I cried out, a small, broken sound lost in the rising roar of the storm. Darkness crept in at the edges of my vision, and the last thing I heard was the ship screaming under the force of the storm.

Pain. It wasn't just a sensation—it was everything. It wrapped around me like iron chains, sinking into every nerve, twisting, pulling, refusing to let go. Cold metal pressed against my cheek, but it might as well have been ice. My body felt distant, foreign, like I was slipping away from it, piece by piece.

I tried to breathe, but it came out as a ragged, broken gasp.

"Help..." I croaked, my voice barely a whisper.

Panic clawed its way up my chest. Was there even anyone left to hear me? Had they all locked themselves away, safe behind secured walls while I lay here, waiting for the ship to tear apart?

My breathing grew uneven, too fast, too shallow. My fingers curled into fists against the floor, nails digging into my palms as if the pain could ground me.

No.

I didn't want to die here.

Not like this.

Not alone.

Tears burned hot trails down my face, unnoticed, unimportant.

Please, someone... anyone...

The lights flickered, casting long, dancing shadows that made the already disorienting corridor feel like a nightmare.

I don't know how long I lay there, half-conscious. The ship groaned and shuddered around me, the emergency lights strobing like a frantic heartbeat and then everything came to stand still and silent.

Then—a shadow.

A figure loomed over me, a presence that shattered the darkness. Large, imposing, radiating an energy so sharp it sent a jolt through my failing consciousness.

A deep voice, a command wrapped in steel—low, resonant, otherworldly

"You are in a dangerous position, human."

Not a question. A statement.

I wanted to move, to speak, but my lips wouldn't obey.

Am I dying? A strange, delirious thought echoed in my mind. Is this the god of death?

A boot nudged at my side a sharp, unwelcome intrusion. I rolled onto my back, my vision swimming. Is this it? Is this how it ends?

I forced my eyes open, my breath hitching as I took in the figure above m.

He was close—so close, I could see the intricate patterns etched into his skin, the sharp angles of his jaw. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think. All I could do was stare into his eyes.

His eyes were unlike anything I had ever seen—liquid gold, molten and alive, shifting like sunlight rippling over a sea of amber. They glowed faintly, catching even the dimmest light and turning it into something ethereal, something otherworldly. It was as if they held galaxies within them, swirling with flecks of copper and deep honey, burning with an intensity that felt almost sentient.

Every Zypherian had unique eyes—shades of sapphire, emerald, or stormy silver—but none had his. No other Zypherian bore the mark of molten gold. His eyes were a contradiction, terrifying in their brilliance yet hypnotic in their beauty, as if the universe had poured all its dying stars into them, leaving behind only fire and mystery.

And those eyes... those inhuman eyes... were watching me.

He reached out, his clawed hand moving—hovering above me for a fraction of a second—before a single sharp talon brushed a stray strand of hair from my forehead.

"You are compromised," he stated, detached, as if assessing a malfunctioning piece of equipment rather than a person.

I knew that face.

Everyone did.

Admiral Kriudra.

My blood turned to ice.

Something inside me twisted—a tangled mess of relief and terror. I wasn't alone anymore. But being found by him ... was this better or worse?

Zypherians didn't care about human workers. They didn't stop for people like me.

So why was he here?

My body locked up instinctively, every muscle screaming at me to shrink away.

Had I done something wrong? Had I broken some rule without realizing? The Zypherians had no tolerance for weakness, no patience for inefficiency. My mind raced, sifting through every interaction, every mistake.

What had I done?

A sharp memory flashed in my mind—Dhruv's face, his wide, pleading eyes before before he fed him to the Lamia.

Oh, god.

Was that why he was here? Would he feed me to Lamia like he had done to Dhruv? The thought made bile rise in my throat, panic surging through me like wildfire.

No. No, no, no—I couldn't—

I sucked in a shaky breath. "No..." I whispered, my voice cracking under the weight of my fear. "Please..."

His golden eyes bore into me, unreadable, merciless.

Then, before I could flinch away—before I could even understand—Firm. Unyielding. Cold fingers brushing against my burning skin.

And then—I was lifted. I vaguely registered the rough fabric of his uniform, the scent of something metallic and faintly spicy.

My body tensed involuntarily, my muscles screaming in exhausted resistance. My hands weakly grasped at the fabric of his coat, as if I could push away, as if I had any say in what happened next.

Terror pooled in my stomach, hot and suffocating. A choked sound slipped past my lips, half a protest, half a whimper.

I was barely conscious, my head lolling against his chest as he moved.

I forced my lips to part, my voice hoarse, barely more than a rasp.

"Where... are you taking me?"

"Somewhere so you will not die in the corridor like discarded waste" He carried me, his grip too firm, too rough almost brushing but I was too weak to protest.

huh?

For a moment, confusion flickered through me. This wasn't about punishment. He wasn't dragging me to the walls to be devoured or tossing me into the void like trash.

I was being... saved.

The realization hit me like a wave crashing against stone. My breath shuddered out of me, and something hot and humiliating burned at the edges of my vision.

He was helping me.

He didn't have to do this.

But he was.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my fingers trembling as they curled into the fabric of his coat. Not to push away. Just to hold on.

I hated that my body reacted before my mind could argue. That I clung to the smallest mercy, desperate for something solid after the storm.

A choked breath escaped me, unsteady and raw.

"Cease your... whimpering," his deep voice rumbled, the sound strangely comforting despite its inherent authority, laced with a hint of....Annoyance? Resignation?

As he carried me through the ship, the walls seemed to respond to him, parting new walls and shifting seamlessly.

"The ship... it listens to you," I observed, trying to distract myself from the passing out.

He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he carried me through the dim corridors, his steps measured, controlled.

I felt the low hum of the engines reverberate through his hold, his body a solid, steady anchor against the chaos surrounding us.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, "It is...attuned to my commands," he replied, his breath warm against my skin.

His grip on me shifted slightly, his claws tracing a path down my arm, not quite touching, but enough that I felt the ghost of his touch.

A shiver ran through me, though I wasn't sure if it was from fever or something else entirely.

I tried to process his words, but my mind was slipping, unraveling at the edges.

The world swam in and out of focus. I heard snippets of conversation, urgent voices speaking in the alien tongue. Then, mercifully, darkness claimed me.