'Calm down. This much is expected after what we did.'

  Some measure of understanding did indeed ripple along the bond between them, like a faint answering note struck upon a harp string, yet it lay deep beneath a heavier tide of sheer indignation. Saeryn, for all its vastness and temper, was still an infant in many respects. It couldn't yet grasp how their recurrent irregularities, so small and immediate to its own feelings, spread outward into tangled and far reaching consequences for society at large, for the imperium with all its ordered ranks, and for the admiralship that watched over such matters with wary eyes.

  To soothe the dragon required no small effort from Seralyth. She laboured patiently, calling upon calm and reassurance, for Saeryn wished neither to allow itself to be taken into the keeping of its elder kin, nor to endure the thought of its bonded companion being held apart, detained for explanation and for the assurances of security.

  'I'll be fine. Promise. Don't cause trouble, okay?'

  In truth, the princess herself felt little alarm at the manner of their reception. Had it been otherwise, she would've found that far stranger, and she knew it well. She and Saeryn had vanished without warning into a warp, and in the uncertain span between that disappearance and their return to Caeloryn, the moon itself had come under assault.

  Only a fool, she thought, would've failed to greet such a return with suspicion.

  Naturally, she was keenly aware that she was no hidden sleeper agent, nor some unwitting instrument, and she had, in fact, been attacked as well. These matters, she judged, could be laid bare without great difficulty through a brief and proper interrogation. The presence of Rynna weighed in her favour too, for she knew the researcher would speak on her behalf, if only to safeguard the most interesting research subject with which she now found herself entwined.

  It was this quiet certainty, steady and unyielding, that at last wore through Saeryn's stubborn resistance. High in the open expanse above Caeloryn, the dragon watched as Seralyth, having just descended from within it, made her way aboard a vehicle bound for a command post upon the moon. The dragon itself would've be escorted elsewhere, to a research facility where its condition would be examined, its wounds tended, and its recovery carefully assisted.

  Any rest more fitting or complete would have to wait until these necessary matters were concluded.

  ???

  "Excuse me. May I know who will be waiting for us?"

  Thus spoke Seralyth, not sharply nor with any command in her voice, but in a manner almost idle, as she rode within an all-terrain vehicle that had been cleverly refashioned for the pale dust and uneven plains of the moon. She addressed her question to the guards who sat watch over herself and Rynna, their armour catching the cold light as the vehicle moved. Yet her words met no answer at all. Silence alone returned to her, and it was plain enough that they had either been given strict orders to keep their tongues, or else had no wish to indulge the curiosity of a princess, however politely it had been offered.

  Seralyth rolled her eyes at this, finding the whole affair uncouth and ill mannered. Beside her, the fair-haired researcher had already vanished into her work, her attention wholly consumed by the flood of information that blossomed across her tablet's screen, so that she scarcely spared a glance for the ride itself or the circumstances that had placed them there.

  No restraint had been deemed necessary for Rynna. No cuffs, no devices, no watchful hand placed upon her movements.

  The same couldn't be said for Seralyth.

  About her wrist lay a thick bracelet, cold and heavy against her pulse, its presence impossible to forget. It was no ornament, but a device of careful magitech craft, one meant to interfere with the workings of her implants. While it remained fastened, she couldn't draw upon them, nor shape their power into incantations or controlled effects. Not that she would've attempted such a thing, nor even that she truly could in her present state.

  She was exhausted, thoroughly and completely, in body, in mind, and in spirit alike.

  When no response came from either the driver or the other passengers, Seralyth turned her gaze away from them and let her eyes wander toward the lunar horizon. The scars left by the surprise assault were visible even from this distance, darkened marks and fractured ground upon the pale surface. Yet they didn't seem as devastating as she had feared. There was damage, yes, and in no small measure, but it appeared to her practised eye that the essential facilities and the residential sectors had been spared.

  The thought offered little comfort.

  It was not, she realised, because their defences had proven mighty. Rather, it was because the attack itself hadn't ever been meant to crush them outright. When they returned, for it was no longer a question of if, Seralyth knew well enough that matters wouldn't be resolved so easily or so cleanly.

  At this realisation, a quiet outrage kindled deep within her, a tight and burning knot at her core.

  For all that she had endured, she remained a princess, one of the living pillars upon which their civilisation rested, dragons and common folk alike. To see their sovereign lands struck so freely and with such disregard stirred within her a deep and previously unseen enmity.

