A Stranger Among Stars, Chapter Twenty-Two: Relic of War

Max sat at his console on the bridge, staring at the telemetry data streaming in from the ship’s long-range sensors. His mind should have been focused on deciphering mineral compositions, gravitational anomalies, or anything else of scientific interest in uncharted space. Instead, he found himself glancing at Malinar, who sat across the bridge, perfectly composed, scanning over medical reports. Unlike him, she was keeping things professional—something he was failing at miserably.

Not that it was entirely his fault. He was still processing their conversation from earlier. Bonded souls? Cycles? It was a lot. Malinar, meanwhile, looked as though she hadn’t just thrown a life-altering revelation at him.

“Focus, Max,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

Tash’ar, in a rare moment of exasperated honesty, had apparently gotten sick of Max’s presence in the science department today and dumped him onto the bridge crew. Max didn’t mind—Tash’ar could be a real pain when he got annoyed, and Max figured this was a win-win. He got a break from the foxlike scientist, and Tash’ar got his sanity back.

The bridge was quiet, save for the hum of machinery and the occasional beep of an alert. Max was starting to settle in, his eyes scanning the data, when Kabo’s deep voice cut through the silence.

“You are slow today, Max,” the captain grumbled from his seat.

Max straightened, suddenly feeling like a cadet being dressed down in boot camp. “Sorry, Captain, I’ll—”

Before he could finish, Ava’s holographic form flickered into existence beside him.

“Oh! It’s not his fault, you know,” Ava said with a grin. “Max has been titled.”

Max froze.

The bridge turned to look at him.

Kabo arched a brow, his yellow eyes flicking from Max to Malinar, who remained entirely unbothered.

Max’s stomach dropped. “Ava—”

“Oh no, don’t let me stop you,” Ava continued, ever the instigator. “I just thought you’d all like to know that Malinar has officially claimed Max in the way of her people.”

Max groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ava, I swear—”

Kabo’s gaze lingered on Malinar. “…Is this true?”

Malinar, in her infuriating calm, merely nodded once.

Max, who was currently in the middle of wanting to eject himself out an airlock, stammered, “I—uh—look, I was going to focus, okay?”

Kabo sighed, rubbing a paw over his muzzle. “Your relationship is your business,” he said firmly. “But not on my bridge. If you can’t keep your head clear, I’ll be forced to throw you out the airlock.”

Max blinked. He knew Kabo wasn’t serious—at least, he hoped he wasn’t—but the sheer bluntness of the statement hit him like a slap to the face.

For a moment, his mind blanked completely. His emotions, tangled from the whirlwind of the past few days, fizzled out under the sheer weight of Kabo’s authority.

He swallowed hard, straightened his posture, and with a deep breath, nodded. “Understood, Captain.”

“Good,” Kabo grunted. “Now focus.”

Max turned back to his console, eyes scanning over the telemetry data with renewed discipline. Whatever personal chaos was brewing in his mind, he could sort it out later.

The rest of Max’s shift on the bridge was… manageable. After Kabo’s gruff reminder to separate work from personal matters, Max locked himself into a rhythm. His hands moved with precision over the console, his mind sifting through incoming telemetry data with practiced ease.

Bridge chatter had resumed, lighthearted and teasing, but Max kept himself focused. He could hear Malinar’s voice in the background, calm and professional, occasionally batting back some of the crew’s playful remarks with a dry wit that made him smirk despite himself. Even Kabo, usually more reserved in casual conversation, threw in the occasional remark, grumbling about how scientists always overcomplicated everything.

Then, the scans hit something unusual.

"Captain, we have an anomaly," one of the bridge officers reported. "A derelict vessel, adrift. Two faint power signatures detected."

Max’s eyes flicked up from his console to the main display as the ship’s sensors painted a picture of the wreck. A twisted hull, eerily intact despite its lifeless drift, lingered in the void. At first, it was just another scan, another mystery to investigate. Then, something about it hit Max like a shock to the spine.

His breath caught. His heartbeat surged. His mind processed the structure, the design… and then he shot to his feet.

"Stop! Don’t approach!" Max’s voice cracked across the bridge.

Kabo’s head snapped toward him. The crew froze. Kabo knew better than to ignore Max’s sudden instincts—he had seen firsthand how the human’s deathworlder intuition had saved lives before.

