7. Thillak

The plan was simple in design, yet intricate in execution.

To the world outside, I'd be gone, a specter of the past.

But the looming question echoed within me:

Who would take my place?

As I stood near the window of my quarters, the incandescent lights of Ikmal painted the horizon with their glow.

I was reminded of the world I once ruled, and the sacrifices needed to protect it.

Cayggod was my trusted lieutenant and had been by my side through the thick and thin of the empire's affairs.

The mere thought of handing everything to him was tempting.

But as the saying goes, heavy is the head that wears the crown.

I couldn't, in good conscience, let him bear the brunt of the chaos that would surely ensue.

My fingers ran along the table, feeling the cold, smooth surface under them.

The key wasn't in selecting someone competent; it was about choosing someone desperate enough, someone with enough greed and folly to believe they could seize the empire and yet not truly understand the weight of it.

And then it hit me.

Who better than the antagonist of our recent past?

Druin, the very definition of ambition without foresight.

The one who'd been a thorn in our side, who believed he could ascend to power by brute force alone.

Perfect!

He would be more than eager to step into my shoes, basking in the illusion of his triumph.

And with him at the helm, even temporarily, it would divert attention from our escape.

While he reveled in his new-found "power," we would find our freedom.

I sat down, pulling up the comm link.

The soft blue glow of the screen illuminated the room, casting eerie shadows.

I dialed Cayggod, the familiar beep-beep rhythm in my ears bringing a sense of urgency.

"Boss?" came Cayggod's gravelly voice, rich and deep.

"Cayggod, I've figured out the next step in our plan. I need you to set up a meeting. Discreetly."

"With whom, boss?"

A smirk danced on my lips. "Our friend Druin."

There was a momentary pause. "Are you sure about this?"

Although Cayggod knew nothing about my plan to fake my death, he had nonetheless been working at my side for so long he knew when something dramatic was in the works.

I leaned in closer to the comm, the warmth of the screen against my cheek. "Yes, my friend. It's necessary."

Cayggod nodded. "Consider it done."

The call ended, and I was left with the ambient noise of Ikmal once again.

The weight of the decision made my mouth dry, and I took a sip of water, the coolness spreading through me.

Just then, the door slid open, and Isla stepped in, her fragrance wafting through the air, a mixture of fresh flowers and a hint of something uniquely her.

The sight of her calmed my racing heart, grounding me amidst the impending storm.

"Everything okay?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

I pulled her close, relishing in the softness of her touch, the warmth of her embrace. "It will be," I murmured, kissing her forehead. "It will be."

* * *

The heavy steeldoors of my office slid open with a smooth mechanical precision, revealing the towering, yet familiar silhouette of Druin.

His presence felt like a storm rolling in, cold and dark.

I could smell the aroma of gunmetal and what might have been old leather, emanating from him.

His appearance, as always, was rough as if he had just stepped from the pits.

The memories came flooding back — the countless confrontations, the unending quest for dominance, the way he ruthlessly pursued his objectives, in particular, his vendetta against Ohara.

The fluorescent lights of my office flickered subtly, casting a sheen on his pale face, emphasizing the cold, calculating glint in his eyes.

"Thillak," he acknowledged with a curt nod.

"Druin," I greeted with a tinge of disdain. "I hear you've been busy."

He circled my desk, his movements predatory.

His sharp ears picked up the rhythmic tick of the analog clock on the wall, a relic of a bygone era. "Always, Thillak," he smirked. "But then, we're both men of ambition."

I reclined in my chair, eyes locked onto his. "Your ambition needs to be checked," I said, leaning forward. "Your vendetta against Ohara ends now."

His laughter was cold, echoing in the expansive room. "You think you can command me?"

The soft hum of the air filtration system juxtaposed against our heated exchange.

I had planned this encounter, ready to push him to the edge. "Your obsession has become a liability. It disrupts the order, creates chaos. I can't support it."

His anger was palpable.

The temperature seemed to drop, and a cold draft slithered across the floor, making me momentarily regret not wearing thicker shoes. "He wronged me, Thillak," he hissed. "You of all people should understand the need for revenge."

"Your personal vendetta is affecting the empire. My empire."

His eyes flashed dangerously. "Then maybe you shouldn't be the one leading it."

I could feel the energy in the room building. "Is that a threat?"

He growled, a low, guttural sound.

But instead of replying, I stood up and leaned over my desk, getting right into his face. "If you believe you're fit to run this empire, by all means, challenge me."

His nostrils flared. "You always were too arrogant for your own good," he snapped.

The moment had arrived.

I pushed further. "And you always were a small player in a game too big for you."

He roared, rage consuming him, and lunged at me, his fingers closing around my neck.

I let him, making sure to exaggerate my reaction, gasping and clawing at his hands as my vision blurred and darkened.

I bit my own lip, allowing blood to mingle with saliva, spitting it out for added effect.

With a final, dramatic push, I staggered backward, hitting the floor with a heavy thud, making it look worse than it was.

To the onlookers, it would seem as though he'd mortally wounded me.

My vision, intentionally half-lidded, caught his triumphant sneer.

To my guards, it appeared that their leader, their beacon, had been gravely injured.

They hesitated, uncertainty and fear in their eyes.

The bad guy snapped at them. "Do you see? This is the fate of those who oppose me!"

My men, seeing my ‘mutilated' form, nodded hesitantly, their loyalty to me momentarily overshadowed by their fear of him.

Inside, I was smiling.

The play was set, the actors in motion.

The next phase was ready to begin.

* * *

The atmosphere wasthick with tension as I stealthily moved through the labyrinthine passages of the prison.

Every corner held potential danger, every sound threatened to give me away.

I could feel the rough texture of the walls beneath my fingers, their coldness seeping through my gloves as I steadied myself around each corner.

My olfactory senses tingled with the stale smell of decay and despair that permeated the corridors.

Finally, I arrived at a nondescript cell, as far away from my former quarters as possible.

Pausing for a moment to listen for any approaching footsteps, I pulled on a glove with the access code bedded inside it and placed it against the display.

The door slid open silently, revealing a dimly lit room.

As I pulled down the hood of my cloak, my eyes immediately found Isla, seated on the cot, her silhouette illuminated by the soft blue light emanating from the window.

I could hear the soft hum of the ventilation system, an omnipresent background noise, a constant reminder of our confinement.

"How did it go?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

I could see the worry in her eyes, their deep blue hue almost glowing in the dim light.

"Smoothly, all things considered," I replied, moving closer.

The smell of her shampoo, a hint of lavender and vanilla, wafted towards me, comforting amidst the otherwise sterile environment.

As I approached, she stood, her gaze never leaving mine.

I was hyper-aware of the sensation of her hands as they reached out to me, her touch cool yet inviting, our fingers intertwining.

We stood there for a moment, just holding onto each other, seeking comfort in the familiar embrace.

Her voice was soft, barely more than a whisper. "Did they believe it?"

I nodded. "They did. But now, we need to be careful. We've played our card, and the next few days are crucial."

She squeezed my hand gently. "I trust you, Thillak."

The feel of her palm against mine sent a warmth cascading through my body.

I brought her hand up to my lips, pressing a gentle kiss against her knuckles. "I promise you, Isla, we'll get out of here. And when we do, I'll help you remember everything."

She looked deep into my eyes, a slight frown marring her brow. "It's strange," she began, her voice soft and contemplative, "even though I can't recall our past lives as you do, being with you feels… right. Familiar."

I smiled, drawing her into a warm embrace.

The fabric of her clothes was soft against my skin, and I could feel the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against my chest. "That's because our souls have always been connected, through countless lifetimes. It's only a matter of time before your memories come back. I'll take you to moons and planets where we lived our past lives and, with any luck, it will all come back to you."

We sat down on the cot, side by side, leaning into each other.

The sound of our synchronized breathing was a soothing melody, a beacon of hope in a world of uncertainty.

The dry, recycled air only seemed to heighten the sweet sensation of her lips as they met mine.

For a while, we lost ourselves in each other, the world outside fading away.

* * *

The unforgivingcoldness of the floor seeped through my thin mattress, making sleep a distant dream.

While the cell was designed for one, it felt bigger with Isla present, and more suffocating in its stillness.

I lay there, eyes closed, attempting to lose myself in the rhythm of my own breathing.

Suddenly, a touch — gentle, hesitant, and warm — rested on my shoulder.

My eyes snapped open to find Isla's deep blue gaze watching me intently, as if she were trying to decipher the mysteries of the cosmos within my irises.

She had a vulnerability in her eyes that felt so genuine, so familiar.

In response to her unspoken invitation, I watched her gracefully shift back, making a small space on the cot beside her.

I rose, keenly aware of every movement, every heartbeat, every intake of breath.

Sliding into the cot beside her felt like slipping into a familiar embrace, the kind you've known for eternities.

The slightly rough texture of the prison-issue bedding only made the silkiness of her skin smoother as our bodies inevitably drew closer.

Tentatively, I reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

It was a simple gesture, yet it carried with it the weight of countless lifetimes.

The fragrant scent of her, a combination of fresh rain and a hint of something floral, wafted to my nose, causing memories — not just of this life but of countless others — flood back.

Memories of dancing in ancient ballrooms, of sharing secrets beneath canopy beds, of running through fields bathed in the golden hue of dawn, and of whispering sweet nothings in the still of a starlit night.

Isla's lips parted slightly, her breaths shallow and filled with anticipation.

Leaning closer, I captured her lips with mine.

The initial contact was soft, gentle, a mere brush of lips, but the current that passed between us was electrifying.

It was a kiss, yet it wasn't just a singular act — it was a collection of moments, a cascade of lifetimes echoing in that single touch.

With each press and pull, I tasted the sweetness of forgotten memories, the bitterness of past separations, the tang of adventures shared, and the rich, heady essence of love rekindled.

The flavor was more intoxicating than any wine, and I found myself drowning in it, wanting to savor every drop.

She reminded me of a stormy night, a sunlit day, a snow-laden morning, and a fiery sunset all at once.

I felt the gentle press of her hands against my chest, the fingers tracing lines as though they were sketching our story, a tale as old as time.

The soft moan that escaped her throat was music to my ears, a symphony of longing and fulfillment that resonated deeply within my soul.

Drawing back slightly, I looked into her eyes, the pools of blue reflecting the galaxies of our shared histories.

Our foreheads pressed together, and we took a moment, basking in the afterglow of our kiss.

There was a deep understanding between us, an unspoken bond that needed no words, no explanations.

"You remember," she whispered, a tear escaping from the corner of her eye.

It wasn't a question but a realization.

I nodded, brushing the tear away with my thumb. "I've always remembered. Every moment, every glance, every touch."

Isla smiled, pulling me close again, our hearts beating in tandem. "Then let's not waste any more time," she murmured against my lips.

And as the night deepened, two souls, intertwined across time and space, found solace in each other's embrace, rekindling a love that had withstood the trials of countless lifetimes.