He woke up feeling queasy and with a massive throb in his head. As he pulled the sheets off him to get out of bed, he froze.

Why was he naked?

His heart beat faster as he turned to look at the bed...

It was empty.

Where was she? What had she done to him?

Paul then realized there was a sound coming from the bathroom... the sound of someone taking a shower.

The water was shut off and, shortly after, the door opened.

Thyria walked out, just as naked as he was, with a towel in her hand that she used to rub herself dry.

“Ah,” she said with a smile. “I thought I’d heard you get up. How are you feeling?”

He turned away, baffled and furious. “What... Where are my clothes?” he asked in a panic.

She laughed. “At your feet, silly. But I’d recommend getting some spares on. You retched all over those. Had to take them off so you wouldn’t mess up the sheets.”

So that was what happened.

It made him feel a little better. Though only slightly.

“You slept here?” he asked, distressed at the thought of the two of them sharing a bed... in such a shocking state of undress. “And could you... put something on, please?”

“That again? Oh fine.” There was the ruffling sound of her dress being put on. “And yes, I’ve slept here. I didn’t want to leave you alone, considering the state you were in. That wouldn’t have been very motherly of me, would it now? You’re welcome. And you can look now, you baby.”

He peeked at her. It was the same see-through dress she had worn the previous night... not that much of an improvement, he realized.

“What did you do to me?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh please, don’t get overdramatic with me. The only thing that happened to you, you did to yourself. You should stop drinking. It doesn’t become you. Anyway, I need to go. Lovely catching up.”

Leaning down, she grabbed her shoes, then walked away barefoot.

He waited until he’d heard the door close behind her, before he jumped into the shower himself. He felt dirty.

As the water washed the stink of alcohol off him, he recalled some of the previous night’s events.

The most shocking of all had been the revelation of his father’s identity.

He had met his father... he had talked with his father without even knowing it was him.

Xian!

It was the last piece of the puzzle.

His life suddenly made sense to him.

He also understood now how he had been able to take the mask—and why it had spoken to him.

But then he remembered what Thyria had told him.

All the bad things about his father.

“He is an evil man,” she had warned. “That is why I do not like to speak of him. That is why I did not wish to tell you about him. That is why I was so angry the other day. I was not rejecting you, I was rejecting him. You remind me too much of him.”

“Why do you say that he is evil? I have met him. He seemed to care about what happens to this world...”

She had seemed upset with this. “You must be careful around him. Avoid him if you can. He will corrupt you, just like he corrupted me... once.”

“But why?” he had insisted.

“He manipulates people,” she had said impatiently, “to make them do what he wants. That is all he does. All he knows how to do. It gives him pleasure. He may seem nice and gentle, but it is only a cover for his deceit. What he truly enjoys is seeing people suffer. He couldn’t care less about Qojja, or about us. He’d rather see us all dead and this world in flames than to let us enjoy even a glimmer of joy.”

The speech had shaken him, but he still wasn’t sure what to think of it.

Could Xian have lied to him?

Could he have been manipulating him?

Xian had asked him about the mask... and then had explained its function and why he needed it... but was any of it true? How could he be sure?

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

He would have to be wary, in the future, if he met Xian again...

And he knew he would.

How could he not?

He was, after all, his father.

***

Wristpads are very personal devices. As such, they are untraceable. In theory. There are always ways, of course, to circumvent that. But it would have been difficult and, for the most part, illegal. Even the police did not dare track people this way. It would have been both too expensive and too time-consuming.

So Susan had used hers to browse through the holo directory. She’d had an idea, and this was the first step of her plan.

It was a long shot, she knew, but her options were limited.

The most pressing matter was to prove her innocence, to get the cops off her back.

She wouldn’t be able to do anything—especially on this dreadful planet—with the constant threat of getting caught and convicted for a crime she hadn’t committed.

Since she no longer had her glider, she’d had to use public transportation to move around. It was risky, but better than walking in the howling winds.

It had been a short trip to the apartment building where Julian Jones had once lived.

She knew it would have been searched by the authorities already, but they wouldn’t have known what to look for like she did. This gave her an edge.

Didn’t mean though there was anything to find.

Or they hadn’t found it if there was.

Or she would if they hadn’t.

She grimaced as she walked into the building.

She acted as if she belonged, though kept her eyes low in case cameras were filming the lobby.

The elevator took her to the proper floor. There she hurried to the deceased’s door and knelt in front of the lock.

She was no hacker... but one advantage of living in a shady hotel was that it gave you access to shady individuals, including some who knew how to hack—or knew someone who did. It had not been too difficult to get a fake pass.