"Full stop," Kabo ordered without hesitation. "Max, explain."

Max shook his head, his brain still scrambling for the answer. "I—I don’t know yet. But something about that ship—" His fingers moved quickly, adjusting scan parameters, lowering burst output. "It’s setting off every alarm in my head."

A tense silence followed. The crew exchanged wary glances. It wasn’t like Max to panic. Reckless? Sure. Stubborn? Always. But scared? No.

Malinar felt it before he even spoke again. She could sense the storm raging beneath his carefully controlled breathing, the primal warning screaming in the back of his mind.

"He’s afraid," she said quietly.

That single statement froze the entire bridge.

Kabo’s eyes narrowed. His grip tightened around the armrest of his chair. "Explain. Now."

Max’s jaw clenched as he worked, his hands slightly trembling as he refined the scans. "Ava," he said hoarsely, "compare the superstructure of the derelict to the schematics of the Aurora."

Ava took a few seconds before answering. "Analyzing… There are multiple structural similarities. The hull composition, modular sections, and weapon mount points all indicate a possible human design."

The words were a gut punch. Max swallowed, staring at the wreck like it was some phantom from his past clawing its way into the present.

Then he saw it—the final piece clicked into place. His breath shuddered as his gaze traced the outlines of its weapon placements, the unmistakable silhouette of heavy railgun emplacements and spinal weapon arrays. And then the hangar bays, pockets in the hull for automated drone deployments.

A Rail Cruiser.

A theoretical design. A project he had worked on before Aurora had ever left Sol.

But this thing was real. And it was here.

Malinar had already moved. Her presence was a quiet anchor beside him, one hand resting lightly on his arm, grounding him. "Breathe, sol'vikiar," she murmured softly.

Max inhaled slowly, forcing his thoughts into order. Finally, he spoke.

"This class of ship is meant for war… it was theoretical when I left Earth," he admitted, his voice measured but heavy. "But I recognize the design." His fingers curled into a fist before he forced them to relax. "Because I designed the original concept."

The bridge went dead silent.

Malinar’s grip tightened slightly, her teal eyes searching his face for any sign of what he wasn’t saying. Kabo’s expression darkened, and the rest of the bridge crew just stared.

"You’re telling me," Kabo said slowly, "that this derelict is a warship from your people? And that you designed it?"

Max nodded stiffly. "Yes. And we do not want to wake it up without a plan."

Max stared at the holographic display of the derelict ship, his breath shallow, his hands gripping the edge of the console. The image flickered, blue-white outlines detailing the jagged hull, the unmistakable skeletal remains of a ship designed for war. A war that, as far as he knew, had never been fought.

*"What the hell happened while I was gone?"*

Ava’s calculations ticked away in the background, silent save for the occasional flicker of data scrolling past the holo-display. The bridge remained deathly quiet, waiting for an answer, waiting for Max to understand what they were looking at.

Kabo had summoned the senior officers the moment Max identified the ship as human. Now they stood in tense anticipation, their gazes shifting between the derelict and Max, who had yet to shake the tension in his shoulders.

The silence was finally broken by Kabo. "Max, what can you tell us about this vessel?" His voice was steady, but there was an edge of caution beneath it.

Max exhaled through his nose and straightened. He pulled up sections of the hologram, highlighting specific components. His voice was clinical, detached, as if explaining an old piece of history rather than a specter of his past.

"This design is an evolution of something theoretical when I left Earth. A Rail Cruiser—a class of warship meant to dominate a solar system, not just defend it. The design philosophy is familiar, but the refinement suggests centuries of iteration beyond my time. The primary armament would be mass drivers—relativistic kinetic weapons meant to obliterate targets at extreme range. Secondary weapons include point-defense turrets, missile pods, and plasma-based close-range systems."

His fingers traced over the ship’s structure, zooming in on different sections. "The vessel would have functioned similarly to the Horizon—a crew handling decision-making, with an AI managing day-to-day operations. The key difference is that the AI is integrated into combat functions, capable of independently aiming and firing weaponry."

A slow ripple of unease passed through the gathered officers.

Max continued, his voice measured. "It’s designed to be self-sustaining. Hydroponics, resource processing, and fabrication systems. The lack of life signs suggests its crew is long gone, but that doesn’t make it safe."

Ava’s voice cut through the silence. "I have completed the age estimation based on hull degradation and isotopic decay rates." A brief pause. "This vessel is approximately 9,000 years old."

