimactic finality.

The machine powered down.

Silence returned, heavy and absolute.

Three sets of eyes locked onto the output tray, staring unblinking at the pile of fresh, perfectly-formed apples.

Nobody moved.

Nobody spoke.

The implications of what they had just done, what they had just created, settled over them like an unshakable weight. This was no mere experiment. No simple proof of concept.

They had made something from nothing. The pedantic thought corrected in Colin's mind instantly, Well, technically we rearranged existing matter into a different sort of matter but- he forced himself to stop that train of thought. It doesn't matter.

They just fed the world.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!"

Sherrel's scream shattered the silence, not in fear, but in sheer, unbridled delight. Before Colin could react, she launched herself at him with the force of a missile, throwing her arms around his shoulders, clinging to him like a human-shaped koala. "We did it! We did it! We did it!"

Colin staggered slightly at the impact, hands instinctively coming up to steady her, but the sensation of warmth, of pressure…

Oh.

Her chest pressed firmly against his back, the length of her body molding against his, her arms wrapped around him in a vice-like grip of absolute joy. She squeezed, her cheek pressing against his shoulder.

Oh.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt something other than duty, other than devotion to Invicta. Something instinctive. Something deeply, undeniably male. His mind, the clockwork machine of logic and reason he prided himself with, stuttered.

Oh…

Sherrel, blissfully unaware of his sudden internal crisis, continued to vibrate with excitement. "We did it, Colin! We actually did it!"

And just as quickly as she had latched onto him, she let go, spinning toward Shawn with that same boundless energy.

Shawn, unlike Colin, met her enthusiasm head-on, grinning as she practically slammed into him. His hands settled at her waist, lingering just a fraction too long, his grin unmistakable.

Colin felt… something.

His jaw clenched. Why does the sight of him holding her like that… upset me?

It was stupid. Irrational.

But something about the sight made his stomach twist.

He didn't like it.

At all.

Sherrel, oblivious to the momentary tension, spun back around, pumping her fists in the air. "We gotta tell Lady Invicta…"

She sucked in a breath, throwing her arms wide as if to encompass the gravity of their achievement.

"IMMEDIATELY!"

——————————————————————————————————————————

The sun hung low in the sky, burning amber and gold, its final descent casting long shadows that stretched like dark fingers over the city. The world was quiet in this fleeting moment between day and night, the air thick with the weight of history and destiny intertwined.

Before them stood the warehouse.

The old Dawnguard HQ. The place where the original Dawnguard, the first of the first, were forged and trained. Where the dream was born.

This was where it had all begun.

The place where the Sun had first Arisen.

Where the Dawnguard had been born.

Where Invicta had shed the last remnants of her old life and had forged herself anew.

Where Artemis had been broken, shattered, and reforged in Her Light, her weaknesses burned away, her doubts annihilated, until only the Sword remained.

Artemis exhaled slowly, her gloved fingers clenching and unclenching at her sides as she stared at the building. A storm raged in her emerald eyes, emotions warring beneath the surface, but she spoke with measured calm.

"It feels... strange, standing here again."

Invicta turned to her, amethyst eyes filled with something softer than usual. A quiet understanding. A knowing smile ghosted her lips, but she said nothing, letting Artemis find her words.

Artemis swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Alan's punishment put things into perspective for me."

She let the words linger, let the weight of them settle into the space between them. She took a slow breath, steadying herself, letting the fire in her chest burn away any remaining hesitation.

"I let weakness dull my edge. I let emotion chip away at my resolve and my faith."

Her eyes hardened, her jaw setting with quiet finality.

"I won't make that mistake again."

The air grew heavier.

"Zoe and Anne... I'm cutting them off."

The words were resolute, firm, spoken with the kind of certainty that left no room for doubt.

"I have no use for the remnants of Emma Barnes' old life."

Silence stretched between them, thick, oppressive. But the tension was cut with a soft chuckle.

Artemis blinked, caught off guard as Invicta arched a single brow, amusement flickering in her gaze.

"I disagree."

Artemis' breath caught, her posture straightening instinctively. "Mistress?" Her tone was measured, but there was something uncertain beneath it.

Invicta turned fully toward her now, her presence both powerful and warm, her expression calm but unwavering.

