ValentineDavis21

Crowe backed away instinctively from the aberration, his blood turning to ice. For a moment he was back in the aberrant corridor with the last horrific construction Bhal-Ghor and he had encountered, only this..this was far worse. Because he now recognized the face of the creature that was staggering drunkenly towards him, its long arms swinging awkwardly, its bare two pronged feet scraping against the floor, its mouth gaping open, moaning in misery. It had the bulbous head and lithe build of a V

Illyrion. There was that name again. It was a mistake. It had to be. Every time he heard it, it seemed that every cell in his body cried out in superstitious terror, as if it were the name of the creature that hid under his bed. And every child, no matter their age, race, or religion had one of those. But the souls stored inside his mind did not balk in terror. He could see them as they had been right before death, their heads bowed in prayer, their hands raised in the air as they began to chant

For a moment he stopped, one foot placed in the command deck, the other set firmly on the floor of the secret chamber. He looked back over his shoulder at the chair and for an instant that made his head hurt, Aethan was seeing the room as he’d viewed it in the video. The shades who congregated together were no longer made of shadow, but wore the same strange bio-material that Hiernymus’s robes were made of, their heads bent in solemn prayer. Not for the first time Aethan had the sense that he wa

Aethan felt as if all his limbs weighed a ton, so heavy they were impossible to lift. The mere task of lifting his foot and setting it back down was monumental, a simple impulse turned into a life-or-death battle. A powerful wind had picked up, blowing through this section of the command deck, stinking of rot and black poison. It rustled his hair, blowing it back from his sweaty straining face, his jaw clenched, his eyes focused not on the hole between realities but on Ghor who was in more dange

Spasms of fear wracked up and down Ghor's spine, making it impossible to relax. No matter how much he told himself he needed to be alert for the little lordling, the fear hung around him like a toxic black cloud, made blacker by the gloom around them. The shadows seemed to creep around them, closing in, wanting to spill over them and bury them under a tide of doom, held only at bay by the dome of Aethan's light and the glow of his skin and hair. Just when Ghor would start to relax, he woul

Aethan could feel another presence taking root in his mind, another passenger completely different from Hiernymus. The cleric was still there, the Cathesan could sense him as well, but he had been curiously quiet, a watcher biding his time. This presence was different, smaller, younger, with a voice that rang with both fear and innocence, searching the shadowed corners for the monsters it might contain. The eyes and voice of a child. That child had just used his mouth to speak, to warn Bhal-Ghor

As they entered the stygian darkness of the ship, it occurred to Aethan that he was being manipulated. While this thought had passed through his mind before, this time it landed with weight and stuck. He knew that when it came to the interest of the ship, there were two parties who seemed to have a hand in its discovery. There were the Vrevil who had left the message as both a warning and a calling, a calling that seemed to be specifically for him so that the ship could be discovered in th

I would also like to say there might be a little bit of projecting on my part. I've been in these types of relationships and I think anyone with enough common sense would read this and say these two have a very toxic dynamic. In my past experiences any time I tried to speak up for myself only made the situation worse and was met with understandable resistance. But it's also frustrating when you try to fend for yourself and it just blows up in your face or leads to consequences you regret in the future. Maybe it's quite self indulgent, but with fiction you can strip that away and say "well Aethan gets to make a jab and it actually has an impact on their relationship" or something stupid like that. Maybe that says more about me as a person, but it also brings a sense of empowerment when there's little power to be found at least in the current setting of this story.

As always thank you for the comment. When I wrote this scene I was coming at it from the perspective that for Ghor he has had a week of time to think about things and reflect where for Aethan only a few hours have passed so for him it is very raw. Maybe I didn't state that and might go back and add a sentence or two to convey that if it is necessary. They definitely have barriers that they put up in front of each other and I feel that they are in the beginning stages of taking those barriers down but there's a lot of setbacks and regressions that happen with that. Not trying to fend for myself or be one of those people who can't take feedback, just trying to get the most out of this conversation that I can if that makes sense.

Ghor did not sleep that night. While he was no longer close to death, he did not feel well. Aethan's words had done more damage than any attack in the arena, words that burrowed into his brain like hot needles. They haunted him, echoing in his mind even as he slipped into a semi doze, sitting on the sand dune in front of the ship, the vigil he had claimed. He no longer thought the ship was a deity whose sole intent was to make his life miserable. It was just a ship, mysterious and dangerous, but

Thank you so much. This is a very helpful detail. The funny thing is I looked it up as well before writing the part where Aethan calls Bhal-Ghor a masochist. A thought that also crosses mind for when I do an edit is that I wish I knew another word to use. These characters are aliens with a different culture and language from ours so they might not use the word "sadist", because isn't that based on Satan? A couple of things: I know the last several chapters have been tense and miserable, but they get better after this...for a time. I will also say that things in the story, particularly after the Kharon-IV arc, things will not always be this intense, but I'm also developing a romantic relationship that spans a 1000 years and this is kind of the prequel to the main story. If my plans work right, this chronicle will be a 5-6 act story (split into shorter arcs) with the first 2 serving as set up for Aethan's Reign and Aethan and Bhal Ghor's marriage. I hope that's not too spoilery. Also it might be a few days before I publish another chapter. I have Chapter 3.22 done and am approaching the halfway mark of 3.23.er I have a final due on the 29th that I need to start working on, so I apologize for the wait. Also I know this has been a long arc with longer chapters, but I have to say this has been a blast to write. I don't mean that in terms of skill or anything like that, but kind of like Stephen King said "The story writes itself" and gayauthors for better or worse has always been my writing pad. Still I hope the pacing has been alright, that the reveals have felt earned and that the story at least feels like I at least have some idea of where this is going. Thanks for reading.