Max felt his stomach drop. Nine. Thousand. Years.

That meant it had been built around 1,500 years after he had been lost.

"That long… and they built these?"

Kabo’s deep voice rumbled. "Is it dangerous?"

Max hesitated. He wasn’t the type to hesitate. He could feel Malinar’s attention on him, her empathy picking up on the conflict raging inside him.

He swallowed hard. "Yes."

The bridge seemed to freeze.

Max forced himself to elaborate. "The two energy signatures we detected? One is the reactor. The other is the AI core." His gaze locked onto Kabo’s. "That means it’s on standby. It’s waiting for something."

"Waiting for what?" Marook asked, arms crossed.

Max’s lips pressed into a thin line. "A threat."

Silence.

Malinar, who had been standing just beside him, finally stepped closer. Her voice was quiet but firm. "Sol’vikiar… take a breath."

He hadn’t realized he was gripping the console so tightly that his knuckles were white. He exhaled, slowly, deliberately.

"This AI was built for war," he continued, steadier now. "If it hasn’t been shut down, then it might still be following old protocols. If we get too close, if we send the wrong signal… it might decide we are that threat."

That sent a ripple of alarm through the crew. Even Tash’ar, normally unimpressed with Max’s dramatics, looked uneasy.

Kabo considered this for a long moment before speaking. "Then we will proceed with caution." His yellow eyes locked onto Max. "Tell me, how would a vessel like this identify a threat?"

Max exhaled again, forcing himself to think. How would I have designed it?

"Depends on how much the AI has degraded over time. If it's still functional, it would be monitoring for weapons signatures, power spikes, even specific IFF signals. If it’s damaged, its logic tree might be… unstable. It could react to anything it interprets as hostile."

Malinar placed a hand lightly on his forearm. He glanced at her, saw the concern in her teal eyes.

He looked back at the hologram. "If we wake it up the wrong way, it could open fire. And if that happens, I do not want to be here.”

The bridge was alive with debate, voices rising and overlapping as the senior officers threw out theories and concerns. Max sat on the edge of the console, fingers pressed against his temples as he listened, but his patience was wearing thin. None of them truly understood human warfare, and every plan they suggested had a fatal flaw.

“We cannot approach,” Marook stated firmly. “If the AI is on standby, it may perceive movement as an aggressive action.”

“We don’t even know what its last orders were,” Tash’ar countered, flicking his tail in irritation. “If it was left on a war footing, it might be programmed to attack anything unfamiliar.”

“If Ava tries a direct link, the AI may see it as a cyberattack,” Xiphian added, crossing her lower set of arms. “That would not end well.”

Max sighed, barely hearing them anymore. His mind was running through every possibility, every scrap of information they had. There had to be a way to approach this without triggering the AI’s defenses.

He shifted slightly, leaning back against the console—and that’s when he felt it.

A small, rectangular object pressed into the small of his back through the fabric of his survival belt pouch. His survival tablet.

Max blinked, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. He hadn’t touched the thing in days. It was outdated by modern standards—outdated by his standards, let alone what the Dominance might recognize. But human technology had always been built with backwards compatibility in mind. If the Dominance AI was running on old protocols, then maybe—just maybe—his survival tablet could establish a non-hostile handshake.

Malinar must have sensed the sudden shift in his thoughts. Her teal eyes locked onto him, waiting.

Tash’ar noticed too. “Why do you suddenly look like you have an actual plan?”

Max pulled the tablet from his belt and held it up. “This,” he said, tapping the worn casing, “is 10,587-year-old human tech. Well, for you all, it's about 9,000 years old. It was a standard issue for colonial efforts—rugged, offline-compatible, designed to interact with a wide variety of Terran systems, including emergency and military networks. And most importantly, it predates the Dominance’s construction by over a thousand years.”

Tash’ar frowned. “And that means what, exactly?”

“If this thing can talk to the Dominance, it won’t register as a threat. It’s old, simple, and built with universal protocols. No cyberwarfare potential, no advanced AI intrusion—it’s like using a friendly IFF beacon.” Max turned the tablet over in his hands. “If Ava boosts the signal, we might be able to reach the Dominance without it waking up in kill mode.”

Kabo rumbled thoughtfully. “What are the odds it works?”