  Fortunately, before she could linger too long upon those dangerous emotions, the vehicle passed through the gates of a fortified garrison. The atmosphere there was stern and disciplined, and it pressed upon her thoughts until her expression smoothed once more into calm restraint. She let her gaze drift across the scene as they passed, taking in the many bonded pilots, the crews of logistics and engineering, the officers moving with clipped purpose, and above them all, the elder dragons gliding through the edge of the exosphere like watchful sentinels.

  At last the vehicle came to a halt before a central building. Its design was spare and unadorned, yet its very presence declared its purpose unmistakably. This was the command post, and around it the garrison spread in careful, restrained lines of architecture and defence.

  "Step out of the vehicle."

  The words came at last, spoken by one of the guards, and they were the first Seralyth had heard since her question.

  She didn't trouble herself with a reply, but rose and obeyed. Waiting for her near the entrance stood a group of men of higher rank, their bearing marked by authority. One among them she recognised, though only faintly. Long ago, it seemed, he had stood as the admiralty’s representative at the isolation facility, in the moments that followed the Bonding Ceremony.

  As Seralyth studied this small welcoming party, Rynna was finally guided out to join them. The researcher appeared startled, as though drawn abruptly from a deep current of thought. It was clear she had been so immersed in her analysis that she hadn't even noticed the vehicle had stopped, and the guards had been obliged to assist her back to awareness with little gentleness.

  "Your Highness. Professor Rynna." Admiral Veyron spoke at last, his tone plain and unembellished. "Forgive me for the poor treatment, but there is seldom room for formalities in an emergency."

  Rynna merely shrugged, her expression making plain how little she cared. Seralyth released a quiet breath, then inclined her head toward the admiral.

  "I understand. For the safety of the Imperium, I'd expect nothing less."

  "For the safety of the Imperium, well said." There was no warmth in his voice as he continued. "Accompany me, then. I trust you won't protest against an investigation."

  "Of course not." Seralyth nodded coolly.

  "Very well."

  With that, Veyron turned and stepped into the headquarters building. Despite his measured words, a formation of soldiers closed in around Seralyth and Rynna, escorting them closely, for lack of a kinder term.

  The princess chose to pretend it was merely for appearances.

  Within the building, they entered a state of ordered chaos. Staff members hurried to and fro, receiving reports from the field and passing them onward to their superiors with practised efficiency. Voices overlapped, screens flickered, and commands were issued and acknowledged in rapid succession.

  As they moved through the many corridors, Seralyth caught fragments of orders and briefings. She heard mention of patrol routes, recovery operations, and summaries of damage sustained. It was clear that the Imperial Fleet hadn't only repelled the hostile incursion, but was already preparing itself against any further assault that might yet come.

  In time, they reached a cluster of offices and meeting rooms. There, Seralyth was separated from Rynna, each being guided toward a different destination.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Admiral Veyron held the door for Seralyth, his posture stiff and resolute. Inside, the room was plain. A simple meeting table stood at its centre, accompanied by equipment meant to aid in debriefings and analysis. The decoration was minimal, almost austere.

  The room was not empty. A few guards were already present, and with them stood a man of unmistakably noble bearing.

  When he turned to face her and met her impassive gaze, Seralyth faltered in her step, though only for the briefest instant.

  "Lord Melvaine." Her voice remained neutral as she spoke his name.

  Cyrant Melvaine, Imperial Magister. A man whose influence reached not only through the Imperial Court, but into the very workings of the Imperium itself.

  At the sight of him, a memory long buried stirred within Seralyth’s mind.

  She was a princess, yes, but she hadn't ever been close to the Emperor, her father, in any warm or familiar sense. The Imperium had been forged upon restraint and duty, a lineage that allowed little space for tenderness between its rulers. Perhaps it was rulership itself that had shaped their family so.

  Whatever the cause, Seralyth’s encounters with her father had been few, and none could truly be called warm. If she were honest with herself, she held no love for him, only respect.

  It was for that very reason that one particular day had been etched so clearly into her memory. She had been summoned to his office, weary with fatigue, for a discussion. They spoke idly of court manners, of the future Bonding Ceremony, and of the responsibilities that would follow. Then, with a sincerity and firmness she had scarcely heard from him, he had offered a warning.

  'Do not ever let your guard down when it comes to Cyrant Melvaine.'

  And so, in the present moment, Seralyth felt a faint but unmistakable tension creep along her spine. She faced the Magister with an unmoving expression.

  "Your Highness." Cyrant bowed with practised courtesy, his eyes briefly noting the bracelet at her wrist. "Goodness. I explicitly informed them that there was no need to restrain your implants. It is delusional to believe a princess of the Imperium would so much as collaborate with hostile forces."

