Chapter Fifty-One

The dimly lit cave's cool, damp air wrapped around us as we advanced through its labyrinthine passages, concealed by the nondescript robes we wore as disguises. The familiarity of this covert life rekindled the buried parts of me.

We were in the heart of Saxta’s gang life. Underneath the pavilion of a large racing track. Every inch of this place screamed inhumanity, and we could hear the cries of slaves from the dungeons beneath.

Isodel, her sharp-cut black hair, was the only part besides her brown robes I could see as she led me and Elara. Elara, on the other hand, was to my left, shy and timid as ever, her traditional tribal tattoo the only thing glimmering in this oppressive light.

We crept along, our footsteps muffled by the cave's rough floor. Elara’s voice, innocently inquisitive, sliced through the silence. "So, Irina, what does your sister look like?"

I turned to her, my heart constricting in response to her question. It laid bare a painful truth, a reality we had all chosen to obscure beneath these borrowed identities. "Well," I began cautiously, my voice carrying the weight of the unspoken, "we were all decoys, so we've had surgery to look identical."

Isodel's scoff cut through the air, a subtle betrayal of her disapproval. "Weak move, using decoys. You should've learned to fight for yourself instead of hiding behind a mask."

Her words struck me like a whip, the sting of irony laced with my own hidden truth. I was a decoy, a mere shadow of the warrior that Isodel embodied. I lived a lie, weaving a false narrative in the name of survival. My life was not one of strength and valor like Isodel's or Elara's, but a dance of deception.

Responding with a veneer of poised composure, I veiled the tempest roiling within me. "Yes, it's quite dehumanizing," I acknowledged, letting a hint of vulnerability seep into my words. "That's why I'm trying to save them."

Isodel's arms folded over her chest, her displeasure etched into her expression. "Don't try to play the ethical and moral card now. Your people have a history of slavery."

Elara's voice, desperate for harmony, cut in. "Guys, please..."

But a surge of rage, hot and blinding, erupted within me. How dare Isodel accuse me, not knowing the agony of my past, the agonizing choices I'd been forced to make? My voice swelled, driven by the raw emotions churned up by Isodel's words. "My people have moved on from that dark history. We do not condone slavery.”

Isodel stood firm, impervious to my anger. "And yet it seems like your ‘sister,’ or should I say your human shield, was discarded and brought right to the heart of the slavery capital.”

“This was the Empire’s doing, not mine!” I retorted, the blade I had concealed now finding its way into my grip, mirroring Isodel’s movement.

“That is a cowardly thing to say. They wear your identity! They suffer for your family's name!”

Elara's voice took on a note of urgency, her attempt to mediate futile. "Guys, let's not fight..."

But the tempest inside me had grown too fierce to be quelled. In the midst of our covert mission, the tension between Isodel and me had escalated into a clash that threatened to splinter our unity.

“And where is your family?” I lashed out, and to my surprise, Isodel, always the picture of confidence, faltered. “Where are the people you protect? What are you doing to shield them in this time of war?”

Elara gasped, the weight of my words hanging heavy between us. Without a word, Isodel turned away, a storm of emotions I couldn’t decipher stirring within her.

“Let’s go,” she commanded abruptly, her tone edged with sharpness, and she stalked away from us, leaving a trail of unspoken tension in her wake.
—-
As we entered the alien-infested den of pirates and gangs, it felt as though the weight of countless stares bore into us. Our simple brown robes did little to disguise us, and I could sense Elara trembling slightly beside me. Instinctively, I locked my arm around hers, a silent promise of solidarity as we pressed forward into the shadowed heart of this place.

Isodel moved with an air of familiarity, her steps confident on the dirt floor. This environment seemed to suit her, and I realized that she was likely no stranger to the gritty underbelly of such establishments. She led us to a crude bar, an oasis of sorts amidst the chaos. The bartender, an alien of unknown origin, listened attentively as Isodel conversed in a language foreign to my ears. After a brief exchange, he gestured to a corner shrouded in dim light.

As we approached the designated table, my eyes were drawn to a young man seated there. His blonde hair framed a face that bore the scars of a life lived on the fringes, and his most striking feature was the single eye that met our gaze. Human, like us, but a leader among this motley crew of aliens.

Isodel slid effortlessly into the booth, her demeanor radiating a brazen confidence that seemed to command attention. The young man, whom Isodel addressed as Bray, greeted her with a familiarity that hinted at a shared history. Elara and I stood by the head of the table, silently observing as the scene unfolded.

Bray's voice held a note of intrigue as he asked, "Where have you been all these years, Isodel?"

Isodel's posture exuded masculinity as she propped her feet up on their table, her white blade clattering down as she took a bold swig of her drink. A collective gasp rippled through the alien onlookers, the word "Raya" passed among them in hushed tones, as though it held a weight beyond mere recognition.

Bray's surprise gave way to a mixture of admiration and tension. "So, you finally found it. Raya, the blade of Hades. No one believed you."

Isodel's confidence remained unshaken, her voice as unwavering as her demeanor. "I scoured the First World for three years by myself, thought I was losing my mind," she declared. With a deliberate motion, she picked up the blade, the embodiment of an enigmatic legend. But then, in an instant, the blade vanished from her grip as if by magic, leaving only her empty hand in its place. "And right at the brink of despair, it appeared before me."

The weight of Isodel's words and the power she commanded in this realm was palpable. As the murmur of awe and surprise reverberated through the bar, I couldn't help but marvel at the layers of history and strength that Isodel had kept hidden beneath her tough exterior.

Bray leaned back in his seat, his amusement evident in the curve of his lips. "Isodel, what in the hell are you thinking, bringing that blade into a den of rogue pirates and thieves?"

The table erupted in raucous laughter, a chorus of chuckles and guffaws echoing in response to his question. But Isodel, ever unflinching, met Bray's gaze with a calm that bordered on audacity. She took another swig from her drink, her gaze never wavering.

"I've come to trade," Isodel finally answered, her words carrying a weight of intention. The table's mirth receded, replaced by a curious tension. Bray's raised eyebrow invited her to elaborate.

"For a person," Isodel clarified, her voice low and steady.

The laughter that followed was even more intense, a cacophony of disbelief that filled the air. It was as if the notion of trading a legendary weapon for something as mundane as a person was beyond comprehension.

Bray's laughter subsided, his eyes gleaming with genuine amusement. "You can have anything you want for that blade, Isodel. Why a person?"

A flicker of something, perhaps sorrow, crossed Isodel's features before she answered, her voice carrying a weight of purpose. "Because the person I seek is being held prisoner by Jemisha."

The mere mention of the name sent a ripple of unease through the table, even amidst their laughter. Bray's eyes narrowed, his expression turning more serious. "Jemisha? You're venturing into her territory, Isodel. She's grown in power and popularity since you've last been here. She's like a queen ruling this planet."

Isodel's lips curled into a knowing smile, as if she had anticipated this reaction. "And do you obey her?"

Bray scoffed, as if the idea itself was preposterous. "Of course not."

Isodel leaned in, her eyes locked onto Bray's, her voice soft but intent. "Then I need you to be thieves."