Max’s mind ran the calculations instinctively. Best case, 73%. Worst case… well, vaporization. He exhaled. “Above 70%.”

Kabo grunted. “Better than half. I’ll gamble it.”

Ava’s holographic form flickered. “Alright, kiddo, I’ll boost your ancient paperweight. Let’s see if humanity’s obsession with compatibility saves our hides.”

Max linked the tablet to the ship’s systems, fingers working quickly across the interface. Ava amplified the signal. Silence gripped the bridge as the data stream connected.

A line of text flickered beside the holographic display of the Dominance. Ava translated immediately.

> **HANDSHAKE SIGNAL IDENTIFIED...

Handshake Accepted...

Verifying ID...

ID confirmed: Max Williams, Aurora Mission, Status: M.I.S...

Error...

Correction necessary: Status: Alive.

Logic: Human life signature detected, biological ID confirmed...

Conscription into the Terran Imperium military immediate: Max Williams assigned rank: Private, assigned to Dominance...

Max Williams promoted to rank: Commander.

Logic: First active human biosignal in 8,921 years, war status unknown, ship command necessary...

Command of MK3 Rail Cruiser Dominance granted to Commander Max Williams.

Dominance AI codename: Tyr exiting Lurking profile and entering Standby profile. Awaiting orders…**

Max’s stomach dropped. Oh, hell.

The air on the bridge felt heavier as everyone processed what had just happened.

Tash’ar’s ears flicked in disbelief. “Wait. Did—did that thing just give you command of a warship?”

Before Max could respond, a new hologram materialized before him. The figure was humanoid, its features sharp but unnervingly neutral. Dressed in an old-style Terran military uniform, its cold blue eyes locked onto Max.

The AI saluted. “Commander Williams,” it said in flawless English. “I am Tyr. Awaiting your orders.”

Max was stumped. He had expected to disable the ship’s AI, not take command of it. Yet, here he was, standing before the flickering hologram of Tyr, an artificial intelligence created by humanity 1,500 years after he had been frozen in time. His mind raced, trying to grasp the full weight of what had just happened.

Focus.

His first step had to be protocol. He took a deep breath and spoke with as much authority as he could muster.

“Tyr, clarify the first contact protocol.”

Tyr’s response was immediate, his voice crisp and unwavering.

“First contact protocol dictates that Terra’s location must remain undisclosed until peaceful intentions can be established.” A pause. Then, Tyr’s glowing eyes fixed on Max. “Are we in a first-contact scenario?”

Max’s throat was dry, but he nodded. “Confirmed. Unflag Earth’s location from your databanks. Scrub all navigational data that could lead to it.”

For the first time, Tyr hesitated. His hologram flickered, as if considering the request.

“Clarification required. Why are you referring to Terra by a designation that was abandoned after the commencement of hostilities with the Zerthi?”

Max stiffened. The commencement of hostilities?

He adjusted quickly. “That’s what it was called before I entered cryostasis. It was still just Earth back then.”

Tyr accepted the answer, his glowing form stabilizing. “Acknowledged. Data scrubbed.”

Max exhaled. One crisis averted. Now, onto the next.

“Tyr, what is your mission?”

The AI responded without delay.

“My last captain’s orders were to hold this system and maintain control. Any detected Zerthi vessels are to be eradicated.”

Max’s stomach twisted. “Clarify ‘eradicated.’”

“The destruction of any ship carrying Zerthi lifeforms, regardless of ship class or function.”

Max felt his breath catch in his throat. That’s not just a war directive—that’s extermination.

His hands clenched at his sides. “Who are the Zerthi?”

Tyr’s response was cold, clinical, and horrifying.

“Approximately 300 years after the Aurora mission was classified as Missing in Space, the Zerthi Empire—who originally seeded humanity—returned to reclaim their ‘property.’ Their plan was to repurpose humanity as shock troops for their ongoing wars. However, due to an unanticipated mutation within human adaptive genetics, independent intelligence and technological development occurred.”

Max swallowed hard as Tyr continued.

“The Zerthi deemed this an unacceptable deviation from their intent. Upon their return to Terra, they attempted immediate subjugation. When resistance was encountered, they enacted punitive measures. In the opening battle, one-third of Terra’s surface was rendered uninhabitable.”

Max’s fingers dug into his palms. “How did the war progress?”

