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Chapter Text

"And here we are, my Lord Marshal," Commander Vaako announced, stepping into the sprawling expanse of gardens meticulously tended by Illiana. The vibrant flora burst forth in an array of colors, each blossom carefully nurtured under her watchful eye. Concealed behind a venerable maple tree, Illiana remained hidden, her loyal companion, Vigil, an adolescent leopard, resting silently by her side, watching with keen, emerald eyes.

"The witch who typically tends to these gardens seems to be absent," Vaako remarked, his brow furrowed in concern.

"Witch?" came the deep and resonant voice of Lord Marshal, curiosity mingling with skepticism.

"Indeed, my lord," Vaako replied, lowering his voice as if the very mention of her name could summon her presence. "Her people were renowned for their affinity with the arcane. We have harnessed remnants of their magic to facilitate the purification ceremony, ensuring it inflicts less agony upon the participants." His tone shifted subtly as he added, "The Purifier has persuaded Lord Zhylaw to keep her in a state of impurity for the ritual's integrity. He has confined her here, far from prying eyes and judgmental whispers, all because she dared to insult Lord Zhylaw by embracing her status as a breeder."

Illiana cautiously peered around the gnarled trunk of an ancient oak, her heart racing as she caught sight of the imposing figure of the new Lord Marshall. His broad shoulders were set on a tall, sturdy frame, hinting at immense strength. The leather armor he donned appeared almost custom-made, a testament to his formidable stature; it would have dwarfed Bayren, Illiana’s closest companion during her time on the Balistica, who was notably shorter and less muscled. 

The Lord Marshall’s bald head gleamed in the dappled sunlight, and the welding goggles perched over his eyes lent him an intimidating, almost mechanical appearance. As he surveyed the garden with a steely gaze, Illiana felt a pang of both fear and curiosity.

Just then, Vigil, the mischievous one among them, decided he'd had enough of lurking in the shadows. With a feline grace, he slinked out of his hiding place, his presence suddenly shifting the dynamics in the air. Illiana gasped softly, the sound barely escaping her lips, but it was enough to draw the Lord Marshall's attention. He whipped his head in her direction, eyes narrowing beneath the dark lenses of his goggles.

Panic surged within her, and she pressed her back against the rough bark of the trunk, willing herself to become as small as possible. Just when she thought she might escape unnoticed, Vigil chose that moment to spring forward, a cheeky grin plastered across his face.

“Boo!” he whispered in er ear, his voice cutting through the stillness like a bolt of lightning.

Illiana’s scream pierced the air, a high-pitched shrill that reverberated through the garden, startling birds from their perches and sending a flutter of leaves cascading to the ground around her.

"Set of lungs on you, huh?" The Lord Marshall's booming laughter echoed through the grand hall, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over Illiana. 

With a graceful curtsy, Illiana kept her body lowered, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Lord Marshal, my deepest apologies for the outburst. I sincerely hope I did not offend you with my scream."

Lord Riddick, standing nearby with a wry smile playing on his lips, added, "Maybe not me, but that fellow over there seems rather pissed." He gestured toward the cat, its green eyes fixed on Illiana with clear displeasure as its ears flattened against its head.

“Oh, Vigil, I am truly sorry!” Illiana exclaimed, her voice softening as she hurried over to the aggrieved creature. She knelt beside him, brought her fingers gingerly beneath his chin, and began to scratch gently, her touch soothing. The cat’s tension slowly eased as he leaned into her hand, his gaze softening, transforming from annoyance to reluctant affection.

"You have some sharp canines." A large hand grasped her jaw, forcing her mouth open to examine her teeth. "What are you?"

"Her people were holy men who worshiped the cat goddess, Baset," Vaako explained. "At one point, I even considered her a replacement for my wife." Illiana blushed a deep crimson. Vaako chuckled as if she had said something amusing. "She's shy, at best, my Lord."

The Lord Marshall finally released her jaw, turning to Vaako. "You seem to know her well. Why is that?" He lifted his goggles, and molten silver eyes peered down at her.

The Commander hesitated for a moment. "Lord Zhylaw put her in my care when she was young."

"How long have you been stuck in this icebox?" Lord Riddick asked, his silver eyes fixed on her.

Illiana petted Vigil for courage. "Since I was eleven, Lord Marshall. Lord Zhylaw placed me under Commander Vaako's care before the Purifier offered to take me under his wing."

Lord Riddick fixated on her with an intensity that made Illiana acutely aware of every detail of her appearance. She recognized that by her people's standards, she was somewhat diminutive—a slender frame that seemed almost delicate against the imposing backdrop of his presence. Her skin, a luminous porcelain, glowed softly under the dim light, accentuated by the rosy flush of her cheeks that hinted at both youth and vitality. Cascades of platinum white hair tumbled in luxurious waves down to her waist, shimmering like spun silver with each subtle movement. 

Her pastel blue eyes were striking, framed by long, dark lashes that added a depth and allure to her gaze. They sparkled with an inquisitive spirit, inviting yet enigmatic. Even the remnants of cherries that had stained her lips earlier—a rich, dark crimson—added an unexpected charm, suggesting a playful innocence that contrasted sharply with the weight of his scrutiny. Illiana couldn't help but wonder what on Baset could hold his attention so completely, the moment stretching between them, thick with unspoken questions and unacknowledged tension.

