Static crackled faintly as Aurania thumbed the comm switch. “Samara, we’ll be touching down in about ten minutes.”

  The warm sound of her sister’s voice answered back. “Berilinsk is ready for you, we’re all excited to see you again.”

  Aurania exhaled slowly and leaned back in the co-pilot’s chair. Coming home should have been comforting, but instead it tightened around her like a vise. She was returning without answers, without a cure for the storms tearing Nox apart. Every kilometer they closed on the planet’s surface only sharpened the weight pressing in her chest.

  It had been a seventy-hour haul from Garrick Station, long enough for the crew to wear new grooves into the ship. The common room now felt lived in—pillows and giant couch fresh from the store, mugs scattered across new end tables, and an egregiously oversized screen Veolo had practically begged for.

  The setup reminded Aurania of the Liberty Union vessels, familiar enough to trick the ship into feeling like home. They had settled on a new game to explore together but Tamiyo had opted to fly the ship anytime they settled in to play. The story followed a bunch of chromed out mercs in high-stakes heists set in a backdrop of neon skyscrapers—Tamiyo said it reminded her too much of Batist.

  The ship hit the atmosphere with a low rumble muffled by the advanced hull. Aurania braced a hand against the console as the view beyond the canopy smeared into dark cloud bands. The air itself felt alive—charged, unstable. Lightning crawled sideways across the sky, jagged veins of white and blue that lanced from horizon to horizon.

  Even at mid-altitude, the turbulence was worse than she remembered. The stabilizers whined, the ship shuddered. It hadn’t been this violent when they’d left. She shot a glance at Tamiyo in the pilot’s chair; the little CIPHER’s antennae were angled back, electric-blue eyes focused in concentration.

  Below, the surface roiled in storms. Entire valleys were shrouded under boiling cloud fronts, their edges glowing faintly as if fire itself lived inside them. Aurania thought of the villages down there, of homes half-buried under rain-swollen rivers. She clenched her teeth. No matter how much trouble they’d endured—derelict ruins, hostile planets, escaping the Liberty Union—this storm over her people’s heads grew worse by the day.

  The ship pierced a gap in the clouds, revealing Berilinsk far ahead. The village was dim against the swollen dusk, its outer walls braced with new plating, lightning rods stabbing upward like a forest of steel. Even from this distance she could see them sparking, absorbing strike after strike.

  Tamiyo eased the ship down through the last sheets of cloud, guiding it toward the flatland beyond Berilinsk’s main residential cluster. Their village had no true spaceport, most ships landed over in Owangara, but Samara had directed them to land in the outer thalgrain field. It had been cleared after harvest and the soil was dark and bare. If they failed, the fields would never see seed again.

  As the landing struts thudded into the ground, vibrations gently rattled through the hull. The Aether Core wound down to a low, grumbling hum. Silence fell, broken only by the occasional tick of metal cooling.

  Aurania rose from the co-pilot’s chair and caught Tamiyo’s eye. “Let’s go.”

  Together they made their way aft, large hooves and small boots echoing in the wide staircase as they made their way from cockpit to ops center, then stepped into the cargo lift. The platform shuddered as it descended, the inner walls sliding past—Deck 3, Deck 4—until they dropped into the cavernous hold on Deck 5.

  The lift’s gates clanged open.

  The rest of the team was waiting:

  Brolgar and Brana sitting atop strapped down cargo crates, Veolo and Amalia shoulder to shoulder, Inelius looming behind them with his four arms crossed. Violet stood a little apart, her gaze already on the doors that would open to Nox’s charged air. Raine and Riza stood near Elias’ cryo pod, which hovered above the deck via anti-grav repulsors. Such tech was scarce outside the Conservatory, but their new ship proved to be full of surprises.

  For a moment, Aurania took in each face—their family forged in fire and tragedy, standing ready for whatever came next.

  Aurania began moving toward the forward doors and Soren fell into step beside her. The hold was cavernous, ambient light from the overhead fixtures glinting off crates and gear lashed tight for the haul. Her mind was already three steps ahead—Samara waiting outside, Berilinsk in peril, the Conservatory—

  Soren’s voice cut through her focus.

  “You alright?” he asked quietly, glancing over at her. “I can feel it. Your worry. It’s like a grip in my chest.”

  Aurania didn’t bother to deny it. “I’ll be fine. We’ll do what we came here to do—take a breather, get our bearings. Tomorrow night we’re off-world again.”

  But as the words left her, she noticed his expression hadn’t eased. Something else pressed at him, faint but heavy, and she knew him well enough by now to see it. Her gaze narrowed. “What is it?”

  Soren’s jaw worked for a moment before he shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

  Aurania stopped him with a hand on his arm, her tone firm. “Tell me.”

  Soren let his eyes roam across the team. “You’ve all accepted me more or less, even Brolgar,” he paused, nodding to the d’moria who faintly returned the gesture.

  “And I can’t say how much that means after everything that’s happened. But…” his gaze shifted toward the sealed airlock. “The last thing we did in Berilinsk before leaving was a funeral. The Departure.”

  Aurania caught the meaning immediately. “You’re worried about being an outcast again while we’re here.”

  He shook his head quickly. “I told you it’s nothing, Aurania. This isn’t about me. There are bigger things to worry about.”

  Violet stepped in, her voice even. “You still shouldn’t feel like an outsider. Regardless of what put Nox in this mess, you’re working your ass off to help fix it.”

  Aurania went quiet for a long moment, thinking. Then she looked at Soren. “Bring me my axe.”

  Soren recoiled slightly, skeptical. His eyes flicked across the cargo bay briefly. “For what?”

  She didn’t answer.

  He frowned, then looked over to where their weapons were stored, but didn’t move from his spot. He extended his hand outward, and a moment later, the massive greataxe ripped free of its clamps and soared across the bay, spinning once before slamming firmly into his grasp. He held it one-handed, unsure, then held it out to her.

  For a beat, no one said anything. The hold seemed to grow quieter, the air heavier. Aurania just watched him, unblinking.

  Finally she said, “Hold onto it. Carry it everywhere you go in Berilinsk.”

  His brow furrowed. “Are you sure? Won’t it send the wrong message? Me walking around armed in town, especially with your weapon?”

  Veolo grinned. “When I first came to Berilinsk and Aura picked me as one of her warriors, Violet told me there were two rules. One, don’t give Amalia caffeine and alcohol at the same time. Two, nobody touches Aura’s greataxe.”

  Violet nodded. “The fact that she’s letting you hold it speaks volumes. To my knowledge, no one else in this room has ever laid a hand on it.”

  Soren turned back to Aurania, searching her face. “Is that true?”

  A faint blush touched her cheeks, but her eyes stayed steady. “I told you I trust you. Carrying it will tell everyone else the same.”

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  He looked down at the weapon—at its polished edge, at the countless marks that spoke of battles won and survived. Slowly, he lifted his gaze back to her.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly.

  The hiss of the airlock pressurizing filled the hold as the boarding ramp began to extend.

  Tamiyo tilted her head, breaking the silence. “So why can’t we give Amalia caffeine and alcohol at the same time?”

  Amalia laughed a little and rubbed the back of her head with one hand. “Something about the combination makes me incredibly hyper and insatiably horny.”

  Raine smirked, holding back laughter. “That… doesn’t sound like a problem.”

  Amalia grinned. “It’s fun at first, but it gets exhausting fast. And I usually go way overboard, so by the time the effect wears off, I’m just sore everywhere the next day.”

  Violet groaned under her breath. “Take my word for it guys—do not test this theory.”

  Inelius chuckled low in his throat, the tension in the room easing a notch as the outer doors clanked and began to peel open.

  The airlock doors groaned wide, and the first rush of Berilinsk’s atmosphere poured in. Heat clung to Aurania like a second skin, thicker and heavier than she remembered. Nox had always run warm, but this was different—oppressive, the kind of heat that felt stolen from the heart of the sun itself. It pressed into her lungs with every breath, carrying the tang of scorched soil and electricity.

  Her chest tightened. The planet was shifting faster than anyone had prepared for. Every day it circled closer to the sun, the storms grew more violent, the air more suffocating. The estimates had been around 500 days—with the time they burned alongside the Liberty Union, they should still have almost a year left.

  But now, staring out across the fields and jagged skyline, Aurania wondered if they even had months.

  Morning light burned against the horizon, filtered through high sheets of stormclouds. As the boarding ramp thudded into place, the crew stepped forward together, and Aurania felt both comfort and chaos walking toward her home once again.

  A crowd had gathered at the edge of the field—every face a familiar one, waiting to welcome them back. Murmurs rippled as people caught sight of the squad, their eyes searching for reassurance, for proof that the long journey had meant something. Many of them were there for another reason too—to welcome Elias home, in whatever way he could still return.

  Riza had kept Berilinsk informed through messengers sent at every chance, but most of what they’d endured—The Bastion, The Cradle—remained untold. Those stories would wait for Samara and Serava. For now, the people simply watched, expectant and silent, as the crew descended into the rising heat of Nox.

  Samara pushed her way through the crowd, her presence as grounding as ever. Aurania’s chest eased the moment her sister’s arms wrapped around her. When they broke apart, Aurania’s gaze dropped—Samara’s belly was full and round, the signs of new life unmistakable. She reached out, brushing her hand gently over the curve with a soft smile.

  “It’s truly amazing how many times you’ve done this,” Aurania said.

  Before Samara could answer, Riza drifted past, the cryo pod drifting beside her. “She’s insane for doing it more than once. Our whole race is insane.”

  Samara arched a brow at her, glancing briefly at the pod, but didn’t respond. She just let Riza walk past. A faint smile tugged her lips as she looked back to Aurania. “Since when is Riza someone who jokes?”

  Aurania’s throat tightened with something bittersweet. “You can thank Elias for that.”

  Samara’s expression flickered at the name, but she didn’t linger on it. She looped her arm through Aurania’s and began leading her through Berilinsk. The streets bore scars of the quake—splintered walls patched with whatever scrap could be scavenged, foundations still propped by temporary braces.

  Aurania frowned. “I thought most of this would’ve been repaired by now.”

  Samara shook her head, the movement weary but calm. “It would be, if the ground ever stayed still. We’ve had smaller quakes every few weeks since. Nothing like the first, but enough to undo progress. At least people know how to react now.”

  As they walked deeper into the village, the squad began to scatter. Violet, Veolo, Amalia, Brana, and Brolgar slipped off in different directions, heading for familiar streets and doorways that felt more like home than the ship ever could. Inelius and Raine were approached by an excited older couple of lazarco—Inelius’ parents, surely. Aurania had never met them, but she heard they had accepted the offer to move here from Owangara.

  Inelius had told her that retirement in Berilinsk seemed to be suiting them more than fine.

  “Aura!” the honeyed tone of Serava greeted her as they came upon the Matron. Her sister pulled her into a warm embrace as her team continued to peel away. When they broke apart, Aurania found herself alone with her sisters, Tamiyo, and Soren.

  “Come,” Samara said, eyeing the axe in Soren’s hand with an amused expression. “I’m most eager to hear the finer details of your travels.”

  Silvara’s Hall was another welcome sight, its high frame and carved stone a sharp contrast to the makeshift repairs that still scarred much of Berilinsk. Inside, the air was cooler, quiet save for the distant echo of footsteps. The long table stretched along the left wall of the chamber, polished dark wood that bore the marks of centuries of meals, councils, and arguments. Above it, the mural of Enderfield still hung—ancient lacravida painted in broad strokes of gold and crimson.

  Aurania slowed when her eyes caught on it. She had sat beneath that mural nearly every day of her life, watching it while learning, debating, or dining with her sisters. But now it looked foreign, almost hollow. She wasn’t the girl who had grown up staring at painted legends anymore. She had seen the truth of it. The mural felt like a mix of memory and lies.

  They took their seats, Samara at the head of the table, Aurania and Serava each on her sides. Soren set her axe nearby and sat next to Aurania as if he hadn’t even thought twice about it. Tamiyo sat across from Soren, next to Serava.

  Aurania noted to herself how the last time they were here, Tamiyo was glued to Soren’s side like a shield. She found herself happy that the CIPHER no longer felt the need.

  Samara gestured to her aides, who bowed and hurried away. Within minutes, trays began to arrive—steaming bowls of roasted roots and spiced meats, platters of glazed bread rolls, and pitchers of chilled water that immediately began to sweat in the heat.

  “Eat,” Samara said, waving them on. “The road has been long, and Berilinsk owes you no small thanks for returning.”

  Tamiyo didn’t need convincing. The little CIPHER’s legs kicked idly beneath her chair as she devoured roll after roll, cheeks puffed out like a child stealing treats from the kitchen. Even Serava cracked a smile at the sight, though her sharp gaze never strayed far from Aurania.

  The meal gave them anchor enough to breathe, and then the talk began. Piece by piece, Aurania unfolded their path—the heavier details that couldn’t be entrusted to messengers:

  Orryx Station. Philos. Elias, Piria, and the rage torn loose from Soren after their friend was murdered. Inelius stepping up to help put them back together. Soren told of being drawn into the group instead of being outcast as he expected. All of it came in waves, tears welling, falling, and stopping as the story unfolded.

  Boadicea was a hard tale, still so fresh in memory. Samara and Serava had already picked up on how different Violet was when she stepped off the ship—as well as the new hand cannon attached to her hip. Serava bowed her head and closed her eyes when they told what happened to Amaryn.

  Finally, they told them of The Cradle. The truths that were discovered in its depths alongside the mysterious ship that brought them here. Serava looked deeply shaken when they told her how they had all been created—genetically engineered by Tywin Enderfield eight millennia ago. And lastly, Riza’s dramatic exit from The Liberty Union.

  Samara listened intently the entire time, eyes narrowing at each detail, hands folded neatly before her. Serava said little, but the expression in her eyes shifted constantly as the tale wound on.

  Through it all, the weight of their tale was eased by the bond that had grown with Soren. Aurania did not shy away from it as they talked. She blushed more than once, as did he, but she wasn’t ashamed of her attraction to him.

  She was beyond frustrated she couldn’t do anything about it.

  The table grew quiet after the story was finished, silence hanging as heavy as the heat outside. Samara leaned back slightly, eyes moving from Soren to Aurania, to Tamiyo, then to Serava.

  “Well,” she said at last, a wry smile touching her lips. “It has been quite a shift since we last saw each other, Soren. I must say I’m happy with the direction things have gone. You have behaved most admirably alongside my people. You have my thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, Chieftess,” Soren said simply. He reached for a glass of water.

  “Please, just Samara is fine if we’re not doing anything official.”

  Soren nodded, gesturing towards her with his glass before drinking.

  “Would you be interested in siring my next child?” Samara’s tone was casual.

  Soren choked on his drink.

  As he coughed and sputtered, gasping for air, his eyes darted around the table—first to Aurania, then Serava, then to Tamiyo who looked just as confused as him.

  Aurania groaned under her breath and set her bowl down. “Don’t overthink it, Soren. All but two of Samara’s children are with different fathers. It’s common among lacravida.” But Aurania couldn’t help but give her eldest sister a hard glance.

  Samara just smiled back warmly.

  “It’s a compliment,” Serava added smoothly, her voice soft but certain. She inclined her head. “It means she admires you. That she believes you have qualities worth reproducing.”

  Soren’s jaw worked, then he let out a slow breath and pushed back his chair. Rising, he bowed his head slightly toward Samara. “I do appreciate the offer, Samara,” he said carefully. “Truly.”

  He picked up her axe and turned toward the door, his steps steady. “But if I can ever figure out how to get this damned power under control…”

  Aurania’s stomach dropped. Her skin flushed hot as she felt what was on the tip of his tongue.

  Soren stopped at the doorway. He looked back over his shoulder, gaze locking with hers.

  “There’s only one of you sisters I’d ever feel like impregnating someday.”

  And then he was gone, the heavy doors shutting behind him.

  Aurania sat frozen, eyes wide and every nerve in her body roiling like the storm overhead.

  Battlefield Heartsurgery - [A Cradles of Gravity Novella]

  by Rauxon

  Colonel Riza Emberfell is a living legend.

  Her kill count is in the tens of thousands. In her heavy black armor plating, she’s almost seven feet tall. To most humans that meet her, she looks like an alien demon—if they ever see her at all.

  The mission is simple: An asset has spent months undercover studying a horrific bioweapon. Extract both the agent and the sample, recover the prototype cure, and get the hell off the planet.

  The asset: Major Elias Blackwall—a quiet field medic with a warm personality—and the only person who’s never looked at Riza with fear. He doesn’t see a weapon or a legend—she’s just his commander and friend.

  And she’s surprised how much that disarms her.

  Battlefield Heartsurgery is a high-octane action novella set in the universe, taking place over five years before the main story begins. No prior knowledge is needed—just hop on in and enjoy the violence. Things get dark, characters get vulnerable, and a lot of enemies die. And underneath it all, the foundations emerge of a partnership that will one day shake the stars.

  [participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]

  Cambion’s Awakening — [A Lite-RPG Progression Fantasy Romance]

  by Rauxon

  Orphaned at six years old, Projo was raised as a blacksmith’s apprentice. Strange occurrences growing up led him to believe he may be cursed, until a reckless act of heroism nearly kills him and he discovers he may be half demon.

  Cambion’s Awakening is a Progression Fantasy adventure with a unique magic system. Come with Projo as he learns to control his abilities, discovers the dark secrets behind them, and achieves it all through love and violence.

  What to Expect:

  - Single-POV Storytelling: Journey with Projo as he unravels the mystery of his own existence.

  - A Unique Magic System: Magic isn't just fireballs. It's a mysterious, biological force that the characters work to understand.

  - Lite-RPG World-Building: No EXP or stat growth shown, but there are plenty of progression focused training moments. Each quest and every coin matters and they are meticulously tracked. Armor needs mending, every fight has consequences, and the sky is the limit on what Projo can achieve.