Ch 5: Retriving the Mother Key- Part 2

The throne room of Clavacis shimmered with excess. 

Gold-threaded curtains rippled in the artificial breeze, musicians played high-tempo hymns of conquest, and perfumed nobles lounged across divans, gorging on peeled fruit and vintage liquor.

It was the kind of extravagance only the cruel could afford—one built on chains, silence, and the broken backs of the forgotten.

At the center of it all sat Clavacis III, draped in royal indigo robes trimmed with living silk that pulsed faintly with energy. 

His bloated fingers, jeweled and perfumed, curled around a crystal goblet of dark blue wine as he surveyed the line of new slaves being paraded before him.

Eyes glazed from drink, he motioned for the music to lower.

Then he saw her.

Anna.

She stood in line with the others, wrists bound, ankles bruised.

But unlike the others—who stared down at the marble floors in practiced defeat—Anna kept her head up. Her eyes didn't flinch. There was fury burning behind them, restrained only by the chains on her limbs.

Clavacis leaned forward in his floating throne, intrigued. His lips curled into a smirk.

"That one. Bring her forward."

He said, raising his goblet slightly. 

The guards hesitated. Anna did not move.

The moment stretched.

A frown twitched at the corner of Clavacis's mouth, and the nearest guard struck Anna across the back, shoving her forward. 

She stumbled once, then steadied herself. Her chin lifted as she was forced up the dais steps, chains clinking with every motion.

Clavacis rose from his throne, inspecting her as if she were fine sculpture.

"Such fire. A rose with thorns. You'll make a fine centerpiece for my collection."

He mused aloud. 

He reached toward her face, but her hand moved faster.

A flash of silver. A glint of steel.

The hidden blade in her sleeve flew toward him—but she never got close.

The guards swarmed. Aether restraints snapped into place mid-air, slamming her to the ground before she could even reach the throne. 

Her body hit the marble with a sharp crack, the knife skittering across the floor. Two guards pinned her limbs; another jammed a knee into her spine.

Clavacis's face darkened.

"I had hoped that a flower like you would know her place." 

He said slowly, voice dripping with disappointed contempt, 

He looked down at her with a cold sneer.

"I would've kept you close. But no… You've chosen to rot."

With a wave of his hand, the guards seized her and dragged her from the room. Her face bloodied, ribs aching, Anna said nothing.

But her eyes never dropped—not even when they threw her into the cold underground cell with chains heavier than before.

One of the guards lingered as the others walked away. He didn't meet her gaze.

"You shouldn't have done that. We can't protect you anymore."

He muttered. 

She spat blood at the ground.

"I don't need your protection."

He hesitated. 

"The master's ordered a public punishment. You'll be thrown into the desert tomorrow. No food. No shield. No tracking band."

He left without waiting for a reply.

The door slammed shut. She was alone.

By morning, Anna was marched through a narrow gate on the city's edge. Her clothes were ragged, torn from the scuffle, but her spine remained straight. 

The guards shoved her out into the desert like she was nothing—no goodbyes, no hesitation. The heat hit her instantly. The winds howled, stinging her eyes and searing her skin.

The gates sealed shut behind her.

She walked. For as long as she could.

Then fell.

The desert swallowed her.

Elsewhere on the same barren stretch of Clavacis's outer wing, Nova trudged across the dunes in silence. 

The air shimmered with artificial heat, the horizon blurred by layers of dust and sand kicked up by climate control engines buried beneath the crust. 

The towering city of Clavacis stood in the distance, its spires like blades cutting into a rust-colored sky.

He didn't see a single person.

Didn't hear a thing.

But something felt off.

"Nyx." 

He said aloud, scanning the dunes.

"Yes, Nova."

"There's an energy signature around me. Feels like a bubble."

"Correct. I've identified a low-frequency aether containment field. Passive, but strong enough to delay traversal. Likely designed to trap outsiders."

He stopped walking.

"Then let's break it."

He raised his hand. Aether surged through his fingers, coiling and condensing into a focused burst. 

With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed it—a blade of invisible force that rippled outward like a sonic wave.

The field shattered instantly, the desert air convulsing as light bent and cracked around him.

The weight lifted.

But something else caught his eye.

A shape. Motionless.

Lying half-buried in the sand not far from where the field collapsed.

He approached cautiously. The dunes shifted beneath his boots. Wind kicked grains against his coat.

It was a girl.

Her body was curled, limbs limp. Blood stained her side and crusted along her neck. Her face was sunburned, her lips cracked. But she was breathing—barely.

Nova knelt beside her, studying the marks on her wrists. Slave chains. Deep bruises. No shield. No tracking band.

Discarded like trash.

He pressed his palm gently to her back, letting aether flow into her body—just enough to stabilize her vitals. Her skin shimmered faintly as the power flowed through her, healing the worst of the damage.

Her breath steadied.

Nova stared at the wall of Clavacis's outer gate.

Cold fury settled behind his eyes.

This wasn't a society.

It was a cage.

And now, they'd given him a reason to tear it apart from the inside out.

Nova stood over the unconscious girl, dust swirling around his feet as the desert wind howled low and sharp.

"Nyx, run a scan on the female"

He said, eyes fixed on her still form, 

[Vitals are stable. Dehydrated, but nothing fatal. She belongs to a water-reliant species. Without fluids, her organs will shut down in hours.] 

Nyx replied after a pause. 

Nova didn't move.

[My recommendation? Leave her. She'll slow you down. This world has no shortage of mouths begging for mercy. She's not worth the risk.]

He glanced away. That logic made sense. Resources were low. Time even more so. He had no obligation to anyone but himself—and Nyx. Turning away was easy.

Then, something latched onto his ankle.

Fingers, trembling yet firm.

He looked down.

Her eyes were open now, unwavering despite the weakness in her limbs. There was nothing pleading in them—no desperation, no fear. Only resolve.

"If you save me. I'll swear myself to you. Subordination. Loyalty. Oath-bound." 

She rasped, her voice barely audible, 

The grip on his ankle tightened.

Her words weren't a plea—they were a pact.

Nova held her gaze, unmoving. The weight in her stare didn't beg for salvation.

It offered value.

He didn't speak, but he didn't turn away.

The desert wind pressed against them, tugging at the silence that stretched between her vow and his thoughts. 

Nova studied her—no panic, no bargaining. Just the promise of something binding. Something dangerous.

[She's desperate. Desperate creatures say anything to survive.] 

Nyx warned again. 

"Maybe." 

Nova murmured.

But desperation didn't sharpen a gaze like that. It didn't make a vow sound like a contract.

He reached down, unclasped the emergency ration tube from his belt, and pressed it to her lips. She drank slowly, never breaking eye contact.

He didn't owe her anything.

But something told him she might be worth the risk.