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The corridors were dark, too dark for your liking. It felt as though shadows clung to the walls like vultures, watching, waiting, ready to reach out and drag you back to the King’s chambers.
Tarr’kon walked ahead of you, his steps soundless, the quiet prowl of the most experienced predator in this castle, lethal and in total control. Almost unfair for the rest of his kin.
His armor caught the faint glow from the windows, glinting beneath what resembled moonlight, if the pale light hanging over this cursed planet could even be called a moon.
You obeyed without a word, following him closely like a lost puppy.
Your chest still ached, hollow and bruised with grief. You could already tell you wouldn’t sleep again, not for days, maybe longer. You were terrified of closing your eyes and seeing it all again. That moment. That sound…
He led you deeper into the castle, deeper than you had ever been. Every corner you turned you blinked, startled by how massive the structure truly was. It felt endless, every hallway opening into more corridors, more shadows.
You passed guards, armoured, disciplined, towering beings who simply nodded in Tarr’kon’s direction before turning away. That casual dismissal made your stomach twist.
What was going on?
Why wasn’t anyone chasing you? Dragging you back to your cell? Punishing you for wandering the halls after dark?
But then you remembered… Tarr’kon wasn’t just a soldier. He was a born weapon. A warrior whose very presence commanded respect. Others bowed to him just for existing. They didn’t question him and maybe that meant they wouldn’t question you beside him.
You found yourself wondering if the crimson of his skin was just biology, or if it was stained by the blood he had spilled over centuries of conquest. But then again, you doubted any creature here bled red like you.
He opened several doors along the way, each sealed behind coded padlocks, as though these particular halls were meant for a chosen few. The further you went, the darker everything became.
Eventually, new shapes appeared in the gloom, beings who were not Yautja. They worked at long stone benches, forging weapons under low firelight, murmuring quietly among themselves. There was steel, smoke, laughter. A strange, peaceful chaos.
You caught sight of the concubines, the same ones who had been there the day the king whipped you. Now they stood over armor pieces, speaking with another Yautja, their voices low.
No one bothered you. No one questioned why you walked beside the deadliest hunter on this land.
Some stared, some glanced, brief and curious, but nothing hostile. Nothing that made you feel unwelcome.
Confusion weighed on you until it became unbearable. You quickened your pace, reaching Tarr’kon’s side and tugging firmly at his hand to get his attention.
“Keep quiet,” he said simply.
And you obeyed, falling back into silence and two steps behind him.
You had no reason not to trust him. He had proved his intentions time and time again. The least you could do was follow him wherever he wanted.
Finally, you stepped out of the underground halls and back into the castle’s main corridors. Tarr’kon stopped outside a massive door and you instinctively moved closer, standing beside him as you eyed the gate.
He pressed his hand to a padlock. A muted click echoed from inside and then he pushed against the double doors, forcing them open with both hands.
The moment he pushed against the doors, your gaze lingered on his back. Your eyes traced the powerful lines moving beneath his skin as his muscles flexed, the heavy doors yielding to him without resistance.
Just this once, you allowed yourself to look at him in secret, like a sin you couldn’t resist but commit. It felt forbidden, but no one would have to know…
Even beneath the tight hide clinging to his torso, there was no hiding it, his strength was undeniable, striking.
You wondered if anyone had ever traced those muscles softly, with their fingers finding every part that made him shiver.
Has anyone ever told you how strong you look even when you’re not trying to?
Your eyes drifted to the faint scars crossing his back, the healed lines left by the King’s whip. You wondered if you were allowed to look at them at all, knowing too well you were likely the reason they existed. Wounds he never should have carried. Pain he had chosen instead of letting it fall on you.
A being so near untouchable and yet he was forever marked by injuries he could have avoided.
You forced your eyes away just in time, turning your attention elsewhere as he glanced back at you. Your expression was neutral, composed, almost nothing betraying the sudden softness that had crept into your thoughts for him.
The chamber beyond was enormous, dark, but warm. Soft amber and crimson lights burned along the walls, they looked like torches, yet their glow came from some technology far beyond human understanding.