"You take care of all of this?" Lord Riddick rumbled, his deep voice reverberating as his piercing gaze swept over the lush gardens, filled with blooms of every color. The vibrant petals danced under the gentle touch of the breeze, reflecting the diligent care that had been put into cultivating this serene oasis.

Illiana nodded confidently, her expression softening as she took in the beauty that surrounded them. "Yes, Lord Marshall. I have help from time to time from Bayren—"

The Lord's brow furrowed, interest piqued. "Bayren is one of the Elite Guards, correct? The one tasked with guarding the armory?"

"That’s correct," she confirmed, a hint of warmth brightening her tone. "He is also a dear friend of mine."

A smirk curled on Vaako’s lips as he interjected, "He attempted to claim her as his wife a year ago. The Purifier denounced it as an unholy union and refused to bless their union." His voice held an edge of sarcasm, underscoring the tension that lingered in the air.

Illiana felt a tightening in her chest at the memory, wishing she could voice her longing for freedom from Lord Zhylaw’s oppressive rule. The thought threatened to draw tears from her eyes, but she composed herself quickly.

"How old are you now?" Lord Riddick’s voice broke through her reverie, demanding an answer.

Vaako’s brown eyes, usually filled with a calculating glimmer, narrowed as they turned towards the Lord Marshall, caution evident in his posture. Illiana took a deep breath, the weight of their scrutiny upon her, and finally replied, "I have seen seventeen cycles." Each word felt heavy with the unspoken experiences of her young life, laden with the burdens of both hope and despair.

"Young, but perhaps not as youthful as I originally assumed," Lord Riddick remarked with a discerning gaze. "So you're the gardener? It looks like hard work, though I gather this isn't for sustenance." He surveyed the vibrant expanse before him, where Illiana had meticulously curated an array of flora from every planet she had visited, transforming the barren landscape into a lush tapestry of colors and textures.

"This entire Garden was created as a tribute to the Lady Zhylaw," she replied, her voice laced with a hint of reverence.

Turning to Vaako for a fleeting moment and then back to her, Riddick inquired, "Who?"

"Lady Zhylaw was Lord Zhylaw's beloved wife. Tragically, she passed away a few years back, alongside their unborn child," Illiana whispered, her eyes reflecting both sorrow and respect.

"I thought Necros were didn't breed," Riddick interjected, waving his hand in a gesture for her to accompany him as they walked through the verdant sanctuary.

Illiana rose gracefully to her feet, Vigil shadowing her movements with a watchful intensity. "They are, for the most part. Her death was a direct result of her pregnancy. The purification process renders their bodies nearly incapable of carrying children, but sometimes, against all odds, miracles do happen."

Riddick nodded thoughtfully, his gaze never straying far from Illiana. "I can see that," he murmured.

Chapter Text

Lord Riddick’s summons echoed throughout the grand halls of the Balistica, beckoning all to convene in the opulent throne room. With determination etched on her face, Illiana trailed behind Bayren, whose long, commanding strides made it a challenge for her to keep pace. Towering nearly seven feet tall, Bayren moved with an air of authority that naturally drew the eye, effectively obscuring her from most of the court’s view. 

Illiana’s striking white hair, elegantly styled into a flawless, tight bun, was a beacon amidst the sea of nobles, making stealth nearly impossible. Though her skin-tight black dress clung to her form like a second skin—crafted to highlight her slender silhouette—the dark fabric did little to diminish her visibility. The dress shimmered subtly with the glow of candlelight, accentuating each graceful movement she made as she maneuvered through the crowd. 

Artfully rimmed in black, her eyes added an air of mystique, a touch of drama that Bayren had wholeheartedly approved of when he escorted her from her chambers earlier that day. She had hoped to blend into the rich tapestry of the court, but as always, her unique beauty and poised demeanor set her apart, even in a gathering of the most illustrious nobles. 

Illiana's keen eyes surveyed the expansive court, where a diverse assembly had gathered, ranging from esteemed noble lords adorned in rich fabrics to the steadfast pilots and dock workers clad in their rugged uniforms. The atmosphere buzzed with a palpable tension as she caught sight of Vaako perched on a lavish balcony, his striking serpent coiled protectively around his waist, enhancing the air of authority he commanded. Dame Vaako, her dark eyes fixated on Illiana, piercing through the crowd with a chilling glare that sent a shiver down Illiana's spine. Just then, Vaako reached out, his hand tangling roughly in her hair, yanking sharply as a silent yet unmistakable warning echoed between them. The room seemed to hold its breath, the interplay of power and intimidation casting a heavy shadow over the proceedings.

"Leave her be," she heard, his words barely reaching her through the crowd's murmurs. She caught sight of his lips moving, and a warmth spread across her face as Illiana offered him a small, grateful smile. Just then, the heavy doors of the hall creaked open, and Lord Riddick strode in, a striking figure clad in polished black leather that accentuated his commanding presence. 