By the time Bhal-Ghor stumbled into Aethan's tent, the Cathesan was resting in bed, his head propped up on a stack of pillows. His face was drained of color and the lids of his eyes were bruised. Ghor had never seen him look so close to death. He hovered in the doorway of the tent, unable to move, tormented by emotions for which he had no name. It felt as if time within the boundaries of the tent had slowed, dilated much like time within the ship, unreality spreading through him waves. Tar

For the expedition team they had only been on the ship for a few hours. In the camp time ran differently. For Bhal-Ghor it took them over a week to return. For the first three days he sat avidly in front of the ship, watching it, hardly blinking, hardly remembering to eat or drink unless his body told him it was absolutely imperative. He had no idea of how long he would have to wait, only that he must. Even if it meant they never returned. Eventually the way would open again, hopefully before he

A face appeared on the screen, out of focus at first, blotted out by a dancing field of static that quickly faded as the camera adjusted. Aethan recognized the large bulbous head and the hard chassis of its jawline. While it was not the face of the cleric who stared back at him, it was of a similar make. The face of a Vrevil, what had once been the native species of this planet. This Vrevil was not as broad in the forehead or cheeks, did not possess the air of wisdom and mysticism that his cleri

For his part Aethan did not hear Bhal-Ghor call his name, did not know that the Ghrul had gone through such efforts to reach him. Once again he was back under the spell of the ship, traveling towards a distant point that had only made vague gestures in revealing itself. The answers were still waiting for them on the ship, had been waiting for them this whole time. Waiting for us to make the discoveries and uncover the truth, he thought. It did not cross his mind to think that he had given up hop

Time from that moment seemed to turn to liquid spreading around him. One could easily think that the time dilation effects surrounding the ship might have spread throughout the camp. It was really the oily transition of sliding from sleep into wakefulness and back again, forcing strength back into a body that had been pushed to the point of overload. There are consequences to sharing your mind and body with an alien priest, he thought. He would surface long enough to swallow a few gulps of water

For a moment he was so tiny he was like a tear traveling through a tear duct. One moment he was airless, catching his first subliminal glimpse of the universe, so far in the back of his mind that it would be a long time before he remembered seeing it. A twinge of the first sign of Transcendence, the twitch of a muscle, the first true sign of an interstellar deity kicking while in an embryonic state. He wouldn't remember seeing the domes of coin-sized pockets of light in a sea of dark, a cluster

Ghor had hoped that the ringing of blood in his ears would have abated as he marched across the camp, kicking sand in every direction, Aethan still cradled in his arms, but it did not. It only seemed to grow louder, building into a screaming pitch, the need to strike at something and spill blood tensing his muscles. He barely noticed that the sun had begun to make its descent towards night, the shadows lengthening. A part of him fought for control, a small voice reminding that he had a duty to p

Oh good Lord this story is so old. I was in my early early 20s when I wrote it. Please don't read lol

Yes, they definitely like each other, but Aethan is a lot more reserved about it. While he has his own difficulties expressing these emotions, they come from a different place. Ghor feels attraction but doesn't even know what the word 'attraction' is or the concept of what it means to truly develop a relationship with someone. Aethan is defined by the political pressures he experienced on his home planet. He's already had his ideas about himself deconstructed (like wondering if Vash truly cared about him or was just saying he did). In the past Ghor has said some things to him that has added to this emotional turmoil like when he said that Vash had basically been a slave in the second arc. And then there is the "I'm attracted to him, but I really shouldn't be, he's such a brute angle." I will tell you that there is about to be another major change. There is a sort of revelation that comes up that is quite brutal. I hope I didn't take too sharp of a left turn but sometimes scenes just write themselves and I had to see where this one would go. That's all I will say on that. As always than you for your comments.

Though they were only a quarter of a mile away from the camp or so, the journey seemed to cover twice the distance. A tense and heavy silence had fallen between them, an anathema to the passionate moment they had shared just a moment ago. Aethan was still reeling from that moment, unable to get the sharp musk of the felid out of his head, or the rough feel of Ghor's tongue as it scraped lightly over his flesh, licking away the tears. He despaired at the tension between them and found himself won

"Three days..." Tarkhon swivelled around in his chair, making a clicking sound deep in his throat. Both pairs of his eyes were wide with a mixture of amazement and disbelief. "I've been looking at the time stamps since I got up this morning, doing the math in my head, going over every theory I can think of and I still can't understand it." "Maybe you're not supposed to," Aethan said, while Xera circled around his chair for what had to be the fifth or sixth time, the screen of the data pad

Thank you, as always any comment is helpful and helps motivate to keep me going. I do want to give you a heads up that I will be posting chapters for the rest of the month but then plan to take a brief break with posting to catch up on some material. I do have a temporary stopping point in mind and will comment on that more in the next chapter.

For a few moments they were surrounded by darkness again with only the lights from Tarkhons and Kera's helmets to provide luminance. The squeal of ancient gears turning and the hum outside the doors once more reminded Aethan of the lift from the prison. He did not feel a wave for a home sickness for the industrial facility, for which the Threnbody had condemned him to a life sentence. As Ghor had told him once, he had never felt more free since arriving to Kharon-IV. After a minute or two

The shadows wrapped around the expedition team, swallowing them whole. The lights in the helmets of the protective suits cast domes of white luminance on the moss-covered walls, the walls glistening with moisture. Aethan could hear the echo of dripping water as it pattered against the stone floor. He walked slowly, his steps measured and cautious. He did not move with the same dreamy stolidness as he had the night before but it was a close thing. His eyes were fixed on the walls, his heart ticki