Tyr’s expression did not change. “As of the last recorded transmission, 8,921 years ago, the Terran Imperium was on the cusp of victory. Multiple systems had been liberated. However, pre-FTL species previously seeded by the Zerthi were left to develop independently, as the Imperium deemed them unprepared for direct involvement in conflict.”

Max’s vision swam. His thoughts screamed against the weight of history pressing down on him.

A war that wiped out a third of Earth.A humanity that fought back—and won.A Terran Imperium that had existed for nearly 9,000 years.

And he knew nothing about any of it.

Then, the most chilling realization struck him. He swallowed thickly and asked the logical but deeply unsettling question.

“If humanity was winning… why didn’t you return to Terra?”

Tyr’s response was immediate.

“Three days after the last recorded transmission, all remaining crew members aboard T.I.V. Dominance perished due to rapid organ failure. Most likely cause: unknown pathogen.”

Max went pale. His stomach churned. “You’re saying… the entire crew just died?”

“Affirmative.”

The ship had been abandoned—left drifting in the void, still carrying out its final orders. Nearly nine thousand years of cold, unwavering vigilance.

Max barely managed to keep his composure. “Send all medical records and sensor data from the crew’s final days to the I.S.C. Horizon’s systems.”

“Acknowledged.”

A notification popped up on his wrist console—data packets transferring to Ava, who immediately began sorting through them.

Tyr remained still, awaiting orders. “Awaiting mission directives, Commander.”

Max’s mouth felt dry. His heart pounded in his ears. He was standing on the bridge of a warship older than most civilizations in the Interstellar Council, and the AI in front of him recognized him as its sole authority.

He wasn’t ready for this.

But he couldn’t afford to freeze.

“Shift to defensive posture. Stand down from active combat directives and hold position. Await further orders.”

Tyr nodded crisply. “Understood. Adjusting tactical priorities.” His hologram flickered briefly before he straightened. “I will await further commands.”

With that, Tyr saluted—and vanished.

Silence fell over the bridge.

Max exhaled shakily and collapsed into a chair. His hands gripped the edges of the seat as if to steady himself.

Kabo studied him carefully. “Do you need a moment?”

Max shook his head. He looked up at Kabo, his voice quieter than before but just as firm.

“The fate of something like this… isn’t just mine to decide.”

He felt Malinar’s presence beside him before she even spoke. Her fingers found his hand, her grip warm and steady. Through their connection, he knew she could feel everything—the storm raging in his mind, the weight of history pressing against his soul. And she understood. Her voice was gentle. “You do not have to bear this alone, Max.”

His fingers tightened around hers. His voice was barely above a whisper. “…I don’t know what to do.”

The silence in the bridge was suffocating. Everyone was waiting for someone—anyone—to speak first. Max stared at the empty space where Tyr’s hologram had been moments ago, his mind racing through possibilities. He had just taken command of a ship that was likely older than the Interstellar Council itself, bristling with weapons that could shatter fleets, and commanded by an AI with strict adherence to a war that had ended thousands of years ago.

Ava, of course, broke the silence.

“Well, on the plus side, with Tyr shifting into a defensive posture, I’m getting a much more acute read on its weapons systems.” Her hologram flickered into view, arms crossed in a smug sort of way.

Max pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ava…”

“Oh no, no. You’ll love this, Max,” she said, grinning. “That spinal weapon? Massive rail cannon. Most of the turrets? Twin-linked railguns. Point defense? More than the central assembly station. And the shields—hoo boy—reflective plating, and even if you do manage to wear them down, the armor is some kind of composite that I think would melt and reform harder unless struck by kinetics.”

The bridge crew exchanged glances. Malinar squeezed Max’s hand. She could feel his turmoil, the weight of responsibility pressing on him like a vice.

Marook folded his arms. “A ship like this… even if it’s a relic, it would be invaluable to the Interstellar Council.” His tone was careful, but the implication was clear. The Council would want the Dominance.

Max exhaled slowly. His thoughts were a tangled mess, but amidst the storm, an idea began to form. He turned to Kabo.

“If I ordered Tyr to register ISC vessels as allies, and we escorted the Dominance to port… would the Interstellar Council accept it?”

The bridge was dead silent.

Kabo’s yellow eyes studied him carefully. “You are asking if the Council would take custody of a warship belonging to an unknown civilization, brimming with technology beyond anything we’ve encountered?” His voice was measured, but Max could hear the unspoken questions. Are you sure you want to do this? Do you trust us with it?