"Zoe and Anne are innocent of any wrongdoing," she said simply. "More than that, they bring you joy."

Artemis' lips parted slightly, but no words came. No excuses, no justifications. She felt frozen, locked in place by the weight of that truth.

Invicta's voice softened, but the authority in it never wavered.

"I can see it, Artemis."

She took a slow step forward, her presence radiating warmth, dispelling the cold weight of Artemis' resolve.

"Just saying this, just thinking about cutting them off… it hurts you."

A hand landed on her shoulder. Gentle, but firm.

"And I don't want my Sword to hurt."

Artemis stiffened. Her body locked in place, muscles taut, as if her very frame rejected the comfort being offered.

"I want you to be happy."

Artemis' head snapped up, wide green eyes locking onto her Mistress in something akin to panic. "I-"

"You're more than a servant to me, you know."

Artemis' breath hitched.

"More than a soldier."

A pause.

Then, with a softness that shattered her…

"You're my friend."

Artemis staggered slightly, the weight of those words striking her harder than any physical blow ever had.

Her mouth opened, but no words came.

She should reject it. She should fall to her knees, beg forgiveness for daring to hold such a place in Her Radiance's heart. "I- I am unworthy to be held in such regard by you-"

But before she could even shape the words, Invicta laughed, a light, melodious sound that cut through the storm inside her.

"There's no one more worthy."

Artemis felt her throat tighten, her chest ache. She had thought she was ready to discard all that remained of Emma Barnes. To sever herself from anything that tethered her to the past. Her Mistress laid her gauntleted hand gently on Artemis' shoulder.

"Cherish your family, Artemis. What I would not give to see my mother or my father again…", Invicta stated softly, staring off wistfully into the distance.

Knowing that her Mistress did not want her to sacrifice her happiness… that she did not have to give up her family…

Her knees nearly buckled.

She lowered her head, blinking furiously as tears threatened to spill.

"Thank you, Mistress."

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the relief in it was palpable.

Invicta beamed, as if she had expected nothing less. "You should invite them to HQ sometime." A playful gleam shone in her eyes. "It's been a while since I last saw them, after all."

Artemis exhaled sharply, a tiny, almost disbelieving smile tugging at her lips.

For the first time in a long time, she felt light.

She nodded once, her voice steadier. "I will."

The moment passed, the air shifting as Invicta turned her gaze back toward 

warehouse.

"Come, Colonel."

Her voice was warm, but laced with purpose.

"Destiny awaits."

They stepped forward, the heavy metal doors groaning as they swung open…

Inside, the Dawnguard stood waiting.

The instant their boots crossed the threshold, a thunderous sound erupted, soldiers snapping to attention, boots slamming against the floor in perfect unison, fists striking armored chests in a salute of absolute devotion.

Invicta's smile widened as she walked forward, pleased by the display of discipline and devotion. She made her way through the large warehouse, through the lines of soldiers and armored vehicles, Artemis following close behind her. And inside the central chamber, her three Tinkers waited.

Sherrel. Shawn. Colin.

They stood before the machine, the culmination of their labor, the very future of the Dominion gleaming in the cold light of the warehouse. Their faces alight with something more than pride…

Victory.

Sherrel dropped to one knee, her bright blue eyes shining as she lifted her head, her voice ringing with triumph.

"My Lady, the task is complete."

A pause.

A grin.

"The machine works."

Invicta's amethyst gaze swept over the gathered Tinkers, the weight of the moment pressing against her shoulders. If this worked, if the machine truly functioned as they claimed, then the greatest obstacle to her rule had just crumbled into dust. Hunger, scarcity, desperation…mere relics of a broken world. The Bounty of the Sun, given freely to the faithful…

A slow, deliberate smile stretched across her lips.

"Show me."

Sherrel's eyes lit up, electric with excitement, her entire body practically thrumming with energy. She all but leaped to her feet, dusting off her coat with a quick flick of her hands before bounding toward the control panel. There was no hesitation in her movements, no second-guessing, only confidence, only certainty.

"With pleasure, My Lady."

