CHAPTER 13: LITHANUL

4 months after the invasion

"Well, this isn't normal." Hrathmir, the Queen's personal doctor, was perplexed, his brow furrowing with concern.

"You think!?" Lithanul nearly screamed at the four-armed Vaikun, her voice sharp with frustration. "See? My skin didn't even change pigmentation."

The queen had noticed subtle changes over the past few months, the kind that gnawed at her confidence, and had now isolated herself from everyone around her. She could not let them see her like this, could not allow them to perceive her as weak or vulnerable.

"My Queen, I think we need to do a uteri scan," Hrathmir insisted, his tone firm yet respectful.

"Why the hell would you need to do that? I am not with child!" Lithanul snapped, crossing her arms defiantly, though a flicker of anxiety danced in her chest.

Hrathmir placed a small device on her enlarged stomach, the cool surface contrasting against her skin. After activating the device, it began to drum the steady rhythm of a fetal heartbeat. "I don't mean to question your wisdom, my Queen, but I do believe you are."

Lithanul felt as if her skin were turning a dark orange, yet it remained defiantly blue, the same hue she'd been born with. 'This isn't possible, it shouldn't be possible,' she told herself repeatedly, her mind racing with disbelief. No Almorian had been pregnant in millions of years; the species was slowly dying off, one death after another, unable to replenish their numbers. Whoever remained would be the last Almorian in existence, a fading echo of a once-great lineage. "Run the scan," she commanded, her voice steady, devoid of sarcasm or belligerence.

The four arms of the Vaikun species gave them an extra versatility in performing tasks, a gift Hrathmir utilized expertly. He set up the scanning equipment while simultaneously monitoring the heart rhythm of the fetus, deftly peeping at the queen for the scan. The non-invasive procedure didn’t take long; the small device adhered to her stomach, then projected a holographic model of the uterus just above it in stunning detail. The Queen stared in awe, her heart racing as she beheld the sight of a child growing within her for the first time—an image so profound it threatened to shatter her composure. Hrathmir, well-versed in Almorian biology, found himself amazed at the miracle unfolding before him. "Do you know who the father is?" he asked, a smile creeping across his face, feeling genuine joy for his Queen and the potential revival of her species.

"I..." she hesitated, her gaze still glued to the holographic display, her mind swirling with a mix of emotions. "I...don't know. How would I possibly know?"

"Well, who have you enjoyed company with?" he probed gently, his expression encouraging.

The Queen glared at him, a wave of embarrassment washing over her for the first time in millennia. Since the end of the Almorian reproductive system and the introduction of a disease-free immune system, Almorians had never had to worry about sexual protection. They were immune to sickness and pregnancy, free to frolic unhindered, their sexuality as common to them as breathing. Every member of the species took full advantage of the situation, indulging in pleasures with wild abandon, more so for the Queen. With access to an unlimited supply of companions, she had reveled in her sexuality to an insane degree. Now, though, she found herself at a loss, unable to even begin to guess who the father might be, and, truth be told, she didn't care. For the first time that she could remember, she had a real purpose, a will to live. Her species would no longer slip quietly into oblivion, forgotten and alone. "This stays between us," she said fiercely, the weight of her decision hanging heavily in the air. She feared that this miraculous occurrence was a one-time chance; her enemies would want to assassinate her and the child if they were to find out.

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"I understand, My Queen," Hrathmir replied solemnly, his loyalty unwavering.

"From here on, your only priority is to figure out how this happened and to ensure that the baby remains as healthy as possible. This child is the future heir to the Alliance." Her voice held a weight that underscored the gravity of her words, a command imbued with the urgency of their situation.

"It will be my only task, My Queen," Hrathmir replied, his voice steady and resolute. He bowed deeply, the respect he held for her evident in his posture, and removed the device he had been using. "I am going to run tests on the samples I took. I will let you know what I find as soon as I have results. Until then, I suggest you start eating healthy—no more substance abuse." His tone was firm, yet caring, underscoring his intent to protect both the Queen and her unborn child.

The Queen nodded, her anger dissipating as she considered Hrathmir's words. She felt a strange sense of acceptance wash over her, an understanding that she could no longer indulge in reckless pleasures, not when a new life depended on her. She pondered her future, the future of her child, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, hatred and anger receded into the background of her mind.

With a decisive motion, she brought up the saved image to her terminal, projecting the scan in the center of the room. The image hovered before her, a delicate representation of the unborn developing fetus, and she stared at it for a long while, absorbing the reality of the new life growing inside of her. "Janus," she whispered almost instinctively, an unshakable intuition guiding her thoughts. Deep down, she knew it was a son. A surge of fear crept to the surface again, apprehension clawing at her insides; a new male Almorian. The weight of responsibility settled heavily upon her shoulders. She had to protect him from their twisted society. What would she do if her first—and only—child were to be nothing more than a slave in a world that had so often stripped away freedom? Could he be the first Almorian King in more than five million years, a beacon of hope in a darkened history?

"Jaxia," she then whispered softly, allowing the name to linger in the air. If it were her daughter, she could be the next Queen of Almora, or perhaps the first Queen of Edan. Son or daughter, her child would be the first Almorian birth in modern history, a stark contrast to the devastation wrought by the plague. Her child must be protected, must remain a secret. As she contemplated these thoughts, Lithanul dressed with care, fully covering her belly and most of her body. For the first time, her clothing no longer flaunted her sexuality but instead embraced her position as a mother and a monarch.

"Slave!" she called out, her voice firm as she faced the exterior display, watching the sixth planet slowly come into view, its distant beauty a reminder of the vastness of her responsibilities.

"Yes, my Queen." He bowed deeply as he entered her chambers, her back turned to him, a regal silhouette framed by the soft glow of the room.

"Inform Mel`Nar that we are done. The Campaign is over. Withdraw all forces. The Terrans are to be left alone."

The Queen's slave, who called himself 'Muuktel,' could hardly believe his ears. What had transpired during the doctor's visit that had so profoundly altered her resolve? She must have been coerced, brainwashed, or perhaps even drugged. Time was slipping away from him like sand through his fingers; he had to act swiftly, or his chance would dissolve into the void of insignificance. "My Queen, forgive me, but is that truly wise?"

"They have suffered enough. We hunted them down, killed them, tortured them, even devoured them. Their children cried for mercy while we laughed." She placed a hand protectively over her growing stomach, a gesture both tender and defiant. "They've paid their price; it's time to let them reminisce and live their lives."

"My Queen, they slaughtered trillions without remorse or mercy. They destroyed Almora."

"Get. Us. Home. Now." Her voice began to rise, a tremor of anger threatening to reemerge within the Monarch's demeanor, yet she quelled it with a deep breath. "And put on some clothes; cover yourself up. You disgust me."

Almorian men typically wore garments only to stave off the chill of colder environments, but on Almorian ships, the life support systems maintained a comfortably warm atmosphere. The male slaves, primarily kept as sexual property, were not permitted to wear clothing in any capacity, their bare forms a constant reminder of their subjugation.

"It will be done, My Queen." He bowed once more, his heart heavy with the weight of her words, and exited the room, the door closing softly behind him as he stepped back into the world outside.