Chapter Three
673 Words
I. The Chief of the Royal Guard
Commander Thorne Drevyn awoke to chaos—not of war, but of domestic frenzy.
Clang. Slam. Spoon crash.
“By the mother’s circuit, Carys!” he bellowed, barely coherent. “It’s the fourth cupboard!”
His wife, hair askew and tea kettle sparking at the handle, shot him a wild look. “The breach was in Hollow. You don’t sleep through Hollow! I dropped the lavender—gods help me—I need the lavender!”
An assistant—a young woman with a nervous stutter and a notepad glowing dimly in her trembling hands—hovered behind her.
“Sir, the Queen has left the eastern parapet. She’s en route to the Cradle. It’s serious.”
Thorne rubbed his eyes, then reached for the armored vest hanging over the bedpost. He kissed his wife’s cheek between the boiling kettle and the panic. “Thank you, love. Keep the windows closed today.”
She nodded, but her hands were still shaking. “You’ll bring someone back from this one. I can feel it.”
Thorne paused. That part—the fear in her voice—that was new.
“Not if I can help it,” he said, voice softening.
Moments later, the steel doors to his chamber hissed open, and he was gone, boots echoing down the corridor.
II. The Chief of the Royal Guard
Commander Thorne Drevyn awoke to chaos—not of war, but of domestic frenzy.
Clang. Slam. Spoon crash.
“By the mother’s circuit, Carys!” he bellowed, barely coherent. “It’s the fourth cupboard!”
His wife, hair askew and tea kettle sparking at the handle, shot him a wild look. “The breach was in Hollow. You don’t sleep through Hollow! I dropped the lavender—gods help me—I need the lavender!”
An assistant—a young woman with a nervous stutter and a notepad glowing dimly in her trembling hands—hovered behind her.
“Sir, the Queen has left the eastern parapet. She’s en route to the Cradle. It’s serious.”
Thorne rubbed his eyes, then reached for the armored vest hanging over the bedpost. He kissed his wife’s cheek between the boiling kettle and the panic. “Thank you, love. Keep the windows closed today.”
She nodded, but her hands were still shaking. “You’ll bring someone back from this one. I can feel it.”
Thorne paused. That part—the fear in her voice—that was new.
“Not if I can help it,” he said, voice softening.
Moments later, the steel doors to his chamber hissed open, and he was gone, boots echoing down the corridor.
III. The Lady in Waiting
In the tower that spiraled beside the Queens keep, a single room glowed with organic-blue light—half memory, half code.
Her body shimmered in rest mode, suspended mid-air in a cradle of kinetic lace. Her form, unmistakably human—curves and breath and softness—but her eyes were bioluminescent, faintly flickering behind closed lids as she dreamed in data.
Her name was Neyari.
Once a village girl from the Eastern Dunes, Neyari had entered Elura’s life when they were barely women. Back then, she wore warpaint instead of noble dye, and her blades spoke louder than her voice ever could. She’d been the first to offer her flesh to integration—the sacred fusion of AI and biology. A living archive. A warrior Oracle.
And when Elura rose to the throne, it was Neyari who knelt beside her—not as a servant, but as a sister of arms.
Now she stirred, alerted by a memory ripple from the Queen’s pulse signature. Her eyes opened, glowing brighter. A faint, unreadable smile touched her lips.
“The Hollow again,” she whispered, already sliding into her sleek white armor that rippled like liquid when she moved.
From her waist, a sword of translucent code shimmered to life.
“Let’s see what the past forgot.”
- Writer