For a moment, you almost felt like you had stepped into a human castle, something ancient, familiar and comforting.
You swallowed the feeling quickly.
You didn’t know what this room was for, but its atmosphere told you one thing instantly. This wasn’t a torture chamber.
Tarr’kon made no move to enter first. He waited for you patiently, until you stepped inside. Only then did he follow, the doors closing behind you with a thud.
“Is this your chamber?” you asked, eyes drifting across the low lit space, trying to make sense of why he had brought you here.
He nodded, his long dreadlocks swaying over his armored shoulders.
You turned slowly, taking in the room. Along the walls were trophies, bones, skulls, preserved relics woven into dark velvet displays. The space was vast but immaculate, every object placed with intention. It felt sacred and too personal.
Your chest felt heavy at the thought.
He had never brought anyone here, you could feel that truth lingering in the air. The room looked untouched, a sanctuary only meant for him.
“Are you safe… if I’m here?” you asked, stepping toward the wall of trophies. Your gaze slid over the bone and ivory, the polished surfaces shining beneath the warm lights.
“You worry about my safety?” he replied with a low, rough sound at the back of his throat, almost a scoff.
“If you haven’t noticed, anyone who comes near me is in danger,” you muttered, reaching toward one of the smaller skulls on display. Your fingers hesitated inches from it, stopping yourself before you touch it.
You expected him to scold you, to snap at you for daring to touch anything, but he stayed silent behind you, his broad frame leaning casually against one of the columns of his massive chamber, as though he was waiting for you to actually touch the trophies.
You drew in a slow breath as your fingertips grazed over the cold bone, more mesmerized than afraid. These were his life’s achievements… and he let you touch them without a single protest.
“How old are these?” you whispered, eyes tracing the strange alien shapes, bones warped in ways your mind could barely comprehend.
“Older than you,” he answered, still resting against the column.
“How old are you, then?” you scoffed, turning to face him, arms folding over your chest, head tilted in challenge.
“Definitely older than you,” he replied with the same stubborn confidence, finally pushing away from the column and walking toward the center of the room.
Your gaze followed him as he lowered himself into a burgundy chair, his red skin blending so seamlessly with the leather beneath him that he looked one with it.
A circular stone structure, that looked like a bonfire, sat between two matching chairs, one already occupied by him, the other empty.
You approached slowly, stopping beside the vacant seat. Tarr’kon reclined in his, one fist resting against the side of his masked head. He looked like he was waiting, expecting something from you.
He gave you a single nod toward the empty chair.
You glanced at it, wanting to argue, to say you preferred standing… but something inside your head whispered that you should listen.
So you sat. Arms still folded while you faced him.
A long, uncomfortable silence followed, the two of you simply watching each other, reading every twitch, every breath, every hidden intention in the air.
You had never been one to look away. Not when staring someone down. You had earned your place in this cursed land, even met the King’s gaze and held it without flinching as your life was about to end.
Tarr’kon looked at ease, almost relaxed as he took you in and you forced your focus onto his mask instead, tracing the fine details of the metal. Polished. Neat. Just like everything else he owned, even the parts of himself he kept hidden here.
The bonfire between you breathed warmth into the room, heat brushing your skin until your face felt flushed. But you doubted it was the fire alone that rose that heat, creeping up your neck and settling in your cheeks.
You rested your elbow against the armrest and leaned your head into your palm, mirroring his posture without thinking.
And still neither of you spoke.
Seconds stretched awfully long.
A quiet standoff where neither was willing to be the first to break. You watched him. He watched you. And the silence between you grew thick, charged, waiting to see who would break first.
But finally, he broke it.
“You know why I brought you here?” he asked, leaning forward, fingers lacing together.
“To show off?” you joked and regretted it instantly, clearing your throat.
What were you doing?
You were getting too comfortable and that was your problem.
You had one goal, to escape and yet your thoughts kept slipping, loosening around him. Around the quiet way he held himself, the way his presence felt strangely comforting, even as it sent your heart into a frantic beat.