Her fingers danced across the controls, adjusting dials, toggling switches, punching in the final sequence of commands. The machine rumbled, a deep, resonant vibration that thrummed through the steel beneath their feet, as though the very bones of the building could feel what was about to unfold.

At the intake port, jagged chunks of steel, wreckage torn from the rusted corpses of the Boat Graveyard, slid into the machine's maw, devoured with mechanical precision. The grinding of metal against metal sent shivers through the air, punctuated by the occasional snap of high-voltage discharge as the machine powered up.

The warehouse lights flickered. The old wiring strained, the infrastructure struggling to bear the sheer magnitude of energy coursing through the device. The air itself felt charged, the pressure shifting, as if the fabric of reality trembled beneath the weight of what was being attempted.

A low, droning hum filled the testing chamber.

A sound that was less of a noise and more of a presence, a deep, resonant force that thrummed against the ribs, against the skull, against the very marrow of their bones.

The output port pulsed, a swirl of golden energy twisting into itself, folding and unfolding, writhing like molten light infused with something impossibly vast…

The glow coalesced.

A pile of ripe, glistening pears materialized, stacked in a perfect heap, their skins taut, shimmering under the fluorescent lights.

For a moment, no one moved.

No one dared breathe.

A sharp snap of teeth breaking into fruit shattered the moment of wonder.

Shawn let out a low, reverent groan, his eyes wide as he chewed, the burst of fresh juice dripping down his chin. "Oh, hell yeah."

The silence shattered.

A peal of laughter, bright, joyous, unrestrained, rang through the chamber.

Invicta laughed.

The pressure in her chest… the endless, gnawing worry of scarcity, of hunger, of doubt…

Gone.

A quiet exhale left her lips, a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding for what felt like years.

At last.

At last, it was done.

Her gaze swept over the Tinkers, her voice carrying the weight of triumph. "You have done it."

They turned toward her, eyes shining with pride, with accomplishment.

"You have achieved what the greatest minds of the old world could only dream of."

Sherrel stood straighter, her chest swelling, her fingers twitching as though itching to grasp at something tangible, something real.

"You have broken a curse that has plagued humanity for millennia – scarcity itself."

Shawn grinned, his enthusiasm barely contained, still chewing his stolen pear with the satisfaction of a man who had just witnessed the impossible made real.

Colin, as ever, remained composed, but even he could not mask the small, knowing smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Invicta's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer. The way he stood close to Sherrel, the way her fingers brushed absently against his forearm as she spoke, as though drawn to him by instinct rather than intention…

Interesting.

Her smirk deepened ever so slightly, but she said nothing.

Instead, she turned back to Sherrel, her voice rich with satisfaction.

"Sherrel Bailey."

Sherrel snapped to attention so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet. "Yes, My Lady!"

"For your brilliance, ingenuity, and unrelenting devotion to my vision, I raise you to the rank of Colonel."

Sherrel's eyes widened, a soft squeak of excitement escaping her lips before she managed to regain control, snapping into a perfect salute. "It is my highest honor, My Lady!"

Invicta chuckled, turning next to Shawn.

"Shawn Evans. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed either."

Shawn blinked, his expression shifting from relaxed amusement to something more serious.

"I raise you to Captain. You have proven your worth, and so I grant you leave to visit your friend Trevor as you see fit, so long as it does not interfere with your duties."

Shawn's eyebrows lifted, and then a slow, lazy grin spread across his face. He gave a lopsided salute. "Thanks- Um, I mean thank you, My Lady."

A roar of cheers erupted from the Dawnguard soldiers, their voices rising to the rafters, shaking the very foundation of the warehouse.

Invicta let the energy settle, let them bask in the moment, before stepping forward once more, her presence filling every corner of the space.

"Rejoice!"

Her voice rang out, exultant, almost symphonic in its intensity.

"Celebrate! For tonight belongs to you!"

A new wave of cheers followed, cascading through the chamber like rolling thunder.

Sherrel whooped loudly, grabbing Shawn by the wrist and spinning him wildly, laughing as they staggered in a circle. Shawn, for his part, went along with it, his grin wide, uninhibited.

Colin shook his head at their antics, though something in his expression softened ever so slightly. Beyond them, the Dawnguard erupted into a victorious roar, their voices joining as one.

