The death of an Abrasax Primary- at the hands of the Recurrence of Seraphi Abrasax herself, no less -ripples through the very cosmos. Not only is it a political nightmare, but an economical one as well. Investors are scurrying, the stocks are in chaos. The vassal families are all in a tizzy. The when's and what if's are flying like flocks of birds. Kalique Abrasax graciously steps in to assure everyone that things will be back to normal soon enough and not to worry their precious heads. The media likes to twist things and tell half truths. Disgusted, Hokulani switches off the console.
Contrary to the reports, the whispers, Balem Abrasax did not die that day the refinery went up in flames because some slip of a girl and her mutt. It had been terrifying, watching her Lord plunge to his death; she can still feel the moment her heart stopped beating. She had abandoned her search for the Recurrence and had thrown herself into that flaming abyss after Balem because she could do no other. It had been her duty. Her privilege. She might have saved his life, but neither of them came out unscathed.
Broken bones are nothing compared to the metal that had broken through her Lord’s body. It had been hell, having to keep him alive while escaping the explosions and complete collapse with the imminent threat of Jupiter’s vicious storm closing in all around them. But she did it. She had dared not return to Orous with Balem in the state he was, ripe for assassination. He has many Alcazars scattered through out space, and she chooses one she knows intimately and is well protected, if hardly used by her Lord. At least in the last few centuries.
It’s all matte gold and obsidian, perched on the edge of a canyon on a harvested planet orbiting a dead star. It’s the only building not fallen into disrepair, with a fantastic view of plant life burying all traces of human life. Not only is it orbited by offensive/defensive satellites disguised at rocks, but there are Sargorns and Androids also present. There is another Balem, stretched out near the door to Balem’s bedroom, black stripes laying against a sunset orange background. The tiger is massive, at almost six hundred pounds of pure power and nearly twelve feet long. Yet despite all this, there is a petite black ball of fluff curled up on his side napping; Kalapana is the alpha of the cats’ relationship despite the fact the tiger’s paw is bigger than she is.
Hoku has not let anyone in her Lord’s room other than the medical Androids. She doubts he wants to be seen like that. Broken. He lays in the middle of his large bed dressed in a feather light simple tunic, lean body swathed in bandages and hooked up to several slick machines to help aid his breathing and monitor his vitals. She sits in the chair at the side of the bed; she hasn’t left the room, taking meals (what little she has eaten) there and sleeps (when she can) on the chaise near one of the windows. She herself has healed from her wounds, her broken bones and scratches, mostly anyway.
Of her vast skills, healing takes the most out of her, hence why her Lord is still hooked to machines. In her desperate need to keep him alive, she has done the unthinkable. It is dark magic, yes, and at the time, had been her only option if Balem Abrasax was to live. He will hate her for it, she is sure, and perhaps might banish her from his side. She will endure any punishment he hands out.
Because he is alive.
That is all that matters.