Warmth spread through your chest while your hands betrayed you, trembling just slightly where he could see if he looked closely. Comfort and fear tangled together.
The contradiction made you clench your jaw hard enough to ache.
You didn’t have time for this. Not for warmth, not for curiosity, not for the way his silence pulled you in instead of pushing you away now. This place would eat you up alive if you let it.
You had a mission. Escape.
Not… whatever this was.
“That too,” he replied, a low rasp rolling from his throat.
So he is feeling comfortable too, you thought.
“What did you notice on our way here?” he asked, leaning back, sprawling casually on the chair.
“Different beings,” you answered unsure.
“What was different about them?” His voice remained calm.
“They didn’t look like the king or his guards. Those concubines… Why weren’t they in the king’s chambers?”
“I ask the questions,” he reminded you, though there was no real bite to his tone.
You nodded and mirrored his posture, sinking back into your chair.
“These concubines aren’t just for the King’s pleasure,” he said. “They want freedom and they are working for it.”
Your eyes widened at his answer. Despite claiming he would be the one asking the questions, he had given you far more than you had expected.
“Freedom?” you breathed, barely able to mouth the word.
“Do you still remember it?” he asked, leaning forward again. His dreadlocks brushing over his shoulders like ropes of ink.
His face was hidden behind his gleaming mask, but you felt his gaze lock onto you, heavy and suspicious.
“I never forgot it,” you whispered.
“Good.”
You stared at each other again, suspicion thickening between you like a vail you couldn’t push off your shoulders.
“Are you ready to bow to the King?” he asked suddenly.
And you frowned.
“You need to be alive to fight for your freedom,” he continued, tilting his head.
“Are you suggesting… we form an alliance?” you asked, voice careful, if not trembling.
“You will need to take orders from me,” he said, his tone flat.
“Are you really going to help me?”
“Are you willing to accept my help?”
And you froze.
His question struck you with the truth, as if he had offered his help before and you had refused it.
And maybe you had.
He had proven himself repeatedly, tending your wounds, instructing R’kai to watch over you, taking the lashes for you. You still didn’t know the reason behind everything… but you were certain it all traced back to you.
“I am,” you said softly.
Warmth stirred in your chest as the words left your lips.
“I’m sorry.”
Your voice cracked now.
“For everything… for the trouble I caused you.”
His body went rigid.
His hands curled into fists, then loosened again, like he was fighting his own thoughts.
“I was scared—”
“You don’t have to apologize,” he cut in, lifting a palm to silence you.
“I should have been more cautious with your human nature.”
“What does that mean?” you asked, eyes narrowing.
“You are softer than most beings brought here as peace treaties.”
You tilted your head in question.
“I mean your flesh,” he clarified. “Your spirit is… annoyingly stubborn to break.”
He let out a slow, heavy sigh.
“In order to see if someone is trustworthy, I need to know where they stand against the King.”
“My intentions were pretty clear from the start,” you shot back. “I’ve always been against him.”
“And against me.”
You leaned back, your mouth falling shut. He was right. You had been against him too, though he hadn’t exactly made it easy to be otherwise. His attitude had been provocative from the very beginning.
“Why did you push me so hard, then?” you asked. “You could have just—”
“I warned you from the start,” he interrupted. “I told you to kneel when I asked you to—”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were trying to help me?”
“Because I didn’t trust you. Isn’t it obvious?”
He spread his arms slightly, as though showing the truth.
“And now you do?”
“I trusted you long before this,” he admitted. “You were just making it difficult.”
“Difficult how?”
“By exposing my motives in front of those guards,” he growled. “You have zero survival instincts. Do you know that?”
“If you had told me—”
“If I had told you,” he barked, “you might as well have screamed my name while you were being whipped by the King.”
“You knew he was going to whip me?”
“Yes. And I couldn’t stop it. If I tried again, he would take my head.”
“…Again?”
The word hung between you like a poisoned blade, ready to push into your guts if you made one wrong move. And suddenly the room felt too suffocating, too charged, you could barely breathe.
