Pronunciation Guide:

Jalan – JAH-lan

sekfet – SECK-fet – impure – a derogatory word implying a tainted or undesirable bloodline

Sorruk – SOAR-ruck

Thras'ka

Harsan stood back in the shadows, observing the young sharin'atharr. He sat, head bowed over the gilded blade that lay across his lap, his own sword tossed into the corner of the training chamber, dried blood still coating its obsidian surface. Nearly a day had passed. The killing had shook him deeper than the assassin had anticipated. Natharrak had underestimated the bond Auran had shared with the Singing Blade. If he knew of the young one's struggle, he wouldn't hesitate to kill him once he delivered what the Shan desired. Or perhaps he planned to kill him anyway. Harsan couldn't be sure.

He turned to leave, Auran's rumbling voice stopping him. "If you have something to say, say it." He lifted his head to meet Harsan's gaze, hard amber rooting him to the spot. He sighed, stepping into the harsh crimson glow of the circles, striking a neutral posture. He held no weapons, but neither did he fear Auran's wrath. His pupil was skilled with a blade, but not that skilled. "It's time."

Auran rumbled softly and looked down again.

Anger flickered inside his chest. Such mourning was irrational. There was no shame in vengeance. Small, feathery whispers of guilt tickled his ear, but he ignored them, brushing them off. Later. He had to ignite a fire in this young one's spirit if he were to endure.

"Get up," he hissed, taking a step closer. "The Midnight Blossom burns and the Thousand Blades have your son."

His head snapped up, amber eyes bright and alert. "What?" he breathed. He watched as Auran grabbed his darkblade and set about vigorously cleaning and sharpening it. Harsan tapped his vambrace, one of the walls opening to reveal a set of armor. Their clan garb. Recovered from the bowels of N'tharralis and remade. Black as the pit of a ravenous void star and as light as cool mist. If Auran was to represent his clan, he would do so with their blessing. It gave no room for doubt of his lineage. His young pupil stilled for a moment, his hands forgetting his blade as his eyes took in the gift. He growled lightly in appreciation and returned to his sword. Harsan huffed. The stubborn young fool. He'd refused to let it go even when he'd been dying. He'd found himself strangely moved then as he'd crouched over his bleeding form. To be so defiant in the face of inevitable defeat. To believe in honor when he had none.

The schick of Auran's dark blade as it slammed into its sheath echoed around the chamber, a harsh shriek following as he shoved the singing blade into a plain, leather case. He strapped on the armor, briefly pausing to admire the heft, how it clung to his skin without restraining his movement and the subtle clan symbols engraved into its dark hide. Harsan growled as Auran strapped both swords to his back. His pupil ignored him, securing their straps across his chest.

"How can you carry the very sword that slew your parents?" He could not help but ask. It defied all reason of everything the young one had been told.

Another hard amber glare. "It's a trophy. Nothing more," he rumbled darkly. A challenge. He was daring Harsan to dig at the fresh wound and see what color blood spilled out. He backed down and tried a different avenue. "What will you do when you confront the shan-rai?"

Auran ignored him, swinging a black cloak around his shoulders.

A harsh warning rattled from the assassin's throat. "Do not do anything foolish. I know where your true loyalty lies."

"I am loyal to my clan—"

Harsan rumbled threateningly. "That day I cut you down in the Tunnels you cried out a name."

His pupil went rigid.

Harsan hissed the name softly. "Ahandra."

Auran growled, his life flame burning brighter. He was angry. Good. He backed down again, fists unclenching. "You must keep your distance. You sealed the treaty. Show interest only in your son."

The young warrior growled, then turned heel and strode out of the room, his cape flaring out behind like dark wings.

Harsan clasped his hands behind his back, listening until Auran's steps faded and silence returned.

Foolish. All of it utterly foolish. And pointless. A precious pawn in mad dash for power that would leave him broken either way. He hadn't the will to break that spirit with the horrible truth. So he'd lied. Fed his dreams of redemption. Lies. All of it. There was no redemption. His clan had gone too far. There was only vengeance. Only death.

He chanted this to himself as he walked away from the fading circles of light and back into the folds of the dark passages and twisting corridors. Only vengeance. Only death. Only vengeance. Only death.

,|- '/, -|; /-'

Hands held down her arms and head, the muscles of Ahandra's female captor's palms and fingers tensed in case she tried to fight again. A continuous growl shook her body. She was exhausted. And pissed. Her gaze flickered to the door. An older guard stood inside it, his iron grey eyes never wandering for a second. Thick cords of muscle still clung to his bones beneath his fading olive skin, a multitude of scars marking him as a veteran that took his job seriously. Two others had been posted outside after she'd torn free, knocking out one healer and giving the other a nasty black eye.