Illiana instinctively sank into a deep, respectful bow, her heart racing as she felt the weight of his authority fill the room. The air crackled with tension as she remained bowed until Riddick settled into his ornate chair at the head of the room. His sharp, silver eyes scanned the gathering with a predatory gaze, lingering on each face, assessing, calculating, as if he could read their thoughts. 

"Helmets off when in the Great Hall!" His voice reverberated like a thunderclap, resonating off the ancient stone walls. The Necromongers, clad in their imposing armor, immediately complied, the sound of metal clanging softly as they removed their helmets. Illiana tucked herself securely under his arm, feeling a peculiar combination of safety and tension. 

She mused. He was strikingly handsome. His features were etched with a rugged charm that demanded attention. His blonde hair, cropped into a medium crew cut and slicked back with a practiced ease, accentuated the angular lines of his jaw and the defined planes of his face. But it was his eyes that captivated her the most—brilliant emerald green, shimmering with an intensity that seemed to pierce through her. 

Before his transformation into a Necromonger, she was certain his skin had been sun-kissed with a rich tan, radiating warmth and vitality. Now, however, it was pallid, the customary hue of those who had undergone the conversion, mottled with the faintest traces of scars that told stories of battles fought and lost. 

As he pulled her closer against his armored side, his other arm encircled her waist possessively, their bodies fitting together in a way that felt both foreign and exhilarating. His gaze hardened, almost defiantly, as his attention shifted, following the line of her sight to the austere figure of the Lord Marshall. The weight of the Lord Marshall's stare bore down on her, laden with scrutiny and an unspoken judgment, heightening the tension in the air around them.

"It seems I must appoint a new Purifier," Lord Riddick declared, his voice echoing through the vast chamber. Illiana observed intently as the senior healers assembled in a meticulous line, each draped in dark blue robes fluttering slightly with their movements. The fabric shimmered under the flickering light of the torches, casting ominous shadows on the stone walls.

She recognized a few names among them. Mathias, with his graying hair and gentle demeanor, stood with a serene aura. Titus, tall and imposing, exuded a quiet strength that commanded respect. Emric, the youngest of the trio, had a bright spark of enthusiasm in his eyes, yet there was an air of maturity about him that belied his age. These were the steadfast men who had supported the Purifier through countless trials, men of integrity and honor.

But then came Kaius, the final figure in the line. He stepped forward with a predatory grace, his presence darkening the atmosphere. Illiana’s heart quickened, and she instinctively cowered behind Bayren, her trusted ally, as Kaius passed by. His gaze was chilling, filled with a lustful hunger that sent shivers down her spine.

"Ah, Illiana," he purred mockingly, a smug smile curling his lips. "What a disappointment it is that you did not choose the path of a healer. You could have been my prized pupil." His words dripped with insincerity, layered beneath the veneer of charm.

Kaius held one Necromonger law above all else: pursuing power through fear and manipulation. As he lingered, Illiana felt the weight of his malevolence pressing down on her, a stark reminder of the darkness that loomed within their order. You keep what you kill.

Bayren's voice, smooth like velvet, cut through the tension in the air, causing the other man to frown in discontent. “Leave her alone, or you’ll find your due time coming soon,” he warned, towering ominously over the healer by a whole foot, his imposing presence radiating authority.

Kaius let out a low chuckle, a mocking glint in his eyes. “Perhaps if I ascend to the role of Purifier, you might come and assist me. I’m sure I can find something to keep you thoroughly entertained,” he replied, his tone dripping with arrogant confidence.

“Best you not keep the Lord Marshall waiting,” Bayren growled, protective instincts flaring as he shoved Illiana behind him. She quickly took her place back, a sense of urgency coursing through her veins as Kaius positioned himself in front of Lord Riddick. 

From above, Vaako stepped down from the balcony, the muted rustle of his robes barely audible as he approached the throne, where he belonged at the side of Lord Riddick. Leaning in slightly, he whispered something into the Lord's ear. His dark eyes flickered toward Kaius with a piercing intensity. Blessed Baset, she thought desperately. Please, Vaako, do not appoint him. In the depths of her mind, she hoped he could hear her silent plea. 

"Emric." Riddick’s voice resonated through the grand hall, echoing off the stone walls as he addressed the man standing on the first step of the throne. With a graceful inclination of his head, Emric bowed, embodying the weight of formality. Riddick continued, his tone commanding yet authoritative, "Rise, Purifier."

Emric’s head jerked up in surprise, his newfound title resonating as he stood. A mix of disbelief and honor washed over his features, and he straightened with an air of reluctant pride. Illiana, standing nearby, released the breath she had been holding in anticipation. The tension in the air dissipated slightly, allowing her mind to lighten momentarily. Bayren, watching the scene unfold, placed a reassuring hand on her back—a gesture of shared relief and gratitude.

Her striking blue eyes returned to the throne, where the Lord and Commander, steeped in their respective powers, cast their scrutinizing gazes toward her. As their silver eyes pierced through the dimly lit chamber, she felt a shiver run down her spine, the intensity of their focus burning into her skin.

