“This is amazing!” Sandra exclaims, her voice filled with awe.
Suddenly, the ship begins to shake. A deafening roar assaults my ears, like a colossal monster has us trapped in its gaping maw. I cling to Dracoth tighter, drawing some comfort from his monstrous strength and calm demeanor.
“It’s just the atmosphere,” he rumbles, with a hand brushing my back in a surprisingly kind gesture from the giant red menace.
My attention turns back to the window, watching streaks of orange and red whipping across it. The roaring and shaking intensify, and my breath catches in my throat as fear grips me—what if this rickety ship falls apart mid-descent?
“It’s roasting in here!” Sandra shouts, her face flushed with panic. Strange—though it looks like we’re in a glorified oven, I feel no heat other than Dracoth’s.
The violent quaking stops as suddenly as it started, and Sandra and I both exhale in relief. We pass through thick, bellowing clouds that swirl in the purple-tainted sky. It’s so strange—like someone draped a lilac filter over everything. The scenery rushes past so fast it’s hard to make sense of it all while cradled like a curious toddler in Dracoth’s arm. Sandra’s wide eyes are almost pressed against the window as she “oohs” and “aahs,” pointing out every new, bizarre sight.
“Oh! What’s that place?” Sandra asks, her eyes glued to something below. “Looks like a city!” she exclaims, perking my ears up with excitement. A city sounds far more appealing than ancient temples, humongous trees, or erupting volcanic mountains. A city means shops, restaurants—maybe even aliens who aren’t sex pests.
“Star City,” Demon Egg-Head spits out the name as if he’s just eaten a rotten egg. “A trade city, where the rabble of the cosmos come to barter, despoiling our lands with their greed and avarice. It promotes decadence and debauchery—a blight uponour planet, spitting in the eyes of the Gods and mocking the sacred words.”
Sounds amazing!
“Oh no... that sounds terrible,” Sandra says, putting a hand to her mouth. I can’t tell if she’s being serious or just polite.
“Indeed,” Demon Egg-Head mutters, his attention still focused on piloting the ship as it continues its descent. “When young Dracoth assumes his rightful place as War Chieftain, he will reinstate the old ways, as was written. Not this softness... this corruption.” His voice drips with contempt, and his head shakes in disapproval.
I peer up at Dracoth, wondering what he thinks, but he stands like a red mountain, giving nothing away—such a bore. It’s infuriating. I hate that I can’t read him. It drives me mad. Does he really want to return to these “old ways?”Ugh, sounds terribly backwards.
I frown, picturing a planet ruled by absurd traditions: only jelly sticks for food, holes in the ground for toilets, no partying, mandatory church attendance, no sex before marriage... Horrendous.
The ship jerks violently, jangling our chains, yanking me from my thoughts. My eyes dart to the window—we’ve landed. Actually landed on an alien planet. The surroundings outside are stark and black, like polished marble. It does little to inspire confidence, being too close to the interior of our old horrible ship. Still, this is just the start. Things can only get better... right?
“Welcome to Klendathor,” Dracoth says, peering out of the viewport. “The beginning of my glorious destiny.”
Chapter 24
Alexandra
Tourist
DoIgetaglorious destiny?
The heavy collar and chain chafing my neck suggest otherwise. Dracoth barrels through the ship’s cramped corridors, nearly knocking me against the walls like a squishy battering ram. Still, I share his enthusiasm. God knows how many days I’ve been trapped in the same boring, dark pit of a prison. Now the promise of sunlight sends my heart soaring.
Dracoth manipulates his wrist device, and the ship’s rickety door squeals as it sputters open halfway before jamming. I roll my eyes and blow out a frustrated breath. The red titan kicks the metal, sending it crashing open. The atmosphere hits my lungs like a hammer, making me stagger, blinded by a sudden burst of purple light.
The air smells amazing—crisp and fresh, with a faint earthy scent that reminds me of my escapes to the countryside back on Earth. It’s a far cry from the stale, recycled air of the ships, always tinged with the sour stench of sweat and machine oil.
Dracoth steps off the ship into an expansive black marble building, eerily similar to the interior of the old massive ship. This must be some kind of space hangar, judging by the hodgepodge of other small ships scattered around. Everything from sleek shuttles to large, rusted cargo haulers clutters the space.
Dracoth finally lowers me, my feet touching the ground, snapping me out of my open-mouthed gawking. “Behave,” he growls, his eyes narrowing as he peers down at me.
Behave?!The rude prick!
All I did was call him out on hisblatant lies. Still, despite the warm air and bright light, a shiver runs down my spine as my red radiator strides ahead, forcing Sandra and me to hurry to keep up. The chains nearly pull taut, jingling heavily with each pounding footstep. It’s infuriating having no control, no chance to slow down and take in this alien world. Instead, I’m dragged along like a puppy—a super cute one.
Demon Egg-Head stretches his limbs and inhales loudly, sounding like he’s doing a line of drugs. “Ah, it warms my old soul to breathe the air of the Gods again,” he declares, his voice reverent. Then he pulls up the hood of his dark robe, shrouding his face in shadow as he steps out of the ship like a devil emerging from the depths of hell.
“The arrogant fools may still be searching for me, so you must do the talking, young Dracoth,” he titters, adding, “Try not to get us into any more trouble. Though I’m sure that won’t be an issue, given your... calm and gentle nature.”
“You must be on the most wanted list for being a creepy weirdo who scares children,” I mutter, unable to resist a jab at Demon Egg-Head for calling me the ‘plump one.’
“I liked you better when you couldn’t speak,” Demon Egg-Head hisses. His neck tilts with a sneer, like a black-red snake. “But there are no children to scare or females to birth them on Klendathor. Such was the price of conquest and the profane... a path of blood, paid with blood.” His voice takes on a strange, almost chanting tone.