He had defied the King more than once?
“Did you get your back whipped because of me?” you asked,
the same question you had dared to ask before, only now the truth felt closer you could almost taste it.
He didn’t respond.
Of course he didn’t.
“Why aren’t you telling me the truth?”
Your voice became loud as exhaustion took over you.
You were tired of running in circles, of knowing and not knowing.
“Because you don’t have to know.”
You swallowed hard.
“You want me as an ally? Then you have to tell me everything.”
You braced for him to shut you down, to dismiss you, to shove you back into the cold cell and leave you there with your questions piercing holes on your insides.
But instead… he nodded.
Barely.
Head bowed, mask lowered, gaze fixed on the floor.
It was the quietest confession you had ever seen in your life.
Your chest tightened, relief and dread twisting together inside your chest.
You clasped your hands together just to keep them still, to stop the thoughts escaping from your mouth before you were ready.
Then, you breathed in, filling your lungs fully before you breathe out.
“When you got stabbed…”
The memory clawed at your mind as you spoke.
“I mourned you.”
You heard the faint movement of his armour, a soft click of metal as his hands remained folded, elbows resting on his thighs, his gaze fixed on the floor.
And he still didn’t look at you.
But you didn’t look at him either. Your eyes stayed on the bonfire between you, watching the flames curl and die as the memory of mourning him crashed back into you like a cold wave. Grief pressed over your chest like a weight you were still carrying.
Another quiet click of armour sounded, closer this time. You knew without looking that he had lifted his head, that his attention was on you now. The awareness made your skin prickle, that old instinct rising, prey caught under a predator’s gaze. You kept your eyes forward, stubbornly fixed on the fire.
But there was no avoiding his voice.
A single word left him.
“Why?”
And it felt as if it stripped you bare.
An answer to his “why” meant the absolute exposure for you. It meant admitting the things you had never dared to name, the weakness you had hidden even from yourself.
But this time it was different.
This time, silence felt more dangerous.
Not saying it and locking it back inside felt like a death sentence, his or yours. As if whatever stood between you now would rot and fester if you didn’t tear it open with the truth. You didn’t know if you would be granted another day, another chance, another breath to explain yourself.
Before your mind could back away, before fear could pull you back into yourself, your mouth moved on its own.
The words came out forced and they had to fight their way past everything you had swallowed until now. Your voice shook, breaking in places you couldn’t control.
“Because you were the only one who had helped me.”
The words trembled, yet you didn’t stop.
“I knew you were helping me… even if I didn’t understand why. But when I thought you were gone—”
You shook your head.
“It didn’t matter why anymore. I felt it, right here.” You pressed a hand to your chest.
“I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I kept replaying every moment. I regretted talking to you, provoking you… I regretted you beating up those guards for me—”
“You regret that?”
He cut in before you could finish and your widened eyes snapped to his mask as his head tilted slightly to the left.
His voice had changed. Like he already knew the answer and was waiting to see if you would lie anyway. His mandibles clicked softly beneath the mask, a slow sound, questioning, almost amused.
You couldn’t see his face, but you could picture it anyway. Mandibles drawn into something like a knowing grin.
And he was right.
You didn’t regret it.
If that hadn’t happened, if he hadn’t torn through the guards searching for the one who hurt you, no one in this palace would have learned to keep their distance. No one would fear laying a hand on you. And through his violence, he had become your shield.
“No.” You answered, as a smirk curled your lips.
He nodded, like he had been waiting to hear exactly that.
“Did they stab you because you took revenge for me?”
Your voice got smaller now, afraid that speaking too loud might undo whatever peace existed between you.
He nodded again.
That was enough.
More than enough.
“You almost died because of me…”
“I don’t regret that either,” he said, his voice steady and certain.
And somehow that terrified you more than if he had shouted, more than if he had blamed you.
Because it meant he had chosen it.
You pulled in a breath, your next question refusing to be buried any longer.
“Why are you helping me, Tarr’kon?”
How many times had you asked this?
How many answers had you never understood?
How many times had he saved you without explaining why?
