1. Loelle

one

Loelle

The twin suns burn hot over the Aridium droughtlands. Just like every other scorching dawn on this forsaken desert planet. Most settlers wisely keep to the safety of the shielded outstations when the day's heat reaches its merciless peak. But us smugglers don't have that luxury out here on the trails. One day I'll have enough to give up this life, but until then, wherever the credits take us is where we survive… or don't.

I give my plan one last look—it's a simple mission, fetch and secure the goods by following the route Drix mapped. That was until we got tangled up by this unexpected sandstorm. Just our bloody luck to catch a swirler bursting out of the droughtland with no warning. The ominous crimson clouds rolling in on the horizon promise a sand-scorcher is brewing, not some minor dusting we can outrun.

"You sure about this job, Loelle?" The gruff voice of my business partner, Drix, crackles over the dunerunner's comm. "Couldn't be worse timing sliding into Terrax during a blasted sandstorm."

I squint against the harsh glare, pulling my scarf tight around my face to shield from the sand that whips around my dunerunner. Every breath tastes of grit, and the dry wind tugs at my clothes and hair.

"When has the timing of our runs ever been perfect?" I shoot back, starting my dunerunner's engine. "You worry too much for an old space hound. I've got us through worse storms than this thanks to my racing days."

My thrusters ignite with a roar, swiftly followed by Drix's engines rumbling behind me. We hover over the dune sea with me taking the lead, charting a southern course straight to the capital, Terrax. And right into the gathering storm.

"Yeah, well, those late nights hauling contraband through the slums on Huxaria was one thing," Drix grumbles. "But this is Aridium, and we're stuck on now, kid. You know the stories about what happens on this blasted rock."

I can't help but snort at his superstitious rambling. Space hound or not, Drix's just full of tales after too many cycles burning hull in hyperspace.

"Please, spare me another one of your hokey sun gods catastrophe myths," I say with a snort. "We both know those stories are just scrappers' tales to scare off anyone too skittish to navigate these droughtlands."

"Maybe true for some," Drix grumbles. "But even the most hardened scrapper gangs give Cinder Ridge a wide berth these days. And it ain't just about those old colony myths this time."

I roll my eyes. "Those desert cult loons still ranting about awakening sun gods?"

"From what I've heard, they're far more organized than just raving fanatics now," he warns grimly. "Whole operation based out of Cinder Ridge—capturing anyone unlucky enough to cross their path. Heretics, they call them."

That gives me pause. While most dismiss the Solara Nexus as harmless desert madmen left over from failed colony days, there's been too many whispers about them becoming a real threat—raiding outlying settlements, taking prisoners for their "cleansing" rituals.

"So just another bunch of scavengers robbing anyone straying into their den," I conclude flatly. "All the more reason to rush this run and loop around their turf."

Drix's uneasy silence speaks volumes. Out here, falling into the clutches of the usual underground gangs is one thing; at least you've got a chance to bargain if they want salvage or slaves. But landing on the Nexus' blacklist as a condemned "heretic"? That's a fate worse than slow death on this wasteland.

"Just keep us right on Terrax's location," I mutter, pushing aside the imaginings of their depraved purging rites. "With luck, we can slip through this gust unnoticed and be cityside before their patrols catch wind of us."

The swirler storm quickly envelops us in churning rust winds. Even my blast visor can barely cut through the stinging chaos. Too late to turn back now.

I keep my eyes locked on the navigation beacon, revving my thrusters to the redline and keeping close to Drix. This isn't my first time blazing a trail through hell and coming out scorched on the other side. And if things get too hairy, Drix and I have scratched out of sandier jams before.

"Watch yourself, kid!" Drix warns suddenly over engine roars and storm shrieks. "Sensor ghosts at two clicks and closing!"

A sick lurch twists in my stomach as three radar pings light up behind us. Dunerunners don't usually register on scans this far out in the droughtland. Which means we've just been ambushed by some uninvited company .

Three Dune Marauders rip out of the crimson chaos, their high-impact stun-blasters already firing concentrated plasma fury in bursts past us. These desert pirates probably made this whole sandstorm just to trap us in this corner of the dunes!

"Fuck!" I slam my runner into evasive loops and corkscrews, saturating our rear with blinding chaff flares. "Those buzzards are packing disruptors! Ride the swirl and shake them!" I shout, gripping the controls tighter. My heart races as adrenaline surges through my veins.

