Chapter 56: Recycling, Anatu Prime Style

Evelyn cleared her throat. “You look amazing.”

Vykhor grunted. “This isn’t combat attire.”

“No, but it really does bring out your arms.”

An elder from the village stepped forward, immediately recognizing him. “Luminous Kael’tarien! You’ve returned!” He grabbed Vykhor’s hand with heartfelt reverence and promptly stuck a wreath of fresh flowers to his forehead. “The star has guided your steps once more!”

Vykhor froze. Evelyn struggled hard not to burst out laughing.

“It’s... a symbol of peace and spiritual strength,” she whispered helpfully.

“It’s a social trap.”

“No, that’s just tradition. Breathe. You’re scaring the locals.”

Meanwhile, Blue was an absolute hit. Children followed him everywhere, draping garlands of seeds around his neck, while the feline strutted like a galactic champion, puffed up with pride.

Then came the fatal moment.

A priestess with seashells tangled in her hair made a grand gesture and invited Vykhor to join the “Dance of Cosmic Reharmonization.”

“No.”

Evelyn smiled sweetly. Too sweetly.

“Tav’Ren…”

He clenched his jaw.

“Evelyn.”

“It’s part of the diplomatic protocol.”

“I’d rather jump into a volcano.”

She leaned in, whispering in his ear, “The artifacts are in the sanctuary. Only accessible after the dance.”

…

Vykhor closed his eyes. Took a very deep breath. Then turned slowly toward the priestess.

And… he bowed.

Evelyn bit her lip so hard she nearly drew blood. Blue, overjoyed, leapt into the circle of dancers, yowling triumphantly.

Music filled the air—drums, wooden flutes, strange whistles. And the legendary Kael’tarien warlord, bane of battlegrounds, started to move stiffly to the rhythm, trying desperately not to hurt anyone with his hips.

Evelyn, seated on a wooden bench, tears in her eyes, whispered with a radiant smile, “There it is. A truly legendary mission.”

The “cosmic dance” ended—well, was interrupted by a “minor diplomatic incident” when Blue leapt into the floral offerings like a furry whirlwind of enough-is-enough—and Vykhor immediately took control. Cold. Efficient. Silent. And dangerously tense.

“We’re getting those damn artifacts. Now.”

No one dared argue with the flower-crowned Kael’tarien. Evelyn followed behind him, hand covering her mouth to hide a gleeful grin. He was seething inside—and it was delightful.

The sanctuary rose at the edge of the jungle, shrouded in a purple mist. Glowing vines, crumbling statues, ancient glyphs… and a staircase that plunged deep underground.

Vykhor activated his wrist projector. “Stay behind me.”

“As always, Tav’Ren,” Evelyn replied, angelic.

He growled.

They descended. And the traps began almost immediately.

The first one was simple: a tiled floor, with some tiles collapsing as soon as they were stepped on. Blue nearly got stuck, and only an inhuman reflex from Vykhor saved him from being impaled by spring-loaded spikes.

“This isn’t a sanctuary, it’s a dimension-breaking ankle death trap,” Vykhor muttered.

Farther in, jets of acidic steam hissed from invisible cracks. Evelyn had to quickly reprogram the vents using her portable hack module, fingers flying over the interface while Blue meowed behind her like a nervous little soldier.

And then… came the mirror room.

A visual maze. Vykhor’s reflections everywhere—each one poised to strike.

“Do they fight as well as the original?” Evelyn whispered with a smirk.

“Keep mocking me and I’ll lock you in here,” he growled through gritted teeth.

“Mmm. Kinda hot.”

After long minutes decoding the illusions, they finally reached the central chamber.

A stone dome, bathed in a supernatural golden light. At its center: a pedestal and two artifacts.

One looked like an ancient energy amulet from a long-lost race. The other... a small floating orb, surrounded by a strange magnetic field.

Vykhor reached out—and the whole room vibrated.

Statues began to move. Stone golems, awakened by contact.

“You said it yourself, Tav’Ren. This isn’t a sanctuary.”

This time, he grinned. Slowly. Fiercely.

“No. It’s a warm-up.”

And he dove straight into the fight, his prosthetic arm slicing through stone, every move honed and deadly.

