Chapter 34: Celebrating Kryon’s Fall

Janis Voren and his men stormed into the room shortly after the emissary had left, weapons at the ready, only to be met with the undeniable truth: it was all over. The rebel colonel froze in his tracks before Kryon’s lifeless body, his boots echoing against the metallic floor. He stared at the fallen tyrant with an unreadable expression—a mix of satisfaction and frustration.

"I wish I’d been the one to end his miserable life," Voren muttered, his voice laced with lingering resentment. His fists clenched tightly, but he didn’t dwell on the moment. Spinning on his heel, he barked orders in a sharp tone: "Send the word. Everyone needs to know—Kryon is dead. We are free."

A young rebel, still breathless from the battle, nodded fervently, his eyes shining with restrained emotion. He dashed out of the room, a glimmer of hope lighting up his face. For Voren, the liberation of Drakar IV had finally become a reality. But for the mercenaries, the mission wasn’t all triumph and glory.

The group remained silent, bound by an unspoken agreement. The incident with the emissary and the revelations about Evelyn weren’t details to be shared with the rebels. To them, it was personal—a matter between Evelyn and Vykhor. Who knew how the rebels might react if they discovered Evelyn’s ties, however indirect, to Kryon’s technology or his shadowy benefactor? In their world, trust was a fragile thing, and avoiding unnecessary conflict was second nature.

Voren turned to the mercenaries again, his gaze unusually sincere. "We owe you more than we can say," he admitted plainly, his voice devoid of its usual hardness. "Will you stay and celebrate this victory with us?"

Skye and Rax exchanged glances, and it was Skye who spoke first, a mischievous grin lighting up her face. "Hell yes! There’d better be plenty of booze, though. After all this, I’ve earned the right to get absolutely wasted. Right, Rax?"

The hacker shrugged with a smirk. "As long as nobody asks me to hack a vending machine for drinks, I’m in."

Vykhor, however, turned away from the rebels and cast a questioning glance at Evelyn, silently seeking her opinion. She nodded softly, a faint but reassuring smile gracing her lips. Yet her eyes betrayed a deep emotional exhaustion, and Vykhor wasn’t fooled. He could see how the day’s events—the revelations, the file with her name, and the implications of her past—were weighing heavily on her.

He approached her quietly, leaning close enough that only she could hear. "Are you sure? Do you really want to stay?"

Evelyn drew a steadying breath. "Yes, I’m sure," she replied softly, her voice slightly hoarse. "Maybe a change of pace will help."

Vykhor didn’t argue, though his protective, almost possessive gaze lingered as he straightened. "Fine. But stay close to me," he added, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. Evelyn nodded silently, knowing that this mission was just the beginning of a much larger and more dangerous quest for answers.

The group returned to the camp as the rebels began occupying the palace. They were clearing debris, hanging their faction’s banners in the reception hall, and raiding the kitchens to prepare an improvised celebration marking their victory.

In the tent she shared with Vykhor, Evelyn took a moment for herself. She quickly checked her biomedical bracelet, the small device that had helped her push through the chronic fatigue that had accompanied her for as long as she could remember. Her eyes drifted to the other bracelet—the one Vykhor had given her, a shield against unseen dangers. These two items had become her armor, her silent companions in a universe that seemed determined to break her.

After a brief and hasty wash, she changed into something more comfortable, yet slightly more presentable than her usual combat attire. It was nothing fancy—just a fitted blouse and pants free of the dust and grime of battle. Satisfied, she rejoined the group waiting around a crackling fire.

As always, Rax couldn’t resist an opportunity to poke fun at Skye. Gesturing at her, sprawled lazily on a rock near the fire with a drink in hand, he teased, "Skye, you know there are clothes that don’t look like they came from Kharok’s wardrobe, right? Even for a celebration, you insist on keeping that intergalactic smuggler aesthetic."

Skye raised an eyebrow, taking a long sip before responding. "At least I don’t spend three hours making sure my cybernetics shine brighter than my guns. Have you seen yourself, Rax? You’re reflecting more light than the palace."

Rax burst out laughing. "Touché! But seriously, look at Evelyn. She made an effort. A real breath of fresh air in this ragtag group. Maybe you could take a few notes."

Before Rax could continue, Vykhor’s dark, piercing gaze silenced him. The Kael’tarien didn’t say a word, but his commanding presence made it clear Rax was treading on thin ice.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down, Vykhor," Rax said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "No need to dismember me—I was just being friendly."

Evelyn, slightly embarrassed by the attention, avoided meeting anyone’s gaze, seeking a distraction. Skye, meanwhile, smirked knowingly, amused by Vykhor’s protective reaction. "Looks like someone’s pretty attached to his ‘breath of fresh air,’" she muttered just loud enough for him to hear.

"Skye, don’t start," Vykhor growled, his deep voice cutting off any laughter. Despite her discomfort, Evelyn found herself smiling faintly. These rare moments of levity—when their group almost felt like an odd little family—stood in stark contrast to the horrors they had just endured. She savored the lightness, knowing it wouldn’t last long.