Saira cleaned her now, wiping away the blood and sweat and rubbing a cleansing, scentless liquid over her body. She snapped at them to back off and ordered her to sit up with a sharp click. Ahandra begrudgingly obeyed, glaring at the healers while the elder helped her dress. The top straps looped around her neck, allowing her top to comfortably support her aching breasts. A knee length leather breechcloth followed. Saira ticked irritably as she padded away to store the jars and dirtied rags.

Ahandra wanted to bolt. She wanted to find her son. Her anger, rather than burning out the more exhausted she became, had intensified. Everyone in the room could smell it and their tension levels had risen in response. She focused on her breathing, remembering what Auran had said about the power of threitak. She'd watched him meditate before. There was no way she could possibly drive the thought of her helpless son from her mind. She decided to use her anger on itself, fueling her focus as she slowed her breathing, her growls steadily morphing to soft rumbles. Saira rattled, still annoyed. "So, you've decided to behave?"

"For the moment," Ahandra managed to reply stiffly. It wouldn't take much to set her off. "I don't want them," she clicked, cocking her sharply at the guards, "to touch me."

"That's up to Sorruk."

She looked back at the guard watching her from the doorway, arms cross, feet spread apart, his level gaze never wavering from her for an instant. He'd taken her down so swiftly, she hadn't known what was happening until the females had her clamped down onto the table beneath their claws. He hadn't even bruised her. Ahandra's rumblings faded out and she withdrew from their staring contest. He'd have her flat on the ground before she could even think of fighting.

Saira motioned for her attendants to leave, folding her hands into her wide-sleeves. She clicked at Ahandra to follow, Sorruk and his two warriors fanning out in a crescent formation behind them. They walked in silence for a bit, allowing her to take in the breathtaking architecture she'd ignored during her raging as they dragged her into the medical chamber. For all the species' savagery they were capable of wondrous splendors. They eventually stopped before a set of beautifully carved alabaster doors gilded with gold. Saira rumbled. She smelled anxious. "I would advise you to keep your head down. My son's first mate," she hissed irritably, "does not tolerate insults from those she deems inferior. If you want your son, you do whatever it takes to control your temper and keep your mandibles still."

Ahandra tensed as the doors peeled silently open. Her son's first mate. Jaiendra shan'ra. Supposedly the most beautiful female in all of Kuuroch. And the most powerful. Perhaps she was the one who had separated Seinu from her. Saira might be prickly, but Ahandra couldn't see her being cruel.

Her anger shifted to the silk-draped female languidly standing in the light of the mid-morning suns, their rays streaming through ivory pillars. Through them Ahandra could see Kuuroch sprawling out below, the sight breath taking. And painful. Sunlight hit her tired eyes suddenly as she walked forward and she winced, sucking in a sharp breath. She'd forgotten how bright the surface was, having only spent a few hours conscious above ground. Saira rumbled at her to keep moving. She took a shaky breath, taking her time as she navigated the blurry floor, the spirals etched into its surface not helping her growing headache. Kalai did it on purpose, she bet, her anger rising slightly at the thought. Thankfully, whatever Saira had rubbed onto her was stifling her musk.

They stopped several paces away, Ahandra bowing stiffly as she followed Saira's lead. She squinted as she came up, Jaiendra positioned perfectly to allow the suns' light to shimmer across the folds her gossamer clothing. Her dress was practically sheer. It was something the girls operating in their private golden rooms at the Midnight Blossom might wear for high paying clients. The shan'ra's ruby eyes coolly assessed her, flicking up and down her body, her mandibles curling slightly in disdain. "I must say, I'm a bit disappointed. Rumor was she was completely feral."

"It appears the Shadow Stalker has tamed her," clicked Saira. Ahandra looked at Saira, confusion furrowing her brow. The elder gave her a quick, sly smile. Two and two quickly came together. Ahandra tensed her mandibles. This was either going to be really interesting. Or really bad.

The shan'ra began slowly circling her, keeping two arms length at all times. Ahandra stood perfectly still, her eyes nearly adjusted to half-shadows of mid-morning. Silk whispered across the ground as the female stopped directly in front her, cocking her head and rubbing her fingers nervously, hesitating. What was she doing? Ahandra tried not to stare at her face. She'd learned to stare too long or too much was considered rude and aggressive and only those with considerable authority and rank were permitted to breach these unspoken social rules. Then, like a heron craning forward to inspect a potential morsel of prey, she stepped forward, head still cocked to the side. She reached a clawed hand out to touch her face and Ahandra felt her hackles rise. Instinctual or simply anger at the one who'd taken her son, she grabbed the shan'ra's wrist. "Don't. Touch me," she growled.