A sharp turn nearly throws me from my seat, but I hold on, muscles straining against the force. "Damn it, Drix, where are you?"

"We need to split," Drix replies, his voice tense.

It's risky but I trust Drix, so I split off in the opposite direction, leaving the confused raiders to joust amid their useless cannon barrage saturating the sandstorm. If we can just lose them in the dune crests and troughs, maybe—

An ear-splitting blast rips apart the storm behind me. I'm slammed sideways by the shockwave, fighting wildly to keep my runner from corkscrewing out of control. Through the hurricane of whipping dunes and flying debris, I glimpse one of the alien riders silhouetted against a blinding green glow—some kind of cylindrical cannon's barrel slowly rotating to track me.

Fuck, these aren't just scrappers out for our cargo! They want Drix and me dead!

My comm crackles amid the loud static as I wrench my runner back under control. But there's no responding signal from Drix—only the sickening realization that the glowing wreckage strewn behind me… used to be Drix's runner.

A grim coldness takes the place of panic flooding my body. The Nexus' crazies aren't the only thing haunting this desert hell anymore. Now it's bounty hunters and paid pirate vultures combing the droughtland for any easy prey dumb enough to wander their stalking grounds.

One raider peels off in pursuit, its trails burning hotter against my runner's radio with every passing second. Normally I'd try salvaging things and making a break for Terrax, but with this level of firepower thrown into the mix, heading into civilization is just begging for mass casualties.

Ignoring all safety overrides, I divert every ounce of power to my thrusters and veer sharply toward the distant, jagged silhouette of the Crimson Ridge's peaks through the howling storm. With my dunerunner pushed to its limits, those hunters will outrun me if I don't find shelter quickly. But at least the winding canyons and caves of those foreboding rocks might give me a fighting chance to hunker down or stage an ambush.

The vulture raiders are relentless behind me; volleys of disruptor blasts fizzle past me from multiple angles. Just when I think they've corralled me, a sharp oncoming rockface rears up out of the swirl—twin stone monoliths jutting like primordial fangs.

With my dunerunner messed up by electrical interference, my control panel goes haywire as I aim for the gap between the towering pillars. A searing plasma beam sizzles across my runner, overloading my visors as the ground rushes up fast—

I slam the brakes hard, emergency thrusters punching me forward against my safety harness. Grinding screeches of shredded hull fill the cockpit as my dunerunner plows into the rock face and punches straight through some kind of hidden entrance.

Then everything goes black.

Coming around takes longer than usual. My head is swimming, and I can smell ozone and burnt metal. As my vision clears, I recognize the cramped confines of my dunerunner's cockpit… well, what's left of it.

The roof is completely blown off, with shards littering the debris field surrounding me in whatever rock chamber I've crashed into. I can already feel fresh wind blowing in from outside, turning the wrecked cockpit into a mess.

With a grunt, I trigger the harness and roll out of the crumpled wreck. Stumbling to my feet, I spot my blaster and survival pack amid the scattered wreckage through the choking haze. I need to get my bearings and hide in this cave's system. Then plot some escape route before those raiders—

"Move no further, heretic!" A deep rumble reverberates all around me.

My blood freezes as two towering figures emerge out of the darkness at the cavern's entrance, backlit by garish red light from the storm outside. Their forms become clear, revealing humanoid shapes covered in black steel bristling with blastguns and electrified pikes.

"Stay down before the Nexus' Acolytes," another inhuman baritone drones as more robed figures step out from the shadows, their glowing red eyes fixed on me. "Surrender your meager life to the Solar Nexus… or burn eternally."

I should have listened to Drix's warnings about the dangers lurking in Crimson Ridge. These zealots sound worse than any stories I brushed off about deranged sun cultists ruling the desert. Now I'm cornered in their sanctum without backup or means of escape.

The light from my wreck catches on something deeper within the cave's depths, revealing a horrific vision. Cramped cylindrical cells line the rock shaft at various levels, the closest few grated pens holding wretches, human and alien, obviously deemed to be heretics, left to rot and starve in squalor.

No… this isn't just some crazed desert cult of madmen squatting on sacred ground. It looks like a full-blown temple and internment camp straight out of the conquests. I thought Aridium's punishing climate and smugglers and bounty hunters were the worst threats on this rock.