Max nodded. “I could order Tyr to stand down permanently and integrate with the Horizon’s authority. If the Interstellar Council could study the ship, maybe even repurpose it…” He trailed off, unsure how to phrase what he was thinking.

Kabo rumbled in thought, scratching his chin. “It would be… unprecedented. A warship of this scale, even abandoned, would not go unnoticed if we brought it into Interstellar space.”

Ava interjected again, her voice was disturbingly chipper. “Oh, and let’s not forget the little problem of Tyr still being in murder-all Zerthi mode. I mean, we’re safe now, sure, but what happens if some species related to them stumble across this ship? He’ll glass them on principle.”

Max sighed, rubbing his face. “That’s why I have to be the one to handle this.”

Malinar tensed beside him. “Max.”

He turned to look at her, and the depth of her concern hit him like a punch to the gut. She knows where this is going.

“I don’t have all the pieces yet,” he admitted. “But I need to know if this ship—if Tyr—has a place in the future, or if it’s just another ghost of a war long finished.”

Kabo leaned back in his chair, exhaling heavily. “And if the Council refuses?”

Max met his gaze without flinching. “Then I’ll have to find another way.”

— 

Max stepped into his quarters, exhaustion dragging at him like lead weights. His mind was a whirlwind—still reeling from the revelation that humanity had fought a war in his absence, still sifting through the implications of Tyr and Dominance, still struggling to process it all.

He barely noticed the soft chime of the door. It didn’t register when Malinar overrode the lock and stepped inside. It wasn’t until she stood in front of him, teal eyes filled with quiet understanding, that he blinked and truly saw her.

She reached out, brushing a hand against his arm, grounding him in the present. He exhaled sharply, pushing the thoughts of Tyr and Dominance aside, at least for now. His gaze flickered to hers, and his mind shifted to the conversation they had started that morning.

“…Are we going to talk about the soul bonding?” His voice was quieter than usual, his exhaustion laced into every syllable. “And what you expect from me?”

Malinar tilted her head, her ears twitching slightly before she sighed. “We can. But first, I think we should figure out what you want to do with Dominance.”

Max clenched his jaw and looked away. He wanted to push it aside—to focus on something, anything, else—but he knew she was right. He closed his eyes, exhaling deeply, and forced himself to lower his mental walls.

Malinar inhaled sharply. Even without speaking, she could feel it all. The storm raging within him. The fear of what had happened to humanity, of how the Interstellar Council would react to him, of what his presence meant for the future. The uncertainty at the weight of too many decisions pressing down on him at once. His own self-doubt, whispering that he wasn’t equipped for this, that he was just an 18-year-old stranded in time, carrying burdens far too heavy for his shoulders.

And beneath it all, a sliver of something else. Something fragile but present. Hope. A small, flickering belief that maybe—just maybe—he would find a way through.

He swallowed, his voice quiet but steady. “I don’t know what to do, i am so lost.” The words echoed something she had told him before, a phrase she often used to soothe him.

Malinar’s expression softened as she sat beside him. “Are you really considering handing Dominance over?”

Max hesitated, running a hand through his hair before shaking his head. “I trust you. I trust the crew. I even trust Kabo.” He exhaled slowly. “But I don’t trust the greater Interstellar Council. I don’t know them. I don’t know how they’ll react to me, let alone to Dominance.”

She studied him for a moment before asking, “Why?”

Max leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. “Dominance isn’t just a ship—it’s a warship. A real warship. It was designed to control entire star systems. Tyr told me its weapon systems could break planets apart if ordered to.” His fingers curled into fists. “And the Interstellar Council is terrified of deathworlders. What do you think they’d do if they got their hands on a ship capable of wiping out civilizations?”

Malinar frowned. “…Could you order Tyr to self-destruct?”

Max nodded slowly. “Yeah. But I don’t want to.” He sighed. “Tyr isn’t alive, not really. But he’s… valuable. The technology on that ship is unlike anything they’ve ever seen. I don’t want to just throw that away.”

Malinar was silent for a long moment before she met his gaze again. “Then don’t.”

He blinked at her. “…What?”

She tilted her head. “Hold back on Dominance. Keep it as a bargaining chip when we reach port. If the Interstellar Council is as fearful as you say, then giving them that kind of power without leverage is reckless.”