  Veyron, having closed the door behind them, stepped fully into the room. His expression remained indifferent, and he offered no explanation of his own.

  Cyrant appeared untroubled by this. He merely gestured toward a guard standing nearby.

  "Release the device. I will not abide seeing Her Highness mistreated in such a manner."

  Without hesitation or protest, the soldier obeyed. Seralyth allowed it to happen, her gaze never leaving Cyrant for even a moment.

  "Thank you, my lord. It's a surprise to see you here." She rubbed at her wrist, where the skin had swollen slightly, and her voice took on the restrained formality of the court.

  "Oh, it should not be." Cyrant replied smoothly. "This aggression is far more complicated than you think, my dear."

  At that moment, Veyron interjected, his tone as impassive as before.

  "Lord Magister, if you will forgive me. We still need to investigate the disappearance of Her Highness in the moments prior to the attack."

  "Ah, yes, of course." Cyrant inclined his head. "Your Highness, please sit. If you do not mind, go briefly through the sequence of events."

  Seralyth allowed no emotion to show. She nodded once and took a seat at the table. She had already resolved not to conceal any information from the Imperium, for there was no gain in inviting suspicion upon herself.

  ???

  The happenings were set forth in a plain and orderly fashion, beginning with the chance and ill-starred warp that had cast them astray, and ending with the sudden ambush that followed thereafter. Seralyth didn't linger upon the craft or cleverness by which she had turned aside the pericolous misshape, nor did she trouble to explain the means by which she had eliminated her foes, and neither Cyrant nor Veyron pressed her for such reckonings.

  Indeed, they had also required Rynna to recount the same chain of events under equal scrutiny. Should there be any dissonance between the two tellings, they had resolved to let the matter pass without further probing, and allow the circumstances to settle as they stood.

  "Lord Melvaine. Pray forgive me, yet I must ask why you've truly come. If your purpose was only to hear my report, then the presence of Admiral Veyron would've surely sufficed."

  The question didn't spring forth lightly or without careful weighing. Seralyth was not unaware of the worth that clung to her name as a princess, yet she knew well that title alone would scarcely draw the Imperial Magister from his seat merely to hear her account. Perhaps there lay greater value if her position were judged by strategy, but the true measure of Saeryn's strength was still uncertain, and unproven.

  That estimation, she knew, might alter when it was confirmed that she had emerged victorious from the prior skirmish.

  "Ever keen of sight. I perceive that you have not changed, my dear."

  Cyrant spoke with a gentle warmth upon his lips, as one recalling memories of an earlier age. That very gentleness unsettled Seralyth more than any sharp rebuke might have done, and her unease deepened rather than eased.

  The air within the chamber shifted subtly at her words, growing weighty and taut, as though the walls themselves were listening. Veyron drew his brows together in thought, then with a curt gesture dismissed the few guards who stood watch within the room.

  Thus only Cyrant, Veyron, and Seralyth remained.

  "I suppose there is little purpose in concealment any longer," Veyron said, as though some silent accord had passed between them.

  "Indeed, my fair admiral. The world has turned, and we must turn with it."

  Seralyth's eyes sharpened, and even the weariness she carried seemed to fall away beneath the gravity of the moment. She didn't interrupt, granting both men the space to set their thoughts in order and speak the truths they had long held.

  Veyron was the first to break the stillness.

  "These adversaries are not wholly unknown to us. We have been aware of them for millennia."

  Cyrant took up the tale. "The First Bond itself warned His Late Imperial Majesty Draxion of their existence. It's been a shadow of ruin hanging over the Imperium since its earliest days."

  Seralyth felt the words strike her unprepared. She had harboured some faint suspicion of such a matter, yet that it should reach back to her ancient forebear, and be entwined with the First Bond itself, was beyond her expectation.

  "In that case, the warning given during the Bonding Ceremony–" she began, but Veyron halted her.

  "It spoke of them."

  Silence settled upon the chamber. Neither man hurried her, allowing a brief stillness in which Seralyth might gather herself, while her mind laboured to order what she had learned. This foe had come from the far reaches of the cosmos, from space so distant and so little known that dozens ofcenturies had passed before Aeltheryl was ever found.

  She understood why the truth had been shrouded. Draxion, his Imperium, and those who followed him wouldn't have wished to cast the whole world into dread over a peril that lay only as a distant whisper in the uncertain vastness of the universe.

  Yet now that peril was no longer a mere whisper.

  "...what do we know of them?"

