The Assigner's form shimmered like a mirage, coalescing from the glinting meteoric dust that swirled in the air of Millenia. He rose, particles clinging to his skin, each one a tiny beacon rekindling the fire within his cells. He could feel the pulse of his immortality beating stronger with every breath he took, the Diamond Storm coursing through him as though he were its very epicenter.
An undeniable truth hung over this rebirth—the price of such power was etched into the fabric of Tripolis, the planet's core trembling with each tempest he summoned, its cries silent but clear. A new dominion awaited him, an inescapable destiny among the stars, but for now, he reveled in the resurgence of his strength.
Luminous and ethereal, Vectra lay against him, her form a contrast of soft curves and fluid grace atop the solid expanse of his chest. Her touch was a whisper of silk, her skin reflecting the cosmic shimmer of the pool.
"You never told me why you hate them so much," she murmured into his chest, voice soft as ash.
He answered without sound. His serpent tongue brushed the shell of her ear and thought slid directly into her mind. Because hate lives longer than love. A ripple of dark amusement traveled with the words, warm and cold at once.
Vectra's laugh chimed like a struck glass. "Hate is illogical."
On the contrary, beloved, came the deep mental vibration. For those of us made to endure, hate is the most rational instinct. Anyone who does not hate does not live.
For a moment she wondered—as she had across centuries—whether she was cherished or merely necessary. Yet purpose bound her tighter than affection ever could. Whatever force drew Milada and Areilycus across seas and storms, the Assigner would have them back. Vectra would be the hook.
Silence, as patient as orbit, closed over them until even the meteoric pool seemed to breathe with their bodies.
***
The throne room of Millenia bloomed out of shadow. Iridescent walls scattered slow rainbows across a floor black as condensed night. At its center the White Snake coiled on a dais of bone and silver, perfect stillness wrapped around catastrophic power. Vectra stood to his right.
Through the great doors came Volmira, her silver hair a fall of quiet moonlight, and Rosum, all muscle and gravity. His cloven hooves struck a steady rhythm. Walking side by side, they looked comical. She, so graceful, while he, a brute with horns and fur.
"Father," Rosum bowed his head.
The White Snake did not blink, but his mind filled the room like rising tidewater. The Anchor and the Lord of Light have forsaken their posts. Should they repent, I will receive them. If not, let Tripolis—and all who depend on it—brace for extinction.
Volmira felt the chill of his resolve, the implacability of the eternal cycle he represented. Her silver eyes dimmed with the weight of the ultimatum, while beside her, Rosum's frame tensed, hoofs scraping the floor as if ready to charge at fate itself.
Volmira lowered her gaze. He called on them to make peace.
***
Later, in the glass observatory adjoining their chambers, the two siblings stood shoulder to shoulder. Outside, the Diamond Storm whirled, a silver hurricane battering the blue sphere of Tripolis until it looked like a pearl cracking under pressure.
"We must act," Rosum said at last. "Mila's mind must be steadied, or chaos will consume every world Father claims to guard."
Volmira's silver eyes reflected the storm's endless spirals. "She's always been reckless, but fleeing with Ari like that? What was she thinking?"
Rosum's tail flicked, restless. "What do we know of Valorians?"
Volmira adjusted her white gown, the observatory listening to the command of her mind. Their window to the universe sped up until it showed the world, nearly all blue and clear of storms.
"It's primitive. But they have magic. Their Sensitives are Nereid."
"Oceanoids?"
Volmira tightened the grip on the glass. "Queen Salacia rules Valorian alone."
Whatever their father's designs, reason and peace would chart their own orbit.
***
Above the bruised world of Tripolis, the Assigner remained on his throne of bone and silver, his vast mind turned outward. He had heard every syllable of their resolve. He allowed himself a slow, satisfied breath. All pieces were in motion, exactly where he wanted them.