Nero Blood

Oh, slag. Oh, slag. Oh, slag.

I’m stupid. So slam stupid. I’ve always been reckless. It’s always been one of my biggest flaws. I barrel in with my head down and just explode all over everything.

Why the void did I not think of this?

As our ship aims for the gutted, dark planet that is Isroth, my entire body breaks out into a cold sweat.

Cyrillius is galaxy-famous for being the only person who can somewhat control the Kinduri and employ them. He has thousands of them here and on Gara Lune. As Valen said, if they touch me, they’re going to know my plan.

If they touch me, they’ll know I’m a Nero. And Cyrillius knowing I’m a Nero will be so much worse than him torturing me for plotting his murder.

He’ll use me.

Just like he’s used Valen.

My heart is threatening to beat clean out of my chest and smack right into the view port window. It’s nearly impossible to close my eyes and search for calm.

I needed more training. I may have made up for solars’ worth in the three lunars I was on Salypso studying under Zara and Kyril, but I need more.

I don’t know if what I’m about to try to do is even possible. But I have to try, or my life is over.

With my eyes closed, I let myself spiral down into my own mind. I reach out into my own brain. I comb through all of my recent memories.

You have to do this, I whisper to myself.

I don’t know if this is even possible, myself argues back.

You have to do it.

I find my memories, all the recent ones, like they are books on a shelf. I picture myself taking them, one by one. I take them to a vault in the center of myself. One by one, I set them inside.

I start from the beginning: the day Dominion came to Korpillion. I take the memory of my escape to the Airspace. I take the memory of seeing Valen for the first time. I take the first time I used Neron that day.

I take all my uncertain thoughts and fears about being a Nero, and I put them in that vault. I find my conversations with Valen, and put them inside. I take the time he came to me on The Corsair and the best moments of my life when I was in his arms and my lips permanently promised themselves to his, and I store them away, safe.

I find every moment of my time on Salypso and every second of my training and tuck it away.

I take all the visions I’ve had of my future with Valen, serving Cyrillius. I place all thoughts of Edan and my plan of killing Cyrillius into the vault.

And I close it all up.

I tell myself not to forget the memories, but to hide them. Where the Kinduri can never find them.

It’s as if the past five lunars never happened.

“You okay?”

Edan’s voice rips me out of my own mind and my eyes open once more. I find him looking at me with concern in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” I say, but I don’t think that’s really the truth. My voice sounds tinny from the collar locked around my neck and covering my mouth.

“You sure?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Because you kind of looked like you were either going to hurl or blow up the entire ship with your mind.”

I huff a laugh, shaking my head.

It’s just one of the many things I love about Edan Calwin. He says everything straight. “I’m about to march into the heart of Isroth and try to do something impossible. Cut me a little slack if I need two seconds to collect my thoughts.”

“Eh,” he says, looking at me in this way I can’t really describe. “I know that’s not what you were really doing, but whatever.”

“We are approaching the presidential courtyard,” the Frank’s voice interrupts whatever bantering Edan and I would have continued with.

Immediately, my eyes go back to the view port.

Where Korpillion is vertical, Isroth is flat and empty. The tallest building I can see for miles and miles can’t be more than ten stories high. It sits behind the Presidential Compound and from the blue light that glows through the cracks, I know it’s where they keep their Neron core that powers the planet.

Everything is grouped together. I see soldiers’ quarters, training facilities, big buildings I know are crop fields, hangars where ships are stored. Beyond that, it is barren nothingness.

And there, just in front of us, is the Presidential Compound. It’s a low profile building, no more than three stories tall. It’s made out of some kind of black material, but it’s difficult to tell if it’s stone or wood or synthetic. It sprawls out, huge and hulking.

But everywhere…everywhere, I see evidence of tunnels. They bore into the ground between buildings, dictating how the base was built. I see hangars that have been built on stilts, spanning over gaping maws that drop down into the belly of the planet.

I see people around, but every single one of them is dressed in the Dominion uniform.

There are thousands of soldiers milling about. All dressed in the dark gray uniform of Dominion.