“Oh!” Sandra exclaims, rushing closer, her softness brushing against me in her eagerness. “Do I just... cycle through them with my hand?” she inquires, to which I nod in affirmation. “Exciting!” She waves her dainty fingers through the blue light, bathing the dingy room in a soft, simmering glow.
An image of Sandra’s likeness rests in the center, with each selection showing a new outfit onto her digital form. But this is a ship of battle and war, not the merchant streets of Star City. The options are limited, no doubt lacking for the materialistic-minded human females. Most are a series of simple furs and leathers, function over form, intended to accommodate the harsh, diverse temperatures and climates of alien worlds.
If Sandra is disappointed, she hides it well. “This one,” she declares, sounding proud. Her choice glows in the projection: a simple brown leather skirt and tunic, framed by gray furs that bunch around her neck and shoulders, dangerously close to a cloak.
The slightest smile curls my lips—almost like a cloak of a Chieftainess—a bold prediction or mere happenstance? This synchronicity sends an eerie sensation tingling down my spine.
Are you watching Arawnoth? Is this your doing?
My hands dart over my wrist console, making the selection, praying the device does not fail after our efforts. Both our eyes are drawn to the replicator, which vibrates slightly, its blue lights blinking erratically. How it functions inside, what mechanisms are being performed, are a mystery to me—like all Scythian technology.
My wrist console beeps and a compartment within the machine opens. “My clothes!” Sandra squeals with joy, rushing over to hold them aloft like a war trophy. “This is amazing,” she says, studying the leathers before brushing a hand through the plush gray furs.
The likeness the replicator produces is impressive, but it’ll never hold the soul of the genuine article. My armor, each dent, each blemish, is a battle, a struggle, a piece of living history infused into the very arcweave.
Sandra moves to undress, distracting me from my thoughts with her surprising openness. My pulse quickens—molten, fiery—as the torn fabric of herpajamasfalls, revealing her pale, silken skin. I’ve carried these females naked when they first arrived. But this feels... different. It’s a deliberate action from the female who’s willing to bare herself in my presence.
A loathsome churning in my stomach forces me to avert my gaze. This perplexingly foreign situation is unnerving. What is this? It’s maddening! I’m a warrior, the War Chieftain, familiar with blood and death. Yet I falter before something so benign?
“I wait outside,” I growl. This weakness, mysoftness—it’s unbearable.
Outside the replicator room, I curse myself for a coward. This is too akin to retreat, to surrender. The rage streams through my blood like rivers of boiling lava, soon washing away the weakness. This loathsome feeling reminds me of when... I groveled before Krogoth, pleading for my life.... Even thinking about it sickens me to my core.
Arawnoth give me the strength to cleanse myself of this shame!
“What do you—” Sandra’s voice pulls me from my seething thoughts. I didn’t hear her approach. Her smile falters as she takes in my appearance—crimson Rush seeping from my eyes, fangs bared, my whole frame trembling with barely contained fury.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice small and uncertain.
“I will be,” I grind out through clenched teeth.When I have Krogoth’s head. My unspoken vow seethes within me, each iteration another stone laid for his tomb.
Sandra doesn’t seem convinced. Her gaze drops to her hands, fingers fidgeting in a restless, nervous dance. She stands before me, so small, her eyes clouded with thoughts she can’t seem to voice. Then, almost as if shaking off a burden, she looks up again, forcing a broad smile.
“So, what do you think?” Sandra twirls in a quick circle. The leathers look strange on the human, so used to her wearing those strange, loose, pink clothes. These leathers cling tight, highlighting her feminine shape, with the furs at the back giving her an almost regal appearance.
But she’s just a naïve, tiny female playing dress up, making a mockery of my noble people. The sight of her now irks me. The weakness she evoked in me, sickening me to my stomach.
“It will suffice,” I say gruffly, turning away toward the healing pods.
“Oh,” Sandra replies, her voice a weak murmur. She follows behind, her tiny foot-patter joining my pounding ones. “Where are we going now?” she asks, her voice now lacking her earlier excitement.
I fight the urge to sigh. Her constant stream of questions, grating on my nerves, compelling me to speak when I’d prefer to remain silent.
“To heal your wounds,” I say curtly, gesturing toward the diminutive female’s arms.
“These?” Sandra asks, examining the scrapes along her wrist and forearm. “Ack, these little scrapes are nothing to worry about.”
I halt, peering down at the human. Strange. After what Princesa said, I’d thought these humans would be begging to use the healing pods. I clutch Sandra’s wrist, startled by how absurdly soft and tiny it is within my mighty grip. Her arm is lined with a multitude of cuts—shallow ones. Little scuffs that wouldn’t bother the rawest Prospect. But who knows with these fragile females?
“What of this... human stroke or swollen brain?” I ask, turning over her dainty wrist, searching for signs of more serious injury.
Sandra lets out a snort, shaking her head. “That?” she says, amused. “That was just Alexandra being dramatic, as usual.” Sheretracts her arm to study it herself. “Unless there’s an infection or that bloody monster was poisonous or something, I’ll be fine,” she declares with a nod.
Her resolve pleases me. Finally, a glimpse that these human females aren’t as soft as snarlbroc jelly. And yet, it also means Princesa’s words can’t be trusted. At least without filtering through her stream of nonsense—an impossible task.
I give a curt nod, satisfied for now, and head toward the cells. Sandra falls in beside me, struggling to keep up with my long strides.
“We’re heading back so soon?” she asks.