Evelyn recovered the artifacts while Vykhor played “Master-Level Golem Smasher.” Blue, meanwhile, hissed at one tiny animated statuette before sitting on it—full feline contempt mode.

Mission: Accomplished.

The coppery sun of Anatu Prime was dipping low as Vykhor—still covered in golem dust—emerged from the jungle with the artifacts in hand, escorted by Evelyn, Blue… and his dignity, only partially reassembled.

The village was waiting in the main square.

Drums. Petals. Singing. Again.

Evelyn shot Vykhor a playful glance. “Looks like you’re back to being the golden god.”

He glared. She grinned even wider.

But just as they placed the artifacts on the ground, an elder—the same one who’d gifted him the fluorescent sandals of shame—stepped forward, both solemn and delighted.

“The cycle is complete! The relics of Anatu have returned to us!”

Vykhor frowned. “These artifacts belong to a contracted recovery mission. Registered client. Origin: Zykral Space Library.”

The elder raised a gnarled finger. “Yes, before. But now, they are the Solar Hearts of Mārula and Mōka.”

Evelyn leaned in, curious. “And… what exactly do they do?”

“One blesses laundry—makes it soft and fragrant when consecrated. The other… helps potatoes grow faster.”

Vykhor closed his eyes.

For a very long time.

“So,” he said slowly, “the ancient energy amulet and the gravity-modulating core… are being used to scent sheets and boost tubers?”

“Exactly!” the elder beamed. “The great cosmic cycle, reborn!”

Blue sneezed.

Evelyn nearly choked on her laugh.

Vykhor looked down at his gauntleted hands, still coated in temple dust. He’d nearly been skewered by millennia-old traps… for two domestic gadgets turned into sacred farming relics.

He breathed in. Deeply.

“You gonna explode?” Evelyn asked sweetly.

“Not yet. But I feel the implosion coming.”

Eventually, they accepted one final “thank you” ceremony—during which Vykhor once again had to wear an embroidered cape and a fluorescent shell necklace. Evelyn took many datapad shots.

“I’m saving this,” she said. “For posterity.”

“If it leaks, I’m vaporizing a satellite,” he replied flatly.

Once the ceremonies ended—and the artifacts were gently confiscated to be returned to their actual owner—Vykhor and Evelyn boarded the Narak’Tharr.

As the ship lifted off, Blue—curled up on the nav console—lifted his head and let out a single, snarky meow.

Vykhor glared.

“Not a word, furball.”

Blue shut his eyes.

Too late.

The client awaited them aboard a modest orbital station, drifting lazily above Anatu Prime. The exchange was quick: artifacts returned, payment processed, eyebrows raised at their current uses. The man merely nodded, in the tired way of someone who’d seen too much weirdness in his life.

“…Creative,” he muttered.

Vykhor, arms folded, replied in a neutral tone. “Creativity wasn’t in the contract. Just the retrieval.”

Contract complete. Transaction finalized.

Back aboard the Narak’Tharr, the tension finally faded.

Evelyn sank into one of the bridge seats, Blue curled against her hip, purring softly. She looked up at Vykhor, who remained standing, arms behind his back, staring out into space.

“You know… despite the neon sandals, the death traps, and the sacred potatoes… I think you handled yourself pretty well, Tav’Ren.”

He turned slowly, one eyebrow raised. “I’m covered in cuts, nearly got pancaked into a wall, and you took photos of me wearing a pink cape with jingle bells.”

Evelyn bit her lip to stifle a laugh. “Yeah. But I’ve never seen villagers admire someone so much.”

“That’s your metric?”

“Public adoration. And flamboyant textiles. You were radiant.”

Silence.

Then Vykhor, defying all expectations, stepped closer and crouched in front of her. His golden eyes met hers, glinting with amusement.

“Next time we raid an ancient temple… you trigger the traps. In sandals.”

“Deal,” she whispered, giggling.

He stood, held out his hand.

“Rest or next mission?”

She placed her palm against his.

“A break. Just a few hours. To enjoy the win.”

Vykhor nodded. “Fine. But we forget that village. Forever.”

Blue sneezed in his sleep. And Evelyn, barely containing a laugh, whispered:

“Promise. I won’t tell a soul. Except maybe Tarn. And Kryna.”

Vykhor sighed.

The galaxy was vast. But not vast enough to outrun his My’Lari’s teasing.