Breaking the stillness, a hushed murmur spread through the gathered assembly. "I was informed that the Lord Marshall can also take a consort..." The whispers fluttered like the wings of startled birds around her, imbued with curiosity and intrigue. "I have been told I can choose any woman as my consort, and she can not refuse." The sentence hung in the air, laden with unspoken implications and tantalizing possibilities, drawing everyone's attention to the weighty decision ahead. 

Of course, the woman found it impossible to refuse. He was the Lord Marshal, a figure whose authority was absolute; his word was not merely an edict but the embodiment of the Faith and the law itself. No soul within the realm would dare to question his commands, for doing so would risk incurring the wrath of a power that had governed them for eons. Since Covu had unearthed the enigmatic gate leading to The Underverse, known ominously as "The Threshold," each succeeding Lord Marshal embarked on a solemn pilgrimage to this otherworldly dimension. This journey to The Underverse bestowed upon them a vast array of formidable, inhuman abilities. The Lord Marshals were not only remarkably long-lived, but whispered among the citizens were the rumors of their potential immortality.

Lord Riddick stood apart among these rulers, having defiantly rejected the oath that had bound his predecessors. This audacious act relegated him to the title of a breeder on the Throne of the Dead, a position viewed with disdain and blasphemy by many, tainting his legacy in the eyes of traditionalists. 

While most Lords tended to choose their spouses from noble lines, taking their wives as their consorts, Lord Zhylaw diverged from this norm, selecting a woman from the ranks of the armada solely based on her striking beauty. Though devoid of affection for her husband, the Lady gradually came to command a deep respect for him—an intricate bond born from shared battles and the weight of his formidable leadership. 

As whispers of Lord Riddick’s choices began to circulate, she couldn’t shake the hope that whoever he ultimately selected would discover a parallel respect and admiration, much like that which Lady Zhylaw had cultivated over time. She silently prayed that their bond would transcend obligation, evolving into something more profound and enduring.

"Illiana."

Her heart raced, and her wide eyes reflected both fear and disbelief as she locked gazes with the imposing figure of the Lord Marshall. She felt as though the air had been sucked from her lungs. It had to be a mistake—not her, not someone deemed unconverted and impure. Clenching her fists, she bowed her head, helpless tears spilling over and tracing paths down her flushed cheeks.

"Bayren," the Lord's voice reverberated through the grand hall, a chilling command that left no room for argument. "Bring her to me."

Bayren moved closer, his expression a mixture of sympathy and regret. He whispered urgently, "I'm so sorry, Lia." His strong hand encircled her upper arm, his grip firm yet reluctant as he began to pull her towards the throne, its gilded edges glinting ominously under the flickering torchlight.

"Bay, please. Please don't make me go. They will kill me. The court will kill me. You know that." Her voice trembled, a desperate plea that hung in the air like a thick fog. The weight of her fear pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

But there was nothing he could do in the face of such a powerful decree. No amount of pleading, no whispered words of comfort, could alter the course that had been set by the Lord Marshall. It was clear to both of them; he had made his choice, and now the consequences would unravel like threads in a tightly woven tapestry.

Illiana stood at the threshold of the upper-class halls, her heart racing with awe and trepidation. The opulence of the Lord's chambers enveloped her like a silken embrace. Black sparkling marble stretched across the floors and walls, reflecting the warm glow of the ornate sconces that lined the space. An impressive stone bed, adorned with luxurious silk sheets in shades of deep crimson, dominated the room, promising comfort fit for royalty. 

Above, the ceiling was an artistic marvel; it resembled a vast sphere of crystal-clear glass, allowing a stunning panorama of the universe to cascade into the chamber. Twinkling stars seemed to dance playfully, creating a celestial ambiance that was both enchanting and surreal. 

On the opposite side of the room, a formidable desk commanded attention, its polished surface cluttered with an array of papers, scrolls, and intricate diagrams. At its center sat a large, complex computer—a high-tech behemoth that seemed to pulse with energy, orchestrating the commands of the entire armada. The room radiated power and possibility, a fitting domain for one who wielded such influence.

Lord Riddick sat at his desk, allowing her to look around the room. His bestial glowing silver eyes followed her every move. 

"What do you know about court politics?" Lord Riddick inquired after a contemplative silence, his gaze fixed intently on Illiana. "Vaako mentioned you were quite close to Zhylaw's lady—secretive, even."

Illiana's expression darkened as she recalled their conversations. "She confided in me about everything," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Her fears ran deep—she spoke of those she believed were traitors lurking in the shadows, conspirators eager to undermine her and usurp the throne. Each whispered name weighed heavily on her heart, and she often worried that her demise would come at the hands of someone she once considered an ally, someone who would do anything to take her place."

"Like who?" he demanded, his silver eyes piercing through her with an intensity that made her heart race. 

"Dame Vaako and her entourage," she replied, her voice slightly trembling. "She made several attempts to eliminate Lady Amista." 

He grunted, the sound low and rumbling, "Does Vaako know that?" 

Illiana shook her head slowly, her white hair falling around her face like a veil. "No, my lord. I lacked the concrete evidence to present to him." 

