{Gait}
“And so that’s the wedding I have planned for us. What do you think, Nox? Will you be my best man assuming I somehow free you from that casket and convince Sagan it’s a good idea?”
No one answered Korac.
“I also considered it long odds, but so was the likelihood of a young Earth woman bringing down the most dangerous warrior in the galaxy and inheriting his kingdom—Improbable, not impossible.”
Blue blood soaked through the strip of white fabric the former Icarean General fashioned around his ankles. The inferior knit on Razor’s shirt left him wanting. The nacre shackles chafed and tore at the material like gnashing teeth until they bit into his skin. The lubrication proved beneficial. He only had to break two bones in his ankle and severe three tendons to remove the first cuff.
Crunch. Pop. Freedom.
Korac presently recovered on his side, waiting for his nacre-less body to heal the damage. He broke some nails clawing through the pain. Hopefully, Sagan wouldn’t mind. Elden knew he exerted extra energy to grow his hair faster for her.
Sagan.
Never far from his thoughts. Beautiful, soft skin. Creamy when pale, but often tanned with freckles sprinkled across her nose. Some scattered across her shoulders. Sweet lips with the bottom fuller than the top. A short button nose, perfect for poking. Shiny, honey-blond hair. She cut it so fun recently, at chin-length with the cutest bangs. Under thick blond lashes, she hid the most spectacular pair of violet eyes. Soft, almost mauve.
Korac envisioned Sagan in black for the wedding, with heavy kohl lining those eyes. The Icarean wedding garb, ribbons tied at her biceps and hips, waited for him to unlace with each shared swell on their wedding night. The more lacings the bride tied, the more faith she placed in her groom to achieve their goals.
His ambitions were lofty. Wrap her like a mummy, and it still wouldn’t be enough.
Korac’s eyes snapped open to nothing but darkness. He flexed the recovering foot, prepared for the twinge of pain. Almost ready and then onto the next one. Nothing could stop him from escaping this hell and finding someway to save her. With that, he gripped his foot with one hand and above the shackle on his ankle with the other. Deep inhale.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Sagan.
The crinkle in her nose when she frowned. The shadow of a dimple when she smiled. The pretty lines when she cried. The breathy way she called his name when she—
An excruciating and guttural crack. Korac’s teeth bled despite the bit made of excess fabric. Groaning against it, he drew short, quick breaths as he examined the swelling appendage in the dark. That fracture felt compounded. Might take longer to heal. But as he slipped the bloody foot painfully from the chain, he muttered against the bit, “Worth it.”
Free, he curled back onto his side. Deep, recovering breaths. He spat the white shirt out. The foul smell of it soured his stomach. Without the full picture, Korac struggled to understand the other man’s motivations. The Pain Curator wanted the Seamswalker. And for more than sex. But Razor also wanted Korac to suffer. On a truly personal level. Although the General needed more answers, he glimpsed a few details from tonight’s unexpected visit.
The Pain Curator didn’t posses a nacre since the nacre-deterrent field ignored him; he wanted to subdue specifically the Executive Warden with that little power flex; and—
“Razor knows me,” Korac confided to no one. The Pain Curator’s white slacks in conjunction with his voice and Triss’ presence jerked the Icarus’ traumatic memory. Korac’s childhood. The man in the prison yard, who carried on an affair with the red-feathered Lyrik, was Razor.
“Contaminant.”
An ugly word that haunted Korac long after Gait. A word coined by the slave driver. The Vast Collective outlawed any procreation with the Icarean General. At the time, he associated it with his white hair and pale eyes. They felt the need to keep his genes out of the pool. But now…
Remorse was the second figure in the yard when Inanis took the children from Gait. Primary Rem. Once it was over, the Tritan told Razor, “We relocate the Atheneum once I receive confirmation of the payload.” Nothing but random words to Korac at twelve-years-old. Now, they pieced certain elements of the puzzle together. On that day, every child on the planet disappeared but Korac. And the next day, Remorse—a figure whose face Korac saw only once—placed him in King Umbra’s custody on Cinder.
Still better than the prison. Hands down.
Korac met Prince Nox and Prince Xelan shortly after, and the rest was well-documented history in Nox’s Verse. Mostly.
Payload. The Atheneum. Where and how would someone relocate the Ancient’s library of bones? If Remorse and Razor knew its location, why were the Tritans searching for it? Imminent must hide it somewhere. And the payload… Could Inanis transport the children for the Primary’s use?
There was a horrifying thought. As the mother of two of those children, Pehton deserved to know. Between them, they could discover the Atheneum and solve the mystery of the missing kids.
Missing.
Korac no longer thought of them as dead. Hope was a strange creature. But Elden, it wanted to infect him, and he’d let it. With his limbs free, he’d find a way to access the lift, free the slaves in the Emporium with Pehton, and save Sagan from the Seam.
That redheaded human kid with the dead eyes could help, too. But if he got in the way, Korac would bash his fucking skull in. And anyone else that stood between him and sending Razor to the Wrong Side of Eternity.