The keycard was slightly smaller than the real ones, but it did the job. The light on the lock turned green and a distinctive click was heard as the door slid open.

She stepped into the dark room and waited for the door to close.

The hacker had assured her his key would also lock out the AI, so she’d be able to do what she needed without interference.

She went through every room and searched through every drawer. She also looked in the pockets of all the victim’s suits and pants.

Then she sat at his desk and turned on his TriVid terminal.

She browsed through the dead man’s files.

But there was nothing there.

Why had the man been killed?

There had to be a reason!

Or was it just to get her into trouble?

She found a link in the man’s files that opened the Lucaan Labs administrative panel.

With a few quick taps, she ran through the files, maybe there was something there...

She brought up her parents’ records.

Everything he had told her was right there. Including the breach of contract and the convictions and...

She frowned.

What was that?

She scrolled back up and zoomed in on a detail.

Why had she forgotten this?

Jones had mentioned it.

Her father had left with alien technology in him.

She noticed a comment had been added to the file, some five years ago—shortly after her parents had died.

With a trembling finger, she opened it.

And stared at the screen.

The alien technology had been returned.

There was also a name.

The name of the person who had brought it back.

And it was a name she knew.

***

The news had angered him so much that he’d swung his blade at the man and chopped his head off in a single blow. That incapable fool had failed at his mission. He blamed it all on Willard... he had chosen this scum, hadn’t he? Where was he, anyway?

His scream had rung through the halls of the fortress. In the courtyard beyond, his followers had shuddered in delight. They were so blessed to hear his voice.

The new servant was a tall, dark-haired and skinny young woman who constantly kept her forehead pressed against the floor... not once had Valerian seen her face. Perhaps she was frightened his beauty would blind her.

“Why oh why am I surrounded by such miserable worms? Is it so hard to get a mask from a human, of all people?”

“If I may, your Lordship,” ventured the woman, with her head still held down.

His eyes darted to her. “You dare speak in my presence?”

“I can get the mask for you.”

“What did you say?”

“If you would allow this lowly person to serve your magnificence, I would get it for you.”

“You would, would you?” he asked, squinting at her. “How?”

She pressed her head down further—as if she were trying to become one with the floor.

“I know someone very good at such things,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “All I would need is the address.”

It was good that she feared him, for was that not his due after all?

“Very well,” said Valerian. “You may try. But do not fail me or you shall not last long in my service!”

His mood improved somewhat after the exchange.

There may yet be hope, he mused. Of course, there was. There always would be, as long as he lived. He would always find a way. The mask would not escape him long. He would keep trying.

If the girl failed, he would find another way.

He had all the time in the world, after all.

After he gave her the address, the servant helped him with his dinner. She then waited quietly in a dark corner, head pressed against the cold stone floor.

When he finished feeding, he wiped the fresh blood off his lips and stepped back into the main hall.

He sat on his throne and looked around with a frown.

“Where is Willard?” hollered the maniac.

“Dead,” she said with a trembling voice. “You had him cut open and his guts fed to the dogs.”

“Ah yes,” smiled Valerian. “I did, did I not? The miserable fool kept telling me what I should and shouldn’t do. Let that be a lesson to you, slave!”

The young servant did not say a thing, though she kept her forehead pressed against the ground.

As he rubbed his full belly with satisfaction, the woman crawled on the floor. She had a rag in her hand that she used to swipe everywhere she went.

She made her way around the throne as Valerian closed his eyes and smiled. He was in a good mood.

Once out of his sight, the servant stood.

She brought out a dagger she had hidden in her sleeve.

Then, from behind, she brought her hand around to the front and, in one quick motion, slit the Zendaar’s throat.

Valerian’s eyes shot open as he gurgled and stood, stumbling and mumbling.

“Wha... at... arrgh...”

He wobbled and fell to the ground, blood flowing out of his wound.

The woman stepped into the light and looked down at the dying Valerian.

“My name is Cora,” she told him coldly. “And this is justice, for all those you’ve killed. Starting with Jaob. But I’m sure you don’t even remember him.”

Valerian’s eyes blinked at her, filled with surprise and incomprehension.

She leaned and grabbed the sword that hung at his belt.

Then, she swung it down at the monster’s neck, cutting off his head.

Grabbing the filthy red strands that made up Valerian’s hair, she walked to the balcony and threw the head down into the courtyard, to his adoring worshipers.

As screams rang from below, she turned and walked away.

Ed had been right.

Valerian was no god.