Jaiendra went still with shock, her mandibles twitching as they tried to formulate some kind of response.

In the next moment, rough hands separated the pair. The white stone bit into her knees as she was shoved to the ground, handcuffs tying her hands behind her back. A gentle but firm touch held down her head. Sorruk.

The shan'ra hissed at the other two guards shielding her. They bowed and moved off a short distance, the scent of tension flowing off them. Her gossamer robes shivered in the sunlight as she straightened them, indignation wrinkling her flawless features. "How," she finally managed, "how can you talk?" Her head snapped to Saira. "You! You gave it words? Our words?"

Saira clicked thoughtfully. "Saa, I suppose I did. I was curious."

"Damn your curiousity!"

The elder chuffed but said nothing.

Ahandra was tired of being ignored. "Where's my son?"

The shan'ra gave her an imperious glare, as if she'd just been spit at. "Safe. You are not fit to be its caretaker."

"He's my son," she growled back, the hand resting on her crown tensing ever so slightly. Try something, it dared.

"That infant is the seal. The treaty is useless without him. And we can't have you running off with him… or worse."

Ahandra fumed, struggling against Sorruk's strength. Jaiendra flinched when she barked. "How dare you think I'd kill Seinu. I'd die for him!"

The shan'ra clicked, incredulous. "That weak little thing has a name?"

Ahandra growled, louder this time, adding a sharp edge to it as it slid up her throat. "You wait till Auran finds out what you've done."

A dark look passed over the shan'ra.

"Ahandra…" Saira softly clicked in warning.

"That reminds me. Where is that cowardly Shadow bastard?"

Ahandra concentrated on her breathing, trying to assemble her thoughts. Think before you talk, Ahandra. You can't win. Just say 'I don't know'. It's that easy.

"Perhaps he abandoned you after he saw what a pathetic pup you produced. It's the only reason to explain his absence. You were so easy to capture."

Ahandra lunged. The next instant, Sorruk had his arms locked around hers, pulling her upright against his chest and squeezing just enough where any movement was incredibly painful.

The shan'ra went rigid. Heat flushed down from her glowing red eyes to her neck and chest. "How dare you! You may have forgotten this when you whored about in that lawless labyrinth, but I own you. So if you ever want to so much as see your little sekfet bastard alive again, you will answer and do as I say. I have no issue ending your life if you dare disrespect me again, the Shan and your Shadow bastard's agreement be damned."

Ahandra's breath caught in her throat. Jaiendra's scent bled with disgust, smothering her anger. Seinu. Oh God, she'd nearly gotten herself killed because she couldn't control her temper. He'd be left at the mercy of the shan'ra. She pictured the squalling pink bundle she'd held mere hours ago, helpless and alone. It felt like a lifetime since she'd held him.

Jaiendra stepped forward until barely a hairsbreadth separated them, her perfume filling the air. "Where is the sharin'atharr?"

Ahandra took a deep breath, the sweet scent making her lightheaded. "I don't know."

"Oh, I think you do."

"He wouldn't tell me. He said it was better I didn't know."

Jaiendra growled. "Lie to me again and I'll make sure you never see your son!"

Ahandra squeezed her eyes shut. She wouldn't betray Auran's trust. A cold blade suddenly pressed against her throat and Ahandra's eyes snapped open. "Since your son doesn't mean that much to you, maybe your worthless life does."

Saira suddenly stepped forward. "Shan'ra, this will achieve nothing. Once the Shadow Stalker realizes you have his bondmate he will come. There is no need to spill blood."

A voice of reason, thank God. Ahandra held her mandibles still, staring into Jaiendra's digust-filled red eyes, not daring to move a muscle.

Jaiendra hissed and the elder backed down. "Crawl back into your hole and hide Saira. I have no need of you anymore." She turned back to Ahandra, eyes like burning coals. "One last chance. Where is—"

"Enough!" A voice shouted across the courtyard. Jaiendra lowered her blade, growling in displeasure. Sorruk did not release his hold.

"The thras'ka is mine to interrogate, Jaiendra. I thought I made perfectly clear the last time we met."

Jaiendra sheathed her blade and waved her hand. Sorruk let her go, slipping off the cuffs and following after his mistress.

Ahandra rubbed her wrists, twisting around to look back. Another female was standing toe-to-toe with the shan'ra, both each giving the other a long, hard stare before Jaiendra growled and stalked off, Sorruk and his warriors in tow.