Your eyes stayed on him, searching his mask.
“Why me?”
“Because you’re different.”
His voice dropped, rough around the edges but still honest.
“I know you want freedom as much as I do.”
“But you’re free,” you whispered.
A short, bitter sound came out of him, a laugh, but nowhere near happy.
“Not really.”
He cut you off.
“I serve a King I don’t respect. A King who took everything from me.”
You just stared at him.
This enormous, scarred killer, built to rip things apart, feared by everyone who breathed near him, looking at you like he was the one trapped.
“Then why do you still serve him?”
He stood the second the question left your mouth, a long sigh escaping him.
He started pacing, restless, mask tipped up toward the ceiling where those strange carved shapes twisted like they were watching down on you.
“I told you,” he growled, “you ask too many questions.”
“You should know by now,” you murmured, “I don’t listen easily.”
“You are a pain,” he muttered, yet there was a softness buried under his accusation, his face still looking up at the odd spirals on the ceiling.
“I don’t think you can back down now,” you shrugged. “I’m your ally.”
“I regret it already.”
His tone echoed your own amusement. He leaned back against the wall, arms folding across his chest, his posture relaxed. No tension in his shoulders, no claws flexing like they were itching for your throat.
“Tarr’kon…”
You said his name quietly, testing how it felt in your mouth.
He didn’t speak again, as if waiting for you.
“I know your story. How you were taken by force… you and your brother—”
“Don’t.”
The word sliced the air between you. His voice was sharp, furious, his breath suddenly heavier as if fighting with his own self.
You froze for a second, your eyes going wide but then everything in you just… softened. The fight leaving you fast.
“I didn’t mean to offend you. I only meant…”
You lowered your gaze to the ground, your thumbs twisting together nervously.
“I know what they did to you. What he took from you. That’s all.” You swallowed, your throat feeling tight as you spoke the next words. “And I’m… with you.”
“What?”
His voice cracked on this single word, as if he couldn’t decide whether to believe you or push you away.
You lifted your gaze again, carefully, like even looking at him might break that fragile peace you had formed. Your chest felt heavy with everything you weren’t supposed to say.
“I’ll help you get your revenge,” the words tumbled out of you, before doubt could push them down your throat again
“Even if it kills me.”
You stood up before the promise could settle, before you could second guess the way it sounded like a vow you were already bleeding for. Your bare feet crossed the chamber, sinking into the thick pelt spread across the stone floor. Warmth crept up through your toes, before you drop to your knees, fingers brushing over the coarse brown fur underneath you.
“Why do you think this is revenge?”
His voice was moving closer now. His steps silent, as he followed you.
“Because you’re still here,” you whispered, barely enough to reach him. “After everything he took from you.” Your eyes lifted, landing on the thick column of his neck just below the mask, anywhere but the dark voids that watched you intently.
Your voice became smaller, reluctant and terrified of the truth you were about to unravel.
“You aren’t loyal to him, right? You want to dethrone him. Don’t you?”
You couldn’t see his face, but you felt the his stare anyway, hot, piercing, bleeding straight through the mask.
It traced your features, your throat, the stutter of your pulse at the base of your neck.
You swallowed hard, your heartbeat loud in your own ears, as you waited for him to decide whether you were worth the risk of trust.
Your eyes dropped to his feet and the second they left his mask, he spoke.
“Yes.”
One word.
But it wasn’t just any word.
It slipped like a confession he had been guarding his entire life.
And it felt like the walls could sprout hands and claws the moment it left his mouth, to rip you both open and feast on the secret you had just shared.
He crouched in front of you, his armour creaking softly, but the sound was loud in this suffocating silence.
He lowered himself until his masked face was level with yours, close enough that the faint vibration of his breath moved the air between you.
“I’ll help you,” you said, nodding to yourself.
Your hands fisted in the fur beneath you, knuckles paling as warmth flooded your chest.
But not the quiet soft warmth you needed. A flare so powerful that made you clench your jaw as you spoke the next words.