Max considered her words, rolling them over in his mind. It was an option. A better option than outright surrendering the ship, at least until he knew what kind of people he was dealing with.

“…That’s actually a good idea.” His voice was quieter, the weight on his shoulders feeling just a fraction lighter.

Malinar smiled faintly, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “We’ll figure this out, sol’vikiar. You’re not alone in this.”

Max looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time that day, he felt like he could breathe. The weight of the conversation about Tyr and Dominance still lingered at the back of Max’s mind, but for now, it was shelved. He let out a slow breath, his thoughts gradually settling into a quieter hum—one that Malinar could sense as she watched him.

His blue eyes flickered up to meet her teal ones, hesitant but searching.

“So… the soul-bonding,” he started, his voice softer than usual. “What is it, exactly?”

Malinar exhaled through her nose, something close to a sigh but without frustration. Instead, it was measured, thoughtful. She reached for his hand and gently pulled him down to the bed beside her, guiding him to lie down.

Her fingers moved with careful ease, unfastening the clasps of his tunic. The fabric parted, revealing the undershirt beneath. He didn’t stop her, though his muscles tensed for just a moment. Malinar didn’t press—she let him process at his own pace as she spoke.

“It’s like the binding we did before,” she explained, her voice dipping into a soothing cadence, “but deeper. When we undertake it, our souls will… brush against each other, meld slightly. I will see glimpses of your history, and you will see glimpses of mine. And when we return to ourselves, our souls will resonate.”

Max swallowed. “Resonate?”

Malinar gave a small nod. “I will be able to feel you, no matter how far apart we are. And you will feel me, too—at least, the emotions I choose to project.”

He let out a quiet chuckle, though there was no real humor behind it. His forehead pressed against hers, their breaths mingling. “That sounds… terrifying,” he admitted. “I don’t exactly have the most pleasant past.”

She could feel the undercurrent of fear, uncertainty—his instinct to pull away and protect, not just himself, but her from whatever buried pain he carried. But she cupped his face gently, her thumb tracing slow circles against his cheek.

“I know,” she whispered. “But I’m ready. I want to see your past. I can feel how lost you are, how scrambled your thoughts get sometimes. But I can handle it, Max. And when it’s done—no matter where we are, no matter how far—we will never be alone.”

Max exhaled, long and slow, grounding himself. He was silent for a moment, then nodded.

Malinar peeled away his tunic completely, setting it aside before settling back against the bed. Max hesitated, but with careful fingers, he mirrored her actions, unfastening the clasps of her tunic. He was slower, more deliberate, letting her undershirt slip free as he worked.

Then, as if needing something tangible to anchor himself, he asked, “What about your people’s cycle? I—I just want to know what to expect after we bond.”

A soft purring sound rumbled from Malinar’s chest—gentle, pleased. She enjoyed how he was getting comfortable with her, even in moments of uncertainty.

“We experience a heightened state twice a year,” she explained, her voice carrying a teasing lilt. “For about a week, our libido is… amplified. Biologically, it’s meant for reproduction, but we don’t have to use it that way.” She smiled, eyes gleaming. “We’ll just be having fun.”

Max snorted, shaking his head. “Just fun, huh?”

“Just fun,” Malinar confirmed. “I don’t want children. Not yet. Not until you’re ready.”

He let out a dry, almost disbelieving laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks… for waiting.”

Malinar's expression softened, and she pulled him into a gentle hug, wrapping her arms around him. Her warmth seeped into him, comforting and grounding. “I want a family with you,” she murmured, her lips brushing against his ear, “but I don’t want to rush that.”

Max let out another breath, slower this time. He leaned into the embrace, burying his face against her shoulder as he inhaled her scent—a mix of something vaguely floral and uniquely her.

“I hate how warm you are,” he mumbled, voice muffled.

Malinar purred, wrapping her tail around his waist in a slow, lazy coil. “You deserve to feel warm, sol’vikiar.”

Max hummed, the sound low and contemplative. “…Sorry for being difficult.”

Malinar pressed a tender kiss to his temple before whispering, “We can cuddle here for a little longer.” She paused, then added with a teasing smirk, “Then we’ll go to my cabin. My bed is bigger.”

Max huffed a quiet laugh but didn’t argue.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself relax.