Chapter 54: The Chosen One of the “Cycle of the Scarlet Leaves”

The Narak’Tharr sliced through stellar mist, gliding along the calm currents of a quiet sector of the galaxy. Vykhor was at the helm, eyes fixed dead ahead, looking focused... or at least pretending to be. Evelyn, sitting beside him, barely hid her amusement at her partner’s overly stiff posture.

"You sure you don’t wanna read the mission details a sixth time?" she teased, smirking.

"No," Vykhor answered flatly, not taking his eyes off the control panel.

Blue, lounging at their feet, let out a long yawn followed by a soft, mocking grunt. Evelyn burst out laughing.

The mission itself sounded simple. Almost too simple. Retrieve a container of low-value tech artifacts, left behind at an old dig site on the planet Anatu Prime. No security. No enemies. No traps. Easy.

What the report conveniently left out... was the context.

Anatu Prime, a lush, tropical world, famous for its eccentric wildlife and absurdly festive locals, had just entered its annual Carnival of the Forest Clans.

Which meant: an explosion of colors, bizarre music, incomprehensible traditions, and local booze with highly questionable side effects.

"Remember what you said? ‘Nice, easy, profitable job’?" Evelyn said, voice light, as the Narak’Tharr dipped into the planet’s shimmering atmosphere.

"I’m starting to think the word ‘easy’ doesn’t exist in your language," Vykhor growled, triple-checking the landing bay calibration.

In the back of the cargo hold, Blue leapt into action, grabbing one of Evelyn’s bag straps in his mouth and dragging it toward the door like he knew trouble was coming.

Vykhor watched him, deadpan. "Even the damn cat’s in on it."

Evelyn shrugged. "He’s got a nose for adventure."

Vykhor muttered something in Kael’tarian—Evelyn was pretty sure it had to do with a feline uprising.

Landing on Anatu Prime was smooth. Right up until the Narak’Tharr’s ramp lowered.

A colorful delegation stood waiting just a few meters away, clearly drawn by the majestic arrival of the Kael’tarian ship. Tall beings with skin marbled in green and gold, draped in feathers, shimmering fabrics, and jingling necklaces. In the center of the group stood a woman with vine-wrapped hair, holding a long carved staff.

The moment Vykhor stepped onto the ground, a hush fell over the crowd.

Then someone screamed.

"N’aril-Ve’Khaal! The Child of the Stars has returned to us!"

"...What?" Vykhor froze mid-step.

Blue, standing proudly between Evelyn and the Kael’tarian, tilted his head as if to say: You wanted a chill mission? Well. Here you go.

Evelyn barely held back a laugh, hand over her mouth.

The silence shattered in an explosion of chants, drums, and dancing. Before Vykhor could react, two glittery-skinned priestesses draped a sheer red veil over his shoulders. Others placed fragrant garlands around his neck. Evelyn, losing it completely, made no effort to help.

"Well, Tav’Ren," she whispered, grinning ear to ear, "looks like you’re their local deity."

"This is a mistake. A massive mistake."

"Not to them. You’re the Chosen One of the ‘Cycle of the Scarlet Leaves.’ A starborn warrior returned to bless the land and... uh... participate in the annual mating parade."

Vykhor froze. Evelyn laughed harder.

"The what parade?"

"I think they want you shirtless. Painted. And... dancing," Evelyn explained, recalling the tradition she had skimmed before arrival.

Blue meowed excitedly, clearly thrilled at the coming chaos.

Thirty minutes later, Vykhor Kael’seth—war prince, elite mercenary, galactic menace—was perched atop a moving platform, draped in jungle jewelry, his chest painted in glowing gold and neon swirls, flanked by six carriers chanting his name.

At his feet, Evelyn walked calmly, playing the role of sacred translator, holding a pointless scroll, occasionally leaning in to whisper:

"Keep your chin up, Tav’Ren... you’re the embodiment of divine grace."

"You’ll pay for this."

"Oh, I hope you’ll make me pay. But not now. Right now, you’ve got a crowd to inspire."

Next to her, Blue strutted like a feline god, head held high, tail swishing with swagger.

And in the middle of all that colorful madness, Vykhor—stoic, silent, furiously dignified—endured. For Evelyn.

Because if his My’Lari was laughing, maybe the feathers and humiliation were worth it.

An hour later, the festivities were in full swing.

Vykhor still sat on his sacred float, back straight, arms crossed, looking like a pissed-off sacred tree. Decorated like a fertility totem in heat. And yet, somehow, the Kael’tarian still looked regal. Majestic, even.

Except to Evelyn, who couldn’t stop giggling with every beat of the parade.

"You know the paint glows in the dark, right?"

"Evelyn."

"I’m just saying. For later. In the tent. When you’re all... sparkly."

Vykhor growled. Blue let out a meow no one dared translate.

And then, things escalated.

The Grand Unifying Perfume Officer—a title far too serious for someone holding a four-foot-wide incense burner—burst forth.

"It is time, O Chosen One, to bless the Sacred Flower of Fertility!"

Vykhor didn’t even get the chance to say no.

Or hell no.

A massive crimson flower was shoved into his arms—some kind of giant plant with soft tentacle-like appendages that immediately started purring upon touching his skin.

Then, in a puff of joy, it vibrated violently and exploded into shimmering pollen.

Which promptly triggered a collective hallucinatory euphoria among the honor guards.

One started dancing wildly. Another climbed a tree. Someone started beatboxing a tribal hymn.

Blue sneezed. Evelyn howled with laughter.

And Vykhor...

Vykhor narrowed his eyes.

"Evelyn."

"Yes, Tav’Ren?"

"We’re leaving."

"But we haven’t even had the main course!"

"Now."

Too late.

One of the wiser-looking elders misinterpreted the chaos as divine transcendence.

"The Chosen One is entering a state of holy frenzy! He seeks ascension! Restrain him!"

Vykhor grabbed Evelyn with one muscled arm, vaulted off the platform like a neon-fluorescent war god, and bolted.

Behind them: screaming devotees.

Garland bearers.

Priests in floating robes.

A double-mouthed flute player.

And at the center: Blue in full battle mode, leaping from head to head, claws out, ears flat, guarding the couple’s retreat like a savage little sentinel.

"Why are we running again?!" Evelyn asked, breathless, barely containing laughter in Vykhor’s arms.

"Last time a tribe worshipped me, they offered ten concubines and a mutant cow."

"Fair enough. Run, Tav’Ren. Run."

They raced through suspended gardens, dodging singing fountains, flower archways, glowing steps... until finally, they reached the rendezvous point where the Narak’Tharr hovered above.

Vykhor signaled Kryna.

The ship’s AI, sounding suspiciously amused, responded through comms:

"Analysis: chase status—87% folkloric. Shall I engage boosters?"

"Open the ramp. Now."

Minutes later, the trio leapt aboard. As the ramp closed, Blue stood tall at the edge, staring down the still-ecstatic crowd.

Then, with all the disdain of a cosmic feline, he spat.

The Narak’Tharr lifted off in silence.

Inside, Evelyn collapsed onto a cushion, gasping for air through fits of laughter.

Vykhor caught his reflection in a metal panel.

"...Glows in the dark, huh?"

He turned slowly toward Evelyn, golden eyes gleaming with threat.

She held up both hands. "I swear I didn’t ask for this."

Blue sneezed again.

And this time... Vykhor actually smiled.

Just a little.