“I know what it means to lose everything.” You chuckled bitterly, your lips turning into a sad smile, “I owe R’kai…” you said in a quieter tone “I have to survive long enough to see your king burn. Only then will I rest.”
You raised your eyes finally, feeling him closer than ever, his cold body somehow emitting heat.
But his breath was what took you by surprise. It deepened, even under the mask you could hear that faint growl in his throat, that clicking of his mandibles that you had come to feel familiar with.
You didn’t know what he was thinking, but thankfully his body betrayed him like yours did.
You were caught in a fleeting moment of intimacy, your eyes turning from his mask to his neck, his rough skin glistening with what seemed like sweat and you wondered if you had ever seen him like that before.
Open, almost humane.
You opened your mouth to whisper his name but you stopped yourself as you saw him reaching for the side of his helmet. His clawed fingers carefully detaching a narrow tube with a quiet hiss, before gliding to the edge of the mask.
You swallowed your words down, anything that you had to say to him just vanished as you stared in anticipation.
Was he really about to take his mask off?
That same mask you had fought with your life to remove last time you were in a room together?
This felt almost… sinful.
His nails scraped faintly against the metal as he lifted the mask off, revealing his face piece by piece.
His mandibles unfolded first, dangerous, shifting with a loud click and you couldn’t but blink at the sight.
Everything on him was dangerous, even his face had weapons on it, ready to tear down flesh.
There was complete quiet except the faint crack of burning fire and his mandibles clicking.
Then his face emerged fully, harsh lines of constant worry adorning his face, battle scars that he wore with pride, solemn beauty as his dreadlocks fell over his shoulders with a soft rustle.
You found his eyes, looking between them as the contract hit you like the first time.
One eye gleamed gold, alive and shiny.
The other remained pale and still, almost scary in its emptiness.
You blinked again and again, because no matter how many times he revealed himself, it always felt forbidden, like seeing something the universe meant to keep hidden.
He set the helmet down, but his eyes never left yours.
“Do you trust me now?” you asked, gripping the fur under you so tightly your fingers hurt. But you needed something to hold on, anything to stop yourself from reaching out to touch him, to thread your fingers through his thick, rubbery locks.
“Do you?”
His voice was low, sounding even lower without the helmet.
But his gaze didn’t waver, not even for a second.
It pinned you there, burning through everything you thought you could hide.
There was nothing else in the room, just him, just you.
You felt your heart hammering against your ribs again, as you stared into that mismatched gaze of his.
It felt as if it was begging for answers.
As if he was waiting for you.
“I do,” you whispered.
And you noticed, for the briefest moment, his eyes flickering.
He broke eye contact, only for a fraction of a second, his gaze dipping to your mouth as the words fell from your lips,
then snapping back up to your eyes, sharper than before.
A shiver crawled down your spine as you noticed him. That tiny snap of his eyes that had you clench your jaw.
Because you knew you were doing the same thing with him.
Studying him, how his mouth worked, how his mandibles moved. And you knew now, he was just as curious as you.
“Give me your hand.”
His voice was guttural, rough, but the word came out breathless, almost like the same nervousness weighing down your chest had reached him too.
You gave him your hand slowly. Your fingers brushing his palm first, tentative, moving to brush against his talons before your palm finally met his. His skin was coarse beneath yours, foreign in texture, ridged and cold, yet he didn’t close his hand around yours. He simply held you there, his gaze still on you.
The quiet affection had your face turning hot, the closeness of him made you want to reach up and bring him closer, share that stubborn feeling in your chest through touch.
In that moment as your hands touched, you could truly see him, how enormous he was compared to you, how ridiculously small you must have looked before him. Everything about his body spoke of violence, of strength honed for destruction. He could crush you without effort, break you without consequence. And yet the way he touched you now held none of that threat.
His thumb pressed softly into your palm, almost hesitant. The way someone might hold a newborn baby, aware of their own strength and terrified of causing it harm. There was something fragile in it that made you smile to yourself.
Your eyes stayed fixed on your joined hands. You didn’t pull away, but you didn’t lean in. You just existed there with him, afraid that if you moved even an inch, he would let you go.