The group eventually joined the rebels at the palace, drawn to the music and triumphant cheers echoing through the reception hall.

The rebels were letting loose, their years of oppression and bloody struggle giving way to an outpouring of joy and relief. After so much pain and sacrifice, they finally had a chance to look toward a brighter future.

Skye and Rax quickly dove into the festivities, their boisterous personalities blending seamlessly with the rebels' celebratory mood. Laughter and shouts of victory filled the air as glasses clinked and impromptu songs erupted. Skye, grinning ear to ear, was already leading a drinking contest with a group of rebels, while Rax tried—and hilariously failed—to teach them his improvised dance moves.

Vykhor, however, stayed close to Evelyn, his imposing presence both reassuring and intimidating. He didn’t join in the revelry, instead keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings—and on Evelyn herself. She tried to immerse herself in the atmosphere, but the weight of the day’s revelations kept her mind restless.
Colonel Janis Voren approached them, holding a drink, his demeanor uncharacteristically relaxed. Evelyn, used to his stern and nearly stoic persona, was struck by the genuine smile lighting up his battle-worn face.

"Ever thought about settling down, Vykhor?" he asked, breaking the silence.

The Kael’tarien turned his head slowly, his piercing yellow eyes studying Voren with careful calculation. After a pause, he answered firmly, "Never. Why do you ask?"

Voren shrugged, still smiling. "You’re a skilled warrior, a natural leader, and a brilliant strategist. We could use someone like you to rebuild Drakar IV. The offer extends to you too, Evelyn," he added, turning to her. "A mind as sharp as yours could make a real difference."

Vykhor barely hesitated before answering, his features hardening slightly. “No. My life as it is suits me. I don’t want to change.” His words were final, his tone leaving no room for debate. Behind his categorical refusal lay a burden he wasn’t ready to set down, an unresolved past that still held him captive.

Without hesitation, Evelyn placed a light hand on Vykhor’s forearm and said softly, "And I’ll stay by Vykhor’s side." Her smile was small but carried a sincerity that caught him off guard.

For once, Vykhor’s stoic mask cracked ever so slightly. He quickly looked away, hiding the emotion that flickered across his face. Evelyn, however, could feel the tension ease in his arm. Those few words, so simple yet heartfelt, stirred something in him—a quiet comfort he hadn’t felt in years.

Voren studied them for a moment, his sharp eyes weighing their responses. Finally, he sighed, a resigned smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I won’t push. But the door will always be open for the both of you. You’re always welcome here.” With that, he stepped away, leaving Evelyn and Vykhor standing side by side.

“Thank you,” Vykhor murmured, so quietly that Evelyn almost didn’t hear it. His gaze remained fixed on the festivities ahead, his tone carrying a depth of emotion he rarely allowed to surface.

She didn’t reply, but her soft smile deepened as she felt the unspoken connection between them. It was a fragile, growing bond, strengthened by the storm they had weathered together—a bond that neither of them fully understood, but neither could deny.

As the celebration roared on, Skye, emboldened by the alcohol coursing through her veins, suddenly took it upon herself to do the impossible: get Evelyn to loosen up. With a determined wobble in her step, she approached the young woman, her grin mischievous. Without so much as a warning, she grabbed Evelyn by the arm and pulled her toward the center of the lively group.

“Come on, Evelyn! You look like you’re at a funeral! We won! Time to celebrate and have some fun!” Skye exclaimed, her voice cutting through the din of laughter and clinking glasses.

“Skye, wait, I—” Evelyn stammered, caught completely off guard by the sudden attention. She wasn’t exactly the life of the party, and being thrust into the spotlight was hardly her idea of fun.

But Skye wasn’t taking no for an answer. With surprising strength, she dragged Evelyn into the heart of the festivities, where a circle of rebels cheered her arrival. They clapped her on the shoulder, their joy infectious despite her discomfort. Even in the middle of the revelry, Evelyn couldn’t help but glance back toward Vykhor. He stood at the edge of the crowd, his golden eyes locked on her like a hawk, his presence as unwavering as ever.

The cheerful chaos reached a peak when one particularly inebriated rebel got a bit too close for comfort. He placed a hand on Evelyn’s shoulder, his intentions harmless but his gesture unwelcome. Before she could react, the bracelet Vykhor had given her activated.

A sharp electric discharge crackled through the air, striking the man square in the chest. He staggered backward with a yelp of surprise, his eyes wide as he crumpled to the ground in a daze. Gasps rippled through the crowd as the music and chatter abruptly stopped, everyone turning to stare at Evelyn.

She froze, her outstretched arm trembling as she tried to process what had just happened. The bracelet’s protective mechanism had acted automatically, but the result was a dramatic scene that left her stunned. She barely noticed when Vykhor stepped forward.

The Kael’tarien moved with deliberate precision, his heavy boots echoing against the stone floor. His gaze, molten gold and filled with barely contained fury, swept over the room, silencing even the drunkest revelers. Skye, realizing she might have miscalculated, stepped back with her hands raised in surrender.

“Oh boy, this is bad,” she muttered under her breath, watching as Vykhor closed the distance to Evelyn with the measured pace of a predator.