"Why did she take a shine to you?" he rumbled, leaning back in the chair, its wood creaking beneath his weight. 

Illiana felt a chill at the thought of the late Lady Amista, who had strictly ordered her to keep her arcane abilities hidden from prying eyes. But now the past loomed heavily over her; a new Lady had risen: "It’s my magic. I was a shield for her. I performed spells and incantations, weaving protective barriers to keep her safe."

"Show me," he commanded, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. 

Illiana felt her heart seize in her chest, her breath catching in her throat. "I... I don’t know what to do," she stammered, her mind racing. "I usually have a reason for using my magic—it’s not something I wield lightly."

"I want to communicate with you without speaking aloud," Lord Riddick growled, his eyes narrowing with intensity. "Not everyone needs to hear our words. I don’t trust these fuckers around us."

Illiana looked around, the weight of his words sinking in. She understood the unspoken danger hovering in the air. "I need something," she said, her voice steadier now, "something you can wear—an item that can bond to you. The same goes for me." 

The gravity of the task loomed over them as she formulated a plan, knowing that their connection would have to be strong enough to withstand the prying eyes and ears of those who would seek to tear them apart.

Riddick gestured toward an ornate vanity, its surface cluttered with an array of glittering treasures. "All of the fancy stuff is over there. I was going to toss it all," he muttered. She approached the vanity, her curiosity piqued by the shimmering assortment. Piles of rings glinted with every hue, necklaces spilled like liquid silver, and arm cuffs twisted into intricate designs beckoned to her.

Closing her eyes, she let herself sink into a quiet moment of focus, recalling her mother's soothing words: *Let the magic choose for you; it knows better than most.* With a steady breath, she reached toward the collection, allowing her instincts to guide her. Her fingers brushed against a choker—a slender band of black leather adorned with a dark crimson stone that seemed to pulse softly, almost alive.

With determination, she again closed her eyes and shifted her focus to the Lord’s side. Her hand found a black braided metal cuff, its texture cool and surprisingly light. While it would need to rest on his wrist to fit properly, she could already envision how it would seamlessly complement his armor, a perfect blend of strength and elegance.

IIliana turned back to face the Lord, whose keen gaze had been fixed on her with an intensity that made her heart race. She presented her selection, and he let out a low grunt of approval, the corners of his mouth hinting at a rare smile. As she looked around, she noted that someone had meticulously gathered her belongings from her chambers, ensuring she had everything she needed. 

With determination, she grasped her black candles, their wax shimmering in the dim light, and picked up a piece of chalk, its surface cool and smooth against her fingertips. Focusing intently, she knelt on the opulent tapestry that cushioned the stone floor and began to draw a large circle, the runes emerging on the surface in an elegant, sweeping motion that seemed to hum with energy. 

Once satisfied, she placed the four candles at the points of the compass around her, their wicks beckoning for fire. Hesitating for a moment, she invited him to join her within the circle. He knelt in front of her, exuding a quiet strength that made the air around them feel electric. As she took his hands in hers, she was acutely aware of the contrast in their sizes; his massive hands felt warm and reassuring cradled within her own. She lingered on the sensation, trying to focus on the ritual at hand while the warmth of his touch sent a gentle flush through her.

"This won't hurt, but you'll feel a gentle buzzing in your mind, alright?" Her voice was soothing, yet firm, like a steady hand in a storm. He shrugged, skepticism clouding his features, but uttered not a word of protest. Drawing in a deep breath, she shut her eyes and called out, "Blessed Baset, I humbly ask for your aid. Grant me strength." 

Suddenly, the air around them shimmered with anticipation as the candles flickered to life, their flames dancing eagerly in the dimly lit room. Lord Riddick's posture stiffened, his brow furrowing in unease. "Relax. If you don’t, this won’t work," she urged, her tone calm but insistent. 

She allowed him a moment to collect himself before she felt the warm waves of ancient magic coursing through her veins, a comforting heat that signaled the presence of the divine. "Bind us as one. Bind our minds. Together as one. Bless this union so that we may forge ahead. Bless these tools to wield." 

As she intoned the repetitive chant, a sensation began to swell inside her consciousness, reminiscent of bees buzzing with fervor. The sound crescendoed, growing louder and more intense, enveloping them both as they ventured deeper into the mystical energy that connected their fates.

As she pulled back her hand, the stone and metal pulsed with a fierce crimson glow, radiating an otherworldly heat. 

"I never imagined it would manifest like this," he murmured, a hint of awe in his voice. "Does it always take so long?"

Illiana let out a soft, melodic chuckle that danced in the air between them. "No, not always. I possess other arcane methods, but they exact a heavy toll. Some are perilous enough to threaten my very life. This particular approach was relatively straightforward, but I must admit, it has left me feeling somewhat drained. It’s been ages since I last delved into those depths."

Lord Riddick observed with a mix of fascination and concern as she deftly broke the intricate circle, causing the vibrant flames to extinguish in an instant, leaving only a whisper of smoke in their wake. With a quick motion, she snatched the choker and clasped it around her throat, its cool metal contrasting against her warm skin. He followed suit, securing the cuff around his left wrist, feeling a strange pulse of power resonate within the markings etched into its surface. 