  She mastered the tremor in her voice and asked with measured calm.

  Veyron answered her. "Far less than we'd desire. Their kind is not biological in any sense familiar to us, which makes the very word kind uncertain. What you encountered appears to have been the lowest order of their military forces."

  His gaze turned to Melvaine, who inclined his head in quiet agreement.

  "There have been... endeavours," Cyrant continued, "Journeys beyond our solar system to seek them out and learn their nature. We masked our traces with care, yet none truly returned. All that remains are fragments of knowledge, gleaned from what little they sent back."

  A heavy weight settled in Seralyth's chest at this realisation.

  Her world, her home, the very planet had been waging a hidden war for millenia. She couldn't scarcely fathom the number of lives spent in those distant ventures, the courage and sacrifice of them all concealed so that order might be preserved.

  She let out a measured breath, steadying herself.

  "Why tell me this?" She didn't yet grasp why such truths were being placed in her keeping.

  Cyrant raised a hand to still Veyron before he could reply.

  "Because you are exceptional. In what manner we cannot yet fully say, but exceptional you are."

  "The inverted bond?"

  "Not that alone. The First Bond stirred only after your Ceremony. Both you and your dragon have shown strength and capability far beyond expectation. You withstood, and by all reckoning annihilated a strike by their scouting forces. It may seem a small deed to you, but for a hatchling, it is beyond belief."

  If these words were meant to soothe her, they didn't. Instead, they laid upon her a great and solemn weight, a burden of duty that pressed upon her breath and demanded acceptance, whether she wished it or not.

  "I understand," Seralyth said, dipping her head, resolve coursing through her. "What's required of me?"

  Cyrant's smile broadened, and to some it might have seemed earnest.

  Seralyth didn't share that thought.

  "You shall be regarded as a strategic asset of the Imperium. It will be among our highest concerns to foster both your growth and that of your dragon."

  Veyron, who had nearly snorted at this exchange, added his own measure.

  "I will myself determine how best to weave your... unusual abilities into the doctrines of the Imperial Fleet. To confine you within standard practice would only dull what you're capable of."

  Seralyth nodded. The terms were acceptable, even favourable, hadn't they been forged in preparation for a war she could no longer doubt. Were it not so, she might even have happily welcomed them.

  "I have another question, regarding these enemies..."

  "We name them Nemesis."

  The title suited them, she thought, recalling the instinctive dread and fury that had surged through Saeryn during the attack.

  "Nemesis. Will they soon strike in force? And what do they seek? It seems plain that these assaults were no more than tests of our defences."

  Veyron's face, usually so composed, tightened, and after a moment he inclined his head.

  "It is likely. We are extending patrols to the outer reaches of the system. Wherever they show themselves, we will be aware. As for their purpose, we cannot say. They leave no living witness behind."

  "But do not let this trouble your heart," Cyrant said softly. "We have prepared through long ages for this trial. We will not be found wanting when their fury is loosed."

  Seralyth forced herself to nod, willing herself to place trust in his assurance. Only then did she realise that fear had indeed crept into her heart. The thought of an unseen foe, one that had challenged even the First Bond, sent a chill through her.

  Yet alongside that fear burned a spark of defiance. If there was to be a struggle for the survival of their kind, she wouldn't remain on the fringes of it.

  "Very well. I believe this is sufficient for now."

  Cyrant brought his hands together, breaking her reverie. "You will be returned to the institute. I trust Professor Rynna will receive instruction to support you in all matters. Admiral Veyron, too, shall aid you whenever his duties permit."

  "Which is seldom," Veyron said dryly, "But I will see that each lesson bears weight."

  "I will abide by these arrangements."

  "Excellent. My dear, I know a heavy charge has been laid upon you, yet do not lose heart. I, His Imperial Majesty, and the Imperium itself shall stand beside you."

  Seralyth offered no reply, save for a courteous smile in answer to his words.

  Veyron gave a brief nod and departed with a soldier's stride. Cyrant followed after, lingering only long enough to offer a few more smooth assurances before he, too, withdrew.

  Left alone with her thoughts, Seralyth felt a weariness unlike any she had known before. It reached beyond flesh and bone, weighing upon mind and spirit alike.

  Could she truly meet what was asked of her?

  'No.'

  Even if she must deceive herself, even if resolve had to be feigned at first, doubt wouldn't find a home in her.

  She was Princess Seralyth Aerendyl. Moderate, yet unyielding. Calm in bearing, yet holding within her a fire that waited its hour.

  She wouldn't merely answer their hopes.

  She would rise beyond them in every way.

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