My fingers tighten around the butt of my blaster, the only defense left between me and these evil zealots. It's worse than any tales Drix rambled on about. And I'll be burning in their sacred fire soon enough if I don't find a way to—

"Master Finzar," a sinister new voice cuts through the echoing chamber. "I have grand hopes you'll make short work of interrogating this defiled intruder who so rudely trespasses our halls."

I tense as an imposing, muscular figure glides out of the shadows wearing ornate ceremonial garb—a sweeping purple robe with intricate violet embroidery. As he prowls closer, I get my first unobscured look at the alien called Master Finzar.

Despite the dire situation and everything I know about the brutal practices of this… cult, I can't tear my eyes away.

Finzar is… striking. It's not just his scarred blue skin. He is powerfully built, with broad shoulders and a chiseled physique that moves with an unsettling, predatory grace. His features are undeniably attractive in a severe, angular way—high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, full lips. But it's his eyes that enthrall me most.

They are a pale, piercing blue that should look cold and alien. Instead, they seem to blaze with an intensity that has nothing to do with the flickering torchlight. As if he's trying to peel back my layers and expose every secret, every hidden desire.

I meet his searing stare with narrowed eyes, refusing to be cowed. For a beat, everything else in this rock prison fades away—the guards, the prisoners withering in cells, the wreckage of my runner. It's only Finzar and I locked in this smoldering moment. But I squash the unsettling thrill it stirs inside me. I'm no weak-willed female to be easily enthralled, no matter how distractingly handsome this zealot appears.

His full lips curve into a smile that is as beautiful as it is terrible, revealing wicked fangs. I involuntarily shiver, although it is purely from revulsion at his menacing aura. At least, that's what I tell myself.

"Such obstinate arrogance for one so freshly fallen, wretched apostate," Finzar rumbles, low and resonant. "You have trespassed on sacred ground. Yet…your silence reveals a defiance that I must crush before purifying your unworthy soul."

He prowls around me in a slow circle as the other zealots draw their electrified pikes closer. Every sinuous movement somehow conveys simmering power and violence barely restrained. Like a leonus circling its prey, savoring the thrill of an impending kill.

As Finzar stalks me in a tight circle, I swivel to keep him in my sights. My gaze tracks every predatory shift, lingering on the powerful physique coiled beneath his robes. If he thinks crude intimidation will make me start babbling profane confessions in desperate hopes of avoiding whatever depravities he has planned, Finzar's in for a rude awakening.

"You'll have to try harder to intimidate me than playing alpha predator," I spit out.

Rather than striking me for my insolence, Finzar seems to swell with greater intensity instead. A cruel smirk curves those lush lips, revealing his wicked fangs that really shouldn't make my breath catch like they do.

"Such ignorant bravado shields you not from the Nexus' purifying truth, you reckless apostate," he rumbles, voice like gravel over smoldering coals. "Every heretic is just a fading spark, until the Solar Gods' truth ignites their essence into a sanctified state, befitting our Eternal unity, so they rise again."

His hooded blue gaze rakes over me with bold indecency. Like he's committing every feminine curve to memory through my bodysuit's thin synth-weave panels. Its pure objectification and it absolutely shouldn't make my skin prickle with a flustered heat sparking low in my belly, which I attempt to quash.

"Your ignorant soul needs the Solar Nexus' purifying truth," Finzar continues. "And I am the one to deliver you. I will be the one to… strip away your illusions and claim the inner fire for the glory of the Solar Gods."

He prowls even closer. Every shift of his muscular torso radiates a simmering threat and wicked promise I definitely don't want any part of. I should be concentrating on the dire situation I've found myself in not…whatever this is. Finzar looms over me now, so close his wood smoke scent is like a physical caress.

I don't like it. Not even a little. At all. Nope.

"You are no frightened damsel awaiting gentle blessings into the Nexus," he husks, a cruel smile widening to flicker fangs. "You are a scorching flame of profanity. And consecrating your arrogance demands my most searing… intimate rites."

The hunger blazing behind his words sends a fresh shiver of trepidation and something far more unsettling through me. What exactly does this brutish disciple have in mind?

Whatever twisted notion of "intimate rites" Finzar plans, I have the sinking feeling I'm about to discover them firsthand. But even as the robed zealots close in and rough hands seize my arms, I am captivated by the feverish intensity in Finzar's gaze.

What kind of depraved, unholy rites is this charismatic extremist capable of… and why does a reckless part of me crave finding out?