It had been one year and three months since Grohavana had taken them.
The girls were kept at the center of Ship-035.
Untouched.
Unbothered.
He just watched, From above. From the shadows. From places they could not see.
Sometimes his gaze was filled with disgust. Sometimes with interest. Especially when he observed them speaking—really speaking. Long, intellectual conversations. About Earth. About memory. About ideas that refused to die.
They were thinking.
That unsettled him.
The girls did not know what they were anymore.
They were called the Emperor’s Earth concubines.
In truth, they were leftovers.
Another insult layered atop a thousand others from the Emperor, just for Urth.
Women once fought over, broken, discarded—kept not for desire, but for ownership. Proof that Urth had