Ahandra released her pent up breath. "Saira, remind me to punch Jaiendra in the face next chance I get." Saira snorted, but Ahandra could tell the thought pleased her. She turned to the stranger who'd quite possibly saved her life, bowing her head. "I don't know who you are, but ak'nandei." When she looked up, the female appeared taken aback. Just like the shan'ra. Ahandra straightened, slightly annoyed. Apparently everyone assumed she was ignorant and violent. Great.

Silence lingered between them, each studying the other. She wore amethyst robes that bunched over one shoulder, the flowing silk draping around her back, kept from brushing the ground by a ringlet connected to her middle finger. A flower surrounded by a sun marked the middle of her forehead, several other tattoos dotting her exposed shoulder. Jaiendra, the most powerful female in the city, had conceded to this female. And she wanted to interrogate her as well. She frowned. "You're welcome."

The regal female's brow furrowed. "What?"

"It's what you say when someone thanks you."

Now she looked even more puzzled.

Ahandra rumbled and crossed her arms.

Both of them nearly jumped when Saira started cackling. She was laughing so hard she was bent double, a hand grabbing her side, the bells on her skirt tinkling. It was Ahandra's turn to be confused. "Um, do you know why she's laughing? 'Cause I'm stumped." The female hesitantly smiled. "I think it's because you just gave a lesson in etiquette to the high priestess of Kuuroch."

Ahandra's jaw dropped slightly. "You're joking."

\-' -|- -',

"According to my students, I have a very poor sense of humor," Asharah smiled ruefully. "I am Asharah, high priestess of Kuuroch and its territories, successor to Iseneth the Wise."

She watched as the thras'ka absorbed the information. She was impressed. And embarrassed, heat flushing her cheekbones and crest. She'd placed a hand on her hip, rubbing the back of her neck with other. A strange posture. "I'm Ahandra. I don't really have a title." She shrugged and put her hands down.

Asharah was unbalanced. This Ahandra was an alien. And yet she was not. Had she met her and not known what she was she would've dismissed her as a mildly strange yautja and went about her business. Were their species really so similar? She rumbled, troubled at such thoughts.

"Ahandra." She gestured for her to join her in a shaded area overlooking the city. The thras'ka stood by her, a little close for the kai's comfort, drinking in the city. "Wow…" She whispered. Asharah glanced at the city, her heart tightening. Darkness was coming. Yet Kuuroch remained as much the same as it had the past year, completely unaware of the terrible plot to destroy it utterly. She turned her attention back to the strange female, neither huunan nor yautja, yet both. This female, this strange, simple looking female was connected to the heart of the prophecy. Auran Draken'atharr.

"Ahandra?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"Jaiendra may have asked this of you, but I need to know. Where is your bondmate?"

Sadness spread over the young female's face and she looked away. "I don't know."

Fear laced through her. Had Natharrak found him? Were they too late to save him?

"He promised to return… when the baby was born."

"How long has he been gone?"

"Over a cycle."

Goddess help them, anything could have happened.

"Why are you interested in him? You're the kai."

Asharah hesitated. How much should she confide? "Your bondmate is important in more ways than one. He is destined to save Kuuroch. There is much I need to tell him and not much time left." The female's eyes widened at the revelation. It was strange, but the longer she looked at her, the more familiar the female seemed somehow.

"Do you want Seinu too?"

"Who?"

"My son."

Asharah cocked her head. So that's what Jaiendra had been threatening her with. "Iyan. I wish no ill towards your son." Just like that. She wasn't going to examine the infant. She didn't need to consult the Goddess about whether the thras'ka had a soul or not. Her determination to eliminate them if the thras'ka turned out to be an unholy creation suddenly seemed so extreme and short-sighted. Jaiendra had greatly angered that day they first met. Now she realized she had been reacting to the shan'ra's challenge, not the Goddess' desires.

"Ahandra, give me your hand."

The female hesitated, then placed her smooth, bronze hand into her forest green.

"I am going to do a blood reading," Asharah explained. She traced the female's palm, lightly massaging it to relieve any tension and increase the blood flow beneath the skin. "Blood is life. And all life is connected to the Creators. We read the blood marks to hear their voices and interpret their will." She could feel the other tense her palm.

"How do you read blood marks?"

"I will cut here," she traced her light palm with a claw. "And here. And will catch your blood on this holo-sheet. Saira, do you have a knife?"

The elder huffed. "Of course. Only a fool walks around unarmed." She handed her a simple blade. The thras'ka made no objections, but her copper eyes never left the blade. "Try to relax," Asharah chittered. She pressed the blade between the soft folds of skin between the forefinger and the thumb. Slikt! The thras'ka hissed and flinched. "One more time." She growled this time, as the second cut burned an 'X' into her skin. The high priestess quickly turned her palm over. "Hold it out flat and let the blood flow until the body heals itself."

It took several minutes, the bright streaks of red imprinting onto the flat holo-sheet. She studied the thras'ka's face while she watched her blood drip onto the glowing paper. Why did she feel so familiar? The thought nagged at her as Asharah quickly rolled the sheet up once the ritual was complete, Saira clucking and muttering while she bandaged the female's hand. "I will study this. It may help understand Auran's destiny. Now I must leave you." The healer and thras'ka bowed as she quickly left. Firak should see this as well, she decided.

;|- \'- |',

A soft beeping filled the chamber. Natharrak rumbled, agitated. This noise disturbed his calculations. The formula was almost complete. Soon, his army of destruction would be ready. "Sir," clicked Nadurak meekly, "it is from Jalan. He wishes you to see something."

The Master rumbled angrily. "What is it?"

"He has sent us a live vid feed. He is speaking to someone."

"Let us see it," he hissed, leaning back in his chair.

The hologram crackled to life in midair, the grainy image clearing to reveal two females.

"—the attack on the Midnight Blossom, a rigged plasma cannon went off. Captain Dralus was killed in the explosion. I have been nominated to succeed him."

"Congratulations on your future promotion, Tcharr. Now I must insist you let me take this one to the healing bay. Her hand needs cleansing."

Natharrak let loose a raspy growl. Saira. Her time was coming soon. One did not steal his clan's secrets to genetic manipulation and live to get away with it.

"Oh?" purred Jalan. He looked down at the young female, her hand bandaged. The Master's breath caught and he leaned forward. "It can't be," he whispered.

"The kai wanted to do a blood reading," clicked the elder as she tried to insert herself between them.

"I see. Well, I won't waste your time. We'll come for the thras'ka when you're finished. A holding room's been prepared for her."

"My son," the young female blurted, moving past the elder and closer to Jalan. "Can you bring my son to me?"

He cocked his head. "I'll see what I can do."

Jalan followed their figures as they hurried out of sight. "Master," he whispered finally, "did you see it? The resemblance?"

"Saa." Natharrak growled, his eyes bright. "Well done, young sharin'atharr."

"There's something else…" he hesitated. "She… When I touched her, she saw my thoughts. She… saw memories."

Natharrak's browed furrowed. Jalan sounded unsure of himself. It was unlike him. "I will speak with you soon. Observe the female for now."

The vid feed cut, the hologram dissipating like smoke. The Master rose and turned to look out of the window at the top of the Iron Tower, the pale Star Tower gleaming in the distance, rising above sprawling pinnacles and swathes of verdant jungle. "I've underestimated the importance of the thras'ka, Nadurak. I also underestimated the previous kai's involvement with the Shan's plans."

"Master?"

"Iseneth," he hissed softly. "The thras'ka is Iseneth the Wise."

"The previous kai? But she is dead," rasped his assistant.

"Saa, but she must have given her genetic template to Saira. The female is an almost exact copy of the kai."

He heard Nadurak gasp. He finally understood. "Only a kai can open the Book of Prophecy. Iseneth's blood runs through her veins. Since we can't kidnap Firak without risking discovery, we'll use her instead! Once Jalan becomes Captain it should not prove too difficult."

"It will also help us ensure control over Drakenatharr," Natharrak clicked. His assistant nodded vigorously, his pockmarked face twisted with glee.

The thras'ka's image burned before him. The same copper eyes, bright with youth. The same bronze skin, smooth and supple. She was the key to unlocking the prophecy. Such a foolish oversight of Firak to hope he'd never recognize Iseneth's younger form. Once she opened the book, he would know exactly how to defeat the Shan and his minions once and for all. The the Star Tower would crumble and all of Kuuroch would burn as it tore itself apart, her jungles razed to ash and rivers turned to blood. Only then would his ancestors' blood be sated. Only then could he die in peace.

-', /- '|,

Author's Note: Thank you so much to those who reviewed and favorited last chapter. It keeps me motivated. Please review Chapter 25 and let me know your thoughts! Also, for those who don't stalk my profile page ;), I'll be working on a trilogy currently entitled "Son of the Spear" after Forbidden Alliance concludes. For more updates, check out my profile page. I try and update it every few days, or at least once a week to let you know what's going on and how much progress I've made on each chapter. Thanks for reading and have a great week!