Through it all, Artemis stood silent, hands clasped behind her back, her emerald gaze burning with awe, with devotion.

This was it.

Mistress' promise, her vision, becoming reality before my very eyes.

Soon… The city would know Her Glory.

And then…

The world itself would follow.

"Come, my dear Colonel."

Artemis snapped her attention back to her Mistress, whose voice was warm, brimming with delight.

"Let us bring this great news to the council."

A slow, victorious smile spread across Artemis' lips.

"Yes, Mistress."

Together, they turned from the warehouse, their steps light with triumph.

Behind them, the sounds of celebration carried into the night.

——————————————————————————————————————————

A dull throbbing in Colin's skull heralded his return to consciousness. Ugh…

His body felt heavier than usual, weighed down by a warmth draped over him. He groaned softly, shifting slightly, and the sensation of bare skin against his own jolted him awake far more effectively than the splitting headache ever could. Wha-

His eyes fluttered open to golden morning light filtering lazily through the curtains, casting soft illumination across the rumpled sheets. The scent of warm skin, faded perfume, and something distinctly Sherrel filled his senses. A slender arm was draped over his chest, fingers lightly tracing unconscious patterns against his skin in sleep.

And then, there was the weight.

Sherrel was sprawled across him, her toned, petite form curled possessively over his side, one smooth leg hooked over his thigh, golden hair tangled in wild waves over his shoulder. Her breathing was deep and slow, her lips parted slightly as she slumbered, utterly relaxed in the afterglow of the night before. Did… did we…

Colin swallowed thickly, his mind catching up with the heat still clinging to his skin, the memories unfurling like a slow-burning fuse. The way she had pulled him onto the cot after drink after drink, her teasing shifting from playful to husky, her lips tasting of whiskey and wickedness. How her nails had scraped along his back, her breathy whispers sending his restraint unraveling thread by thread.

How they had tangled together, over and over, feverish and relentless.

His gaze drifted downward, catching the glimpse of creamy skin and the languid sprawl of her frame. The sheet barely clung to her hips, leaving the soft curve of her back and the fullness of her breasts pressed enticingly against his side. His stomach tightened.

Sherrel stirred with a contented hum, stretching against him like a lazy cat, her supple body pressing closer. She lifted her head slightly, blinking sleepily at him before her lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.

"Like what you see?" Her voice was thick with sleep, sultry and teasing.

Colin stiffened slightly, his face heating. "I…"

"Oh, you certainly did last night," she murmured, her voice dipping into something darker, something that sent a bolt of heat straight through him. She shifted, her full, firm breasts pressing deliciously against his chest as she propped herself up just enough to watch his expression, amusement glinting in her blue eyes.

Her fingers ghosted over his chest, nails scraping lightly, just enough to make him twitch beneath her touch. She noticed. Oh, she noticed, and her smirk widened as she trailed those wicked fingers lower.

Colin swallowed hard. I need to get up. I need to regain control-

But Sherrel had other ideas.

She moved, slow and deliberate, sliding fully atop him, straddling his waist as her nails traced down the rigid lines of his abdomen. The heat of her pressed against him sent fire licking up his spine. Her golden hair cascaded over her shoulders as she leaned down, brushing her lips over his jaw, then lower, kissing a slow, sensual path across his throat.

"You know…" she whispered, voice silken, dangerous, "I've been a very bad villainess before…"

Her hips rolled, just a little, just enough to make his breath hitch.

"And you've always been a great hero... so strong and hard, swinging your halberd around..."

Colin's restraint was hanging by a thread. His fingers clenched at the sheets, his jaw tightening as she nipped at his collarbone, dragging her teeth over his skin before soothing the mark with a slow flick of her tongue.

"But don't heroes have to… punish bad girls?" she purred, her lips hovering just above his.

The words set something off inside him.

Colin snapped.

His hands shot up, tangling in her wild golden hair, pulling her down into a kiss that was anything but gentle. Sherrel gasped against his lips, then melted into him, her body molding to his as she surrendered completely.

Perhaps… serving the Sun has some upsides after all… Was Colin's last cognizant thought before passion overtook him.

The morning sun streamed through the window, casting them in golden light as they lost themselves in each other once again.

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