“Well? Did it work?” His deep voice resonated clearly in her mind, a sound that both thrilled and unnerved her.

“Yes, my lord,” she replied, her heart racing slightly. Illiana watched as his sharp gaze narrowed, almost piercing her with an intensity that felt like a glare. Silver on water, she mused, recognizing the familiar analogy that spoke of clarity and reflection intertwined with depth.

Lord Riddick nodded thoughtfully, his features set in contemplation. “If we take this off?” he questioned, motioning toward the delicate charm resting around her neck.

“I will not be able to hear you,” Illiana informed him, her voice steady despite the uncertainty swirling within her. “Magic is fickle and sometimes dances to its own unpredictable rhythm.”

Rising to his full height, Lord Riddick commanded the space around him, his movements fluid and purposeful, reminiscent of a cat prowling with grace. Illiana felt a mix of admiration and awe as he surveyed her modest collection of belongings—herbs carefully arranged in glass jars, ancient tomes filled with forgotten spells, flickering spare candles, and a few other relics she had gathered during her years on the Balistica. Each item held its own story, just as she did.

As she observed him, the irony struck her anew. Here she was, a devoted follower of a Cat-Goddess, worshipping a figure as feline in demeanor and as enigmatic as the deity she revered. The juxtaposition of her faith and his presence spun a tapestry of intrigue and reverence within her heart.

"Why is Vaako so intensely fixated on you?" The question lingered in the air, charged with unspoken tension. "When I first mentioned your name, it was as if he was ready to pounce on me. After that, he began to offer me every other woman in the room, all while avoiding looking at you."

Illiana sat cross-legged on the cold, hard floor, her silence heavy with unspoken fears. She dared not utter a word or even let her mind wander to thoughts of her and Vaako's complicated entanglement.

"Illiana." The voice across from her sharpened, a clear warning that something was amiss.

She sighed and rose to her feet, turning her back to him."Vaako was my first. My first friend. My first everything. He was the first person I saw when I woke up here. Vaako. . . He loves me."

"That's damn obvious. Why didn't he claim you?" 

Illiana's mind drifted back to a time not long ago, when Vaako was slightly younger, his youthful fervor palpable as he stood before the Purifier and Lord Zhylaw. The flicker of desperation in his eyes was unmistakable as he pleaded, his voice trembling with emotion, to be granted the right to take her as his wife, despite the stain of impurity that surrounded her. The court was heavy with anticipation, but his plea fell on deaf ears. When Zhylaw's voice cut through the air like a blade, telling him no, a chilling silence engulfed the room. 

Illiana, barely fourteen years old at the time, felt the weight of the moment as she was summoned to the throne room, the eyes of the entire court boring into her with a chilling intensity. The very air seemed to thrum with tension as Vaako, his heart in turmoil, had to be restrained as Commander Myron, who wielded his authority with ruthless precision, beat and raped her. The scene erupted in chaos as Vaako's anguished cry echoed in her mind long after she was carried out by Bayren

In the days that followed, Illiana's white hair was stained with pink hues from all the blood. It had taken weeks for Lady Amista to wash it out.

"Stop!" Lord Riddick barked, "Tell me that fucker is dead. If he isn't, I'll go kill him right now."

Illiana shook her head slowly, her ethereal white-silver hair cascading around her shoulders like a shimmering halo, "Vaako took care of him the next morning. That’s why Lord Zhylaw ordered him to marry Inara. Vaako is far too valuable to sacrifice for mere revenge."

A tense silence hung in the air as he regarded her, his voice laced with lingering anger, "You love him?"

She let out a humorless laugh, a sound that echoed with bitterness, "Vaako and I have drifted apart over the years, thanks largely to Inara’s relentless interference. She made sure of that."

As the tension between them crackled, Lord Riddick prowled closer, his presence commanding and formidable. He gently cupped her face in his roughened hands, his thumbs tracing her cheekbones with surprising tenderness. "No one is going to lay a finger on you while you’re mine. Any of these lowlifes try, and they will wish they hadn’t crossed me."

Illiana found herself lost in the depths of his intense silver eyes, each reflecting a promise of protection and a simmering ferocity. "But why? You met me only once, and now you claim me as yours." Her voice held a mixture of confusion and intrigue, as if she were both drawn to and wary of the fierce connection forming between them.

"Because Furyans protect their mates."

Illiana gasped, the realization hitting her like a thunderclap. "Furyan," she whispered, the name echoing with a depth of history and power. They were the lions of their kind, fierce and magnificent. 

"My kind—" she began, but he interrupted her with a knowing grin.

"They are cousins of mine. However," he leaned closer, a teasing glint in his eye, "you’re more like a little house cat compared to us." His smile widened, revealing an unexpected warmth in his demeanor. "I've done some research on your kind. Long ago, your people were renowned as powerful sorcerers, wielding abilities that could bend reality itself. But that age of magic came crashing down when the Necros invaded. The fall of your civilization was tied to a tragic loss—your mother, the High Priestess, was slain. A Fuyran was the one who became the Purifier, but your lineage carries so much more than that."

