Chapter Seven
1418 Words
We didn’t speak for a while. Just sat there, the silence between us still holding the weight of Vulkarin’s exit.
Gabriella had already poured the drinks. Mine was still in my hand, glass cool, fingers damp. She sat quietly beside Raven, her posture relaxed but focused, like she was trained for this kind of conversation. Maybe she was.
Lord Raven leaned back in his seat, fingers wrapped around his cup.
“When you measure it by your calendar,” he said, “this happened many thousands of years ago. Back then, our civilization had already mastered space travel. Not just propulsion—exploration, colonization, precision navigation. We had technology your scientists today still dream about.”
He set his cup down gently.
“But it wasn’t technology that made us strong. It was restraint.”
He looked at me directly. I didn’t flinch.
“We didn’t get there by suppressing our instincts. We redirected them. What you call b**m? That was our structure. Not a kink. A lifestyle. A way to keep the drive for control and power... Balanced.”
I heard the capital letters. Lifestyle. Structure. Not performance. Not roleplay.
Raven went on, his tone quiet, almost reverent.
“We still had weapons. Still had armies. But we hadn’t needed them in generations. Our culture had become peaceful—not because we lacked aggression, but because we gave it discipline. That discipline became art. Honor. Order.”
A pause.
“Then we got curious.”
He reached toward a panel near the edge of the table and tapped it once. A map bloomed softly into the air. Star systems. Grids. Arcs of light crossing space.
“We sent out scouts. Explorers. Not warships—science crews. And about seven thousand of your years ago, one of those ships found your solar system.”
The map zoomed in, pulling the stars closer, the Earth slid into focus.
“Your planet had all the signs: water, atmosphere, carbon balance. Early molecular patterns. We got closer.”
Gabriella’s eyes were fixed on the map. I glanced over at her just long enough to catch a flicker of emotion—recognition? Memory?
“No one knows exactly what happened next,” Raven said. “Maybe it was a system failure. Maybe an asteroid strike. What we do know is the ship lost power inside your gravity well. With no thrust and limited gliding ability, there was only one option.”
“It crashed,” I said.
He nodded. “Hard. A hundred souls aboard. Both Dominants and submissives. All of them trained. Disciplined. Noble. But stranded.”
He let the map fade away.
“The last thing the captain did was eject a beacon. Our emergency beacons are autonomous. Self-propelled, self-powered. Once it escaped your gravity field, it did what it was programmed to do—broadcast a long-range distress call.”
He looked away for a beat.
“But Earth is remote. Out on the edge of everything. It took far too long for the call to reach us. By the time it was picked up, no one expected survivors.”
He paused. Not for effect. For memory.
“I was a boy when I first read the transmission logs. My father called them ghosts. I never forgot them.”
Then the calm returned.
“That ship was written off as lost.”
He traced his fingers around the rim of his cup, then let his hand fall away.
“But we were wrong.”
I leaned forward slightly. Gabriella didn’t move.
“The crew survived,” Raven said. “For a time. But they were smart enough to understand what would happen if they tried to create a closed colony with such a limited gene pool. Inbreeding would destroy them.”
He drew a slow breath.
“And yet… telling a hundred strong, vital adults to live and die alone, without legacy? That would destroy them too.”
He let the silence linger.
“They made a choice.”
“You’re saying they bred with humans,” I said.
My mouth said the words, but part of me couldn’t process them. The weight of it didn’t hit all at once. It spread slowly. Cold and final.
Raven's gaze dropped. “That must have been difficult,” Raven said solemnly, “Breeding with early humans—primitive, violent, barely communicative. But they did it. And over time, their genes... mixed.”
“Like ink and water,” I murmured.
He nodded. “Exactly. And now? There’s no separation. No extraction. Their legacy is permanent.”
He gave a faint smile.
“Your scientists are still searching for what they call the ‘missing link.’ Something to bridge the gap between early primates and modern humans. But it wasn’t missing.”
“It was inserted,” I said.
Gabriella glanced at me then. Just briefly. Like something had clicked.
“And now you know why,” Raven said. “Why you’ve always felt the pull. Why some people flutter around the lifestyle but never enter. And others—like you—step into it like it’s the only thing that ever made sense.”
I swallowed.
“It’s in our DNA.”
He nodded again. “You’re a Dominant. It’s not just a preference. It’s a lineage.”
Gabriella shifted slightly, just enough for her knee to brush against Raven’s. He didn’t look down. He didn’t need to.
“We’ve been watching Earth for centuries,” he said. “Once we recognized the signals from the old beacon, we tracked its origin. Sent a probe. The first of us returned around your year 1800. Quietly. Carefully. What we found was... extraordinary.”
He leaned forward, expression more animated.
“We sampled your DNA. And found our own.”
“That must’ve been a shock,” I said.
He smiled. “We were proud. You’d evolved. Adapted. Survived. Not just physically, but culturally. In the 1940s, when humans began exploring power exchange again, we felt like proud fathers. We increased surveillance. Planted observers. Occasionally… a piece of tech.”
“Wait,” I said. “Are you saying some of our technology—”
“Came from us? Yes.”
He clapped twice. The lights in the room dimmed to black. Another two claps, and they came back on.
“That was you?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Sometimes we help fund operations. Pay the bills.”
“And the Internet?” I said, half-joking.
He didn’t laugh.
“We had no idea it would explode like it did,” he said. “But when it did, something happened. The anonymity gave your people permission to step forward. To explore. To remember.”
I said nothing.
“You felt it. The first time you stepped into the scene. It wasn’t a thrill—it was recognition.”
Gabriella met my eyes for the first time in minutes. Her gaze wasn’t soft or challenging. Just present. Open.
“And the women?” I asked.
He nodded. “Sixty-five percent of those carrying our gene present female. No one knows why. But among them, there’s rarely a middle ground. They are either naturally submissive… or naturally dominant.”
I turned to Gabriella. “So what were you doing at that play party?”
Her voice was low and even. “Recon.”
I blinked. It was the first word she’d spoken since the drinks were poured.
Raven smiled. “On my orders. We send our people—Ravens—into your communities. Into chat rooms. Events. Scenes. Looking for others like us. Some stay silent. Some observe. You’ve seen them. The quiet one in the loft. The name with no profile picture. The watcher who never speaks.”
“And the House of Vulkarin?” I asked.
The warmth faded from his expression.
“They see none of this. Not connection. Not honor. Not growth.”
He looked away.
“They see potential consumption. And they’re not just watching anymore. They’re moving.”
I felt it in my chest. The quiet pull of dread.
“We see you as family,” Raven said. “Not pets. Not servants. Brothers. Sisters. Kin.”
He looked at Gabriella then.
“They don’t.”
A pause.
“To them, you’re prey. They look at your world the way a great white shark looks at a bleeding goldfish. The only difference is—” he tapped the table softly— “Sharks are nicer about it.”
- Writer