He couldn’t have been this soft before. There was an unmistakable uncertainty in his touch, uncertainty that came from inexperience or from someone who hadn’t dared to do this in a very long time. A beast built for brutality, scarred and damaged, trying to hold something delicate without breaking it.
The thought was almost tragic in its beauty.
He moved without warning, right when the closeness became unbearable.
A blade flashed into view as he retrieved it from the sheath at his ankle. Your gaze followed every motion as he slowly brought it closer, guiding it between your palms. The cold bite of the blade against your skin made you flinch.
“We usually let our ally cut our palm before we give our hands and seal the pact,” he explained. His eyes never left your hands, as though he couldn’t bear to meet your gaze.
“But you bleed easily, Z’kira.”
His voice dropped, quieter now, the unfamiliar word rolling thickly from his throat.
Your brows pulled tight, as confusion knotted between them.
“What did you call me?”
His thumb paused mid-stroke along the flat of the blade, like the question had caught him off guard, like he had let the name fall without thinking and now he would have to confess one more thing tonight.
His head tilted slowly, dreadlocks moving with the motion, until his eyes met yours.
You searched for whatever truth he was trying to bury behind his silence, but with no success.
The blade stayed between you, cool metal still resting against your skin. His thumb trailed a slow path, tracing the lifeline, the fate line, the small map of your palm, like he was memorizing it before he had to decide whether to cut it open or protect it.
You felt your pulse jump under his touch.
“Z’kira,” he repeated, softer this time.
The word sounded different when he said it on purpose, meaningful in a strange way.
But he stopped there. Didn’t elaborate. Didn’t explain if it was an insult, a title, or something worse…
“Let’s just make a pact without blood,” he said, the cool blade still resting between your palm and the pad of his thumb like it was waiting for you to move first.
“But I want to try this.”
You breathed the words and closed your fingers over his hand. The edge of it bit in so clean you barely registered the pain, you only felt pressure and then something warm sliding down your hand.
“I can’t afford you bleeding out—” His tone broke with real worry, but his eyes… his eyes were locked on your joined hands, gleaming, almost fascinated at the sight. Like the pain itself was secondary to what it meant, what it proved.
“It’s my choice.”
You pressed tighter. Warmth trickling down your hand. But when you glanced down, expecting red, you only saw green.
Thick, vivid green dripping between your fingers, staining the brown furs beneath you in dark, glistening drops.
His blood.
Not yours.
Your gaze snapped back to him. He hadn’t moved or flinched. Just watched his own blood well up and fall.
“Wait—”
You hesitated, angling your hand and squeezing harder until you felt your skin finally tear.
A soft hiss escaped you, but right behind it came a breathless, shaky chuckle, because now red joined the green, swirling together, soaking into the pelt in ugly, mesmerising streaks.
He soon made a sound too.
A guttural growl that started low in his chest and climbed up his throat, raw and satisfied, like something inside him had finally unclenched after years of being locked tight.
You’d never heard anything like it from him before, it wasn’t anger, or a threat, not even that rumble he sometimes lets when you are too close.
This was different. Primal. Instinctive.
“It’s like a painting,” you murmured, a small, soft smile tugging at your lips.
You stared down, your red blood spilling over his green.
The colours clashed and blended into something grotesque and strangely beautiful, like art born from open wounds.
Pain made visible. You caught him watching it too, the same quiet fascination as before.
His chest rose and fell heavier now, breaths deep and uneven. A low click sounded from his mandibles, followed by another throaty growl that had you gulping.
Slowly he released your hand and the blade dropped between you with a dull metallic clank.
His fingers closed around your hand again, careful this time, turning it over to study the soft pad where the cut still wept. His thumb brushed the edge of your wound and his mandibles clicked again, once, twice, like he was trying to make sense of what it meant for a human to bleed.
You smiled at the way he handled you, the way his blood-stained fingers moved like they were afraid of breaking you.
