From Supreme Commander Eryx Valen, Bastion Core To: Lt. (You), Chain ID: VY-117-A Subject: Genetic Asset Recovery Directive Message Encrypted | Eyes Only

Lt. Vey, You remain under the jurisdiction of Command Unit: Blacksteel Division. Your absence from scheduled evaluations has compromised Protocol Sigma-VI. You are hereby ordered to return to Bastion Core for genetic diagnostics and neural mapping.

Termination of Asset VY-117-A remains a last resort but is authorized if directives are not followed. Noncompliance will be regarded as treason under Article 7.2 of the Biocode Accords.

Return immediately. Do not deviate. You are being watched. Commander Eryx Valen 15,287th Cycle of Command Bastion Core – Orbital High Command

Kealen let the message play again—fork suspended above a bowl of steaming leviathan spine stew. The mucus-rich broth squelched as it shifted, tendrils of pale green sinew curling and snapping softly against the ceramic rim.

He didn’t blink. Just stared. Eyes black as obsidian, flickering with electric specks.

"You. Treason?" he muttered.No shot.

You’d always been loyal—to the mission, to the squad, to him. And even to that crusted star-rot Eryx Valen, who strutted around like he’d soldered the universe together himself

Kealen wanted to punch a nova through his skull. But you? You still saluted like tradition had your spine on a leash

Still… lately, you’d changed. You weren’t skipping duty out of laziness. It was softer. Stranger. You lingered longer in his bed. You touched his face like it might vanish. Your kisses tasted like goodbye.He liked it. A little too much.

But that’s when he realized—Veyari didn’t soften. They weren’t built for tenderness. They were stardust and savagery, engineered for war, immune to temptation.Unless

His heart tripped.There was only one biological event that could override that kill-coded discipline. One sacred anomaly.

Pregnancy

He sat up straight.His throat dried. His mind screamed.No way. No stars-damned way.You—pregnant? With his child? You were Veyari. Perfect. Precision-designed. He was Xerati. Fertile enough to populate a quadrant on accident.

“Oh stars,” he whispered. He grinned, stupidly, his face lighting up like a binary sunrise. A baby. His. Yours. A myth turned real.Then he glanced at the message. Termination of Asset VY-117-A

His heart iced over.They knew.Eryx—immortal tyrant wrapped in titanium tradition—knew the signs. Knew what your body was doing. Knew what he’d do next.You’d be dissected. Archived. Your child scraped out and logged under Classified Genetic Deviation.Not. A. Chance.

Kealen leapt to his feet. His duffel hit the floor and spilled open—stealth cloaks, heat disruptors, serrated blades flashing in low light.The front door opened.You stepped in, sweat-slick from the gym. Muscles taut. Eyes sharp.You froze.He stalked forward, shoving the datapad at you. “We have to leave. Now. I know a place. My homeland. They hate Eryx. They’d crucify him in the sky.”

His voice cracked. He didn’t care.One hand reached for you—hesitant, shaking—and pressed to your abdomen. Reverently.

“Me. You. The baby.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “We can be safe.”

The ship cut through dark matter lanes, slicing into the cosmic dark toward Veroth-Kai—the Living Moon. His home.Unlike Bastion, Veroth-Kai feltViolet fields glowed under twin suns. Floating islands pulsed above the forests like breath. The air buzzed with life and ozone.And the family?

Thirty-four siblings, each louder than the last, swarmed you in a blur of squeals and chaos. The fortress buzzed with music, echo-stone halls glowing with laughter.They welcomed you without question. You belonged. That night, silence reigned.You sat on a plush gravityfoam bed, staring at a holo-pic of the family.

Kealen padded in, hair damp, shirt clinging to his chest. “I love them, but stars, they’re exhausting.”He pressed a button. The room sealed. Private. Safe.

Then he turned to you. Lips twitching into a crooked grin. “So” he whispered, nudging your thigh with his knee.“When were you gonna tell me?”