He paused, his gaze softening as he studied her. "There's something about you that stirs a protective instinct within us. Those small, kitten-like teeth of yours are a marker of your heritage. When I first laid eyes on you in the garden, it was as if fate was nudging me. I felt an irresistible pull—I had to have you."

Illiana knitted her brow, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. "What does this mean for us? And for the Necomongers?"

Lord Riddick shrugged, a flicker of mischief dancing in his dark eyes. "For now, it means we get to know each other. We’ll explore what this connection means and determine our path—one day at a time, because, honestly, I have no fucking clue what I’m doing." His candidness was disarming. "You were raised among them; you can teach me."

Illiana's lips curled into a small, genuine smile, the weight of her past momentarily lifting. "Very well, my lord."

"Riddick," he corrected gently. "When we’re alone, just call me Riddick."

Vaako was seething in his dimly lit quarters, his frustration bubbling over like a cauldron on the verge of boiling. The remnants of his rage were scattered across the floor; every table and chair lay overturned, their legs askew and surfaces cluttered with the remnants of his belongings. Weapons, once meticulously arranged, now glimmered menacingly amidst a chaotic swirl of discarded clothes and personal effects, creating a landscape of disorder that mirrored his inner turmoil. He let out a primal scream that echoed off the walls, a raw release of pent-up anger that drained him until his throat felt raw and his voice became a mere whisper.

Finally, he collapsed against the cold stone wall, his back pressed firmly against it as he sank into silence, the weight of his frustration hanging heavy in the air around him, listening to the drip, drip, drip of crimson coming from his fists. Riddick chose her. His Illiana. His sweet, shy kitten. He looked over to Inara's vanity mirror, shattered and warped. 

"Someone had quite the tantrum, it seems," she remarked, her tone laced with a mixture of mockery and exasperation. He gritted his teeth, the irritation building within him like a swelling tide. His gaze shot towards his wife, poised in the doorway with an air of defiance, her silhouette framed by the flickering candlelight behind her.

"Leave," he commanded, his voice low and chill.

She let out a peal of laughter, sharp and unyielding. "Why should I? So you can sit here, drowning in your own self-pity? Absolutely not. We have a duty to fulfill at the Lord and Lady’s union feast. You, as his second, are expected to attend." Her words were punctuated with a determination that seemed to reverberate in the dimly lit room.

He leaned his head back against the wall, the weight of her insistence pressing down on him like a heavy stone. "Do you really think I can bear to sit there and watch them together?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with emotion. The thought of the joyous celebration, filled with laughter and warmth, felt like a dagger twisting in his heart.

Irana scoffed derisively, her lips curling in amusement. "Who cares about their trivial rule? Two mere breeders sit upon that gilded throne, yet you, you failed to extinguish the threat of Zhylaw and somehow found yourself promoted for your half-hearted attempt! Shouldn’t this be a time for raucous celebration? I can already envision Riddick proclaiming you as his successor, and I can’t wait for that moment! Lady Irana Vaako—it has a ring to it, doesn’t it? Tell me, do you imagine you’ll be rid of Riddick any time soon?"

Vaako stared at his wife in disbelief, "Rid him? Have you gone mad, woman? I could not even get close to Zhylaw, but you think I can murder his killer?"

"You'll have to take the beast by surprise. Perhaps kill Illiana. That will surprise him!" 

Vaako was on his feet instantly, snatching Irana by her throat. He had a frenzied, mad look in his eyes. "Do not ever speak about her like that again, or I will promote you, Dame Vaako, before your due time." He threw her to the floor. 

Vaako meticulously cleaned himself up, slipping into one of his newer tunics—a deep shade of midnight blue that Illiana had insisted made him look like a dark prince shrouded in mystery. As he gazed down at his knuckles, they appeared raw and bruised, the skin taut and prone to bleeding at the slightest movement. He cursed under his breath, bitterly aware that there was little he could do to remedy the damage just yet. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he willed his turbulent thoughts and emotions into submission. He was the Lord Commander; he couldn't afford to show weakness.

Stepping into the common area of his chambers, he found Irana already dressed and poised, her silence palpable like a thick fog between them. Offering his arm, he felt a surge of frustration course through him as she took it, his teeth grinding in response.

"Smile, Siberius. We have much to celebrate today," she urged with an airy lightness.

"Call me by my first name again, and I’ll do worse than toss you aside," he warned, his voice low and edged with irritation.

"I adore it when you speak so sweetly, my love," she replied playfully, her finger grazing his jawline before she caressed his cheek. He flinched back at her touch, a hiss escaping his lips, but she simply laughed melodically, unfazed, and pulled him out of their chambers, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes.

Chapter Text

Vaako

Vaako's gaze lifted as an unexpected hush enveloped the great hall, a silence that felt almost reverent. In that moment, Riddick and Illiana stepped into view, and Vaako's heart splintered at the sight before him. Illiana's radiant smile, framed by soft, cascading curls, lit up the room. Her gown, a deep, velvety black reminiscent of the endless cosmos, clung to her form, adorned with shimmering crystal beads that sparkled like distant stars. A delicate veil swept down her back, attempting to gracefully obscure the daring design of her backless dress, but it only added to her allure.