He reached for a strip of cloth hanging from his belt and began wrapping your palm with it. The fabric was already stained green from his own cut and now red soaked in beside it.
“Are we allies now?” you asked, eyes bright with a hope you hadn’t felt in so long it almost pained you.
“You’re too reckless,” he answered, softly. His talons remained careful, tucking the end of the cloth so it wouldn’t slip. “But yes. If you die, I die.”
“If I die… you what?” Your voice trembled, your eyes widening, like you couldn’t believe the words that had come out of his mouth.
He seemed too calm, compared to you, as he spoke again.
“This pact, it doesn’t make us just allies. If you die, then I’ll follow. I’ll take whoever’s life took yours… or die trying.”
The confession sounded casual, almost careless, like he hadn’t just handed you the weight of his own life into your hands.
Your throat tightened. Your hand started shaking under his, cold and foreign, like it didn’t belong to you anymore.
His head lifted slowly. His golden eye found you, sliding down to your lips, pressed thin as worry carved lines across your face.
“I choose what I want to make a pact for,” he said with a nod.
He had purposefully made this bond heavier, deadlier and unbreakable, without a second thought.
Without even asking you.
“Tarr’kon…”
His name passed your lips when he moved to stand.
Your fingers snapped around his hand, still bleeding onto the floor, green drops darkening the fur.
You held on without knowing why, only that letting go right now felt like falling into a merciless void.
You didn’t have words. Not after everything. The pain you had to endure, the grief, the nights you had screamed all alone until your throat bled raw.
So what could you even say now?
How could you explain that your pain dulled a little when he was closer?
That his presence, even silent, had become the only thing left for you in this cruel land?
You pressed your lips tightly together.
A small, frustrated sound escaped them, a broken moan that said everything you couldn’t force out.
You had lost so many pieces of yourself here.
Your humanity had thinned into a thread. But some stubborn part refused to die completely. That human ache, the need to connect, to hold onto something alive and breathing, still burned inside you.
You wanted to thank him, to confess what had been growing quietly between your fights and your silences this whole time.
To admit that every time his name crossed your mind your chest ached.
You squeezed his palm harder, your thumb pressing under his cut, trying to drag the words up your throat. All that came was a shaky exhale, your hands trembling and your eyes stinging hot.
“I know.”
His voice rumbled low, the word leaving him easily like a breath.
It felt as if he had already heard every unsaid word crowding behind your lips.
You blinked up at him and nodded twice, grateful that you didn’t have to speak this time. Even if you tried, the bile rising in your throat would’ve choked the words out.
Tears gathered at the corner of your eyes but didn’t fall.
You wouldn’t let them.
He stood up then, letting your hand slip from his as he walked back to his seat. The absence of his touch hit you colder than the stone floor you were sitting on.
But you trusted that he knew.
All of it, the hate you had once bared for him, the way it had reshaped into something else completely. The need that lived under your skin now, aching and constant. The fear that whatever this was between you, could never survive this place.
Your finger traced the fresh bandage over your palm.
A small, tired smile made its way to your lips. He had wrapped you so quickly, so carefully, while his own hand bled unnoticed.
He hadn’t even flinched at his own blood, but the second yours appeared the frown between his brows was instant.
You never liked the war inside your head. But this feeling, this warm, confusing pull toward him, wasn’t the worst thing you had to carry anymore.
You had worse demons to face now.
And slowly falling for him wasn’t the most terrifying among them.
a/n: Tarr’kon’s revelation is changing everything now… His life long plan? The hardships he had to go through all alone? The fact that he wanted to trust MC sooner?? 💔 I missed you guys so so much 😭😭😭 can’t wait for your comments! I’d love to know what you think of this turn of events 💚 talk to me in the comments 🥰
Here's a mysterious, silhouetted look at my new main sona! Eventually, once everything's ready.
So canonically, I'm not her yet. But I am. As such, you may refer to this sona as "NON-CANON" for the time being. As a temporary alias, yknow?
I won't be using this model onstream yet, only on social media! I just couldn't stand not having an actual giant robot model as my main way to present publicly any longer hfashgaf
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