{Gait}

White.

The Aegis known as Razor combed his nail-less fingers through Triss’ red feathers. Gently, she slept. He indulged himself in her little sighs against his pale, bare chest. So much trust in him. Acceptance of him. The Lyrik knew of every atrocious crime and vice in his extensive existence. Even so, she insisted on loving him. Forcing him into fatherhood against his wishes. Losing her in the process.

True, he knew of one successful Aegis and non-Aegis pregnancy. His father impregnated a female warrior during a three-day siege on Thailea’s catacombs. But the Valkyrie was an Icarus. Their race was the most anatomically similar to the Ancients.

The Pain Curator would selfishly kill the fetus growing inside his most faithful acolyte if it meant no harm came to Triss.

Another sigh escaped her with a nuzzle this time.

He’d never find this again. Knowing how much he’d miss it, how could the most powerful man in the Vast Collective let her carry on with this? And for what? Procreation? He ended his race without remorse and never looked back. It made him the last Aegis. Invaluable. Indispensable.

But he’d rear their child as promised. His offspring provided new Probabilities from which he could feed. A starburst of chaos.

Yes. The Aegis known as Razor would raise the girl and devour the lifetimes in her wake. Teach her to do the same.

The others could never know.

The implant in his palm vibrated. Summoned, he disturbed Triss as little as possible, leaving her to rest on their bed. He stepped into his slacks and buttoned them while crossing the blackened space. At his desk, he engaged the communicator’s interface. He frowned as he slipped into a button down.

Eight. This many in attendance meant something went wrong on Earth.

“…Yes. The female Progeny took the pawn’s nacre. I call from the Ecology, now.” Abresson, the most recent initiate, displayed his background for good measure.

As far as “the female Progeny,” he must refer to Tameka. Rayne can’t leave her confinement. And Sagan… the Pain Curator heard her screams and felt her breath in his bones. A day in the Seam equated to a week on this plane. She may suffer there for some time to come.

Remorse praised his puppet. “Good. If you complete this mission successfully, we will finish your initiation.”

Initiation was simple. Touch Cascading Light and embrace throwing the Probability Matrix into chaos. The last Aegis taught them and required this. But Celindria went further. Manipulated him into showing her the source—He never imagined the likes of calamity she’d deliver then and since.

The majestic woman interrupted the Primary to inform them, “Someone initiated Andrius’ descendant without discussing it with us. Without grooming. It was someone on this call.”

No one answered, but the Pain Curator took advantage of the silence to accuse her of her own mistakes. “What of you, Celindria? Are you still in possession of the two Progeny?”

A strained silence filled the call until the First Progeny confessed, “T.a.o. is still mine. Temporarily, I am removed from Devis’ descendant thanks to your favorite ambitious Lyrik. But nothing could prepare me for the Mother. Were any of you expecting her? Is this not unprecedented?”

True. Not a single member predicted her return. In all the Probabilities, this is the first where she awakened. It boded well for the Aegis known as Razor to consume the resulting chaos. Not so well for Remorse, whose disobedience would cost him the Mother’s revenge.

With the color drained from him, the Primary nodded calmly for the camera. “Yes, she caused quite a dilemma for the P.O.W. transfer and cost us the interception of the shield virus weeks ago.”

“You mean that wasn’t Razor’s failure?” Celindria. Always so hateful.

Elbows on the desk, the Pain Curator clasped his hands to cover the frown. “I admit. I underestimated the Progeny and their ability to yield infinite Probabilities. When next I call Inanis, I won’t make the mistake of hailing only one figure. I will call an army.”

“Tomorrow,” Remorse commanded. “We engage them tomorrow after they’ve transferred the Mother from harm’s way.”

“Very well.”

“And the young Progeny in your custody?” Abresson’s face defaulted to an expression of smugness.

The last Aegis shrugged off the Tritan’s arrogance and addressed Remorse directly, “Primary, the youngest one is already primed and ready for molding. Ross was sent to me without screening, but I triggered her ability. It’s far more robust and unpredictable than her brother. But we will break her yet.”

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

The initiate had the nerve to order, “Civilize them, will you? They’re excellent stock, but I want them clean and with better manners than the current generation. Tameka will die before we tame her. Mark my words.”

“What does that say about her expectations for your lovemaking?”

On rare occasion, Celindria’s barbs brought a smirk to the last Aegis’ lips. Fortunately, hidden behind his clasped hands.

Remorse stemmed their quibbling, “Challenge each other formally or relent.” They quieted down. To Razor, he asked, “How much longer will you need with her? We want to transport them to Enki for the program ASAP.”

“Tomorrow. Before I leave for Earth. I’ll break her in.”

Abresson chuffed. Celindria narrowed her eyes. But the older Tritan whistled, impressed. “See to it.”

The other four callers never said a word as Primary Rem shut down the line. With the visual down, the Pain Curator glimpsed Triss awake in the bed. Her yellow eyes, hard like citrines, gazed at him with longing. Since losing the Seamswalker—the only viable alternative for parentage—they spent their days in bed together. Unwilling to waste the precious little time left to them.

Tomorrow.

“I won’t be gone long,” the Aegis known as Razor promised. He stood and crossed the room to the Olympic swimming pool-sized bed where it sank into floor.

The Lyrik waited and watched his approach with hunger in her gaze. Her pitch-black skin contrasted starkly against the white sheets. He liked it this way. Starved for him, she purred, “I must satisfy you enough to never want without me.”

The Pain Curator sank on his knees into the bed and brushed both hands through Triss’ feathers. “I want no one but you.” Softly, he wrapped his fingers around her slender throat. “Here are your orders.”

He loved the way her eyes cleared and posture straightened for the ready. Better than lovers. She made him reconsider the Eternal Bind. Two lifetimes always entwined in the Matrix. Only one such pairing could ever exist. Yes. Looking into her expectant gaze, he believed it was them.

“Pehton—”

Triss hissed cutely.

“—returns today. We can assume she met with the Progeny during her visit; therefore, restoring some of that feisty confidence I like so much in her.” He grinned at his soul mate until she returned with a smile most sinister. “Relieve her of it and monitor her while I deal with the Progeny.”

“What about the human male?”

Yes, Matt.

He kissed Triss’ lips for reminding him. “I expected him to cave and attempt to save the Seamswalker. Him still being here… is most welcome. I may recruit him to initiate. I’ll need someone else to attend the others while I’m busy with fatherly duties.” He crooked a brow at her, half in ire and half playfully.

She beamed and brushed her fingers through his short hair. “I think you’ll surprise yourself.”

Triss surprised him. Every day. The Aegis known as Razor would keep his promise and try to earn her faith in him. The only person to fully trust him. She straightened on her knees, he leaned down, and they met in the middle. Thirsty, his mouth drank from hers. Soaking in her warmth and adoration like their last time followed this rain—

“Ahem.”

They stopped kissing and looked toward the desk. An old friend inhabited by an old enemy. Never taking his eyes from the intruder, he stepped from the bed, allowing Triss to walk toward the stairs. His lover did so without him asking. “I’ll join you momentarily, siren.” To Celindria, he confessed in a hardened voice, “I told you once already, I don’t enjoy seeing you in her.”

T.a.o.’s kind smile twisted into an ugly sneer. She stretched languidly to show off the ensemble on the borrowed skin. Usually dressed modestly, it disgusted him to see the woman in fishnets and a sheer bodysuit. In a voice of perfect clarity and evil, Celindria betrayed another secret. “Yes. One of the few people you’ll consider with high enough regard to refer to them as more than a ‘business associate.’”

The Aegis known as Razor knew better than to engage. He remained silent.

In sensual strides, Celindria strutted T.a.o.’s short frame on impossibly high platforms across to him. Inches from his face, she purred, “The other Seamswalker. How was ruining that big heart of hers? Did that satisfy you? I hear she thought to make a friend of Remorse and you—”

“You and I were friends once upon a time.” The Pain Curator cursed himself for taking the bait. He fell into her trap every time. Always left disappointed by his failure to secure this specific alliance.

Fuck it. At her hard smirk on that soft face, he gestured to the borrowed form. “All that power inside your head. That body. Do you ever get lonely, Celindria?”

There. The walls shifted around him. Hazy. Blurred by the Probabilities created from his outburst.

White. Black. Blue. Purple. Silk sheets. Cotton sheets. Leather duvet. Tile. Carpet. Waterfalls. Fireplace. Plants. Tigers.

Every one of her existences shook their head. Their billion voices spoke in a deep cursed chorus, “I am never alone.”

The Aegis known as Razor looked away and squeezed his eyes shut. It was only like this with her. And it always left him on edge. “You’re beyond my reach. I can never ease your troubles now.”

T.a.o.’s hand touched his face until he opened his eyes and looked at her. The vocal harmony coalesced into a single melody, “I was always beyond you.”

A waste. “Yes. And what a shame, a life as short as yours never stood a chance at knowing happiness. No matter how many Probabilities you break into existence, you’ll never find peace.”

The ancient Seamswalker’s eyes flashed. He almost glimpsed them without Atramentous. A sight he only saw once, before he broke the frail woman’s sanity so long ago.

Always regal, Celindria let her hand fall gracefully to her side. In her cold repose, completely foreign to the purple-eyed Progeny, poison dripped from the First Progeny’s words. “I don’t require peace. Save that talk for your pathetic clients. I came to congratulate you for your accomplishments with the Shadow. We’re close now.”

Dejected as always from any interaction with his rival, the Pain Curator stepped around her majestic existence and walked upstairs.

Celindria called after him, “Where are you going?” So much pride. But with no knowledge of contentment.

“To celebrate my victory before my next task. The rest of us still gain some enjoyment from our pleasures. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Good night, Celindria.”

With a terse humph, she vanished.

Three Two Four pitied no one more. Not even the young woman screaming in his marrow to escape her monochromatic tomb.

Brown. Brown. Brown. Navy. Periwinkle. Steel.