Next to her, Riddick commanded attention, clad in fragments of his ceremonial armor. The polished shin plates glinted as he moved, while the gauntlets hugged his forearms, exuding strength. His breastplate, a testament to his warrior status, shimmered subtly under the hall's flickering candlelight. At his thighs, two short blades rested in their sheaths, a promise of readiness should conflict arise. Yet, if only he realized that the true power in the universe stood beside him, radiant and warm, her enchanting smile in response to his words serving as a weapon more potent than any blade he wielded.

He was there when her planet was conquered, a lowly officer when Zhylaw sieged the Leopard Temple. Illiana's mother, the High Priestess, had gathered the last survivors. She magically barred the doors. It took the legion six hours to break the enormous marble doors down. A woman with fire in her eyes stood in the mass of people. White curls were wild and blood-stained. Her chiffon dress was half burned and almost black with blood. Verena was powerful as she commanded fire to swarm the soldiers and boil them alive in their armor. Shockwaves of power threw men back, cracks forming in the roof and walls. Vaako had never seen anything like it. 

If it had not been for Zhylaw's power of soul-taking, the legion would have died that day. Verena gasped and reached for a small bundle, "Illiana." The High Priestess died trying to crawl to her daughter. 

Now her daughter was a consort to a Beast. Vaako noticed movement in the far corner. Spots. Vigil had been released from his flora cage, it seemed. The leopard stalked towards his mistress, who squealed in delight and hugged the big cat around the neck. 

"If everyone would take their seats," Riddick commanded, his voice smooth yet authoritative, slicing through the chatter of the gathering. Vaako, momentarily dazed by the elegant atmosphere, had forgotten the significance of his place beside Riddick, a position that felt both prestigious and painfully awkward. He glanced at Illiana, the woman who had captured his heart, knowing all too well that she was bound to another. With a heavy heart, Vaako settled into his chair, shoulders rigid as though encased in armor. Riddick took his seat with a predatory ease, the very embodiment of power. Illiana, radiant as ever, occupied the space on Riddick’s right, her presence effortlessly commanding attention. Inara slid into her seat opposite, her wicked smile hinting at mischief, drawing the eyes of several attendees.

"Do not start, woman," Vaako whispered, a tension threading through his tone.

"And embarrass you, my love? Never," she retorted with a teasing glimmer in her eyes, a playful defiance that both thrilled and tormented him.

The banquet hall was a feast for the senses, and Chef Cabot had indeed outdone himself. The air was thick with the aroma of rich, cream-based soup, perfectly blended with tender potatoes and a medley of meats that spoke of indulgence and care. Vaako couldn’t help but watch as Illiana's eyes lit up at the sight of her favorite dish, her joy igniting a flicker of pride in his heart. He silently reveled in the knowledge that he understood her desires so intimately, perhaps even more than the Beast she was bound to.

As a servant approached with a poised elegance, she carefully poured a goblet of Syrah—its deep, rich crimson hue glimmering in the light, a wine favored by the Necromongers for its bold depth. However, the servant's hands trembled under the scrutiny of the room, a few drops of the precious liquid splattering onto the pristine black tablecloth. Without a moment’s hesitation, Illiana reached out, gently placing her hands over the girl’s, guiding her with quiet strength to steady the pour. The tender gesture revealed the warmth in Illiana’s character, contrasting sharply with their formidable surroundings, and Vaako felt a surge of admiration wash over him.

"Most improper, touching a servant like that," one of Inara's companions scoffed disdainfully. Her name was Cerys, the courtesan of Commander Ophir, and she exuded a malevolence that rivaled even that of the commander’s own wife. 

Illiana remained silent, her soft-hearted nature stifling any impulse to defend herself. Yet the Beast was unmoved by compassion. "Ophir, keep her in check," he warned, his voice low and menacing. "Illiana is the Lady of the Balistica, not some whore like yours." There was an unmistakable threat in his words, and Vaako stood ready to lend his support, keen to see Ophir’s arrogance tempered before it could spiral out of control.

At that moment, the servant girl returned, balancing a tray laden with freshly baked bread, the aroma of which wafted through the hall. However, as she approached, she stumbled over the tail of Vigil, the great leopard lounging lazily nearby. The girl crashed to the unforgiving granite floor, the glass bowl she carried shattering into a million glittering shards, like tears splattered across the harsh surface. 

Vigil, now roused from his slumber, roared a fierce protest, swiping at the fallen woman with a paw that was both magnificent and fearsome, adding another layer of chaos to the scene unfolding in the grand hall.

"Vigil!" An animalistic hiss sliced through the tense air, causing everyone to freeze in their tracks. Vigil instinctively flattened himself against the cold, unforgiving floor, his heart racing as he cast wary glances at the imposing figure who had spoken. Illiana knelt gently beside the trembling girl, her eyes softening with compassion as she spoke. "Hush now. You did nothing wrong. May I ask what your name is?"

The girl, her voice barely a whisper, replied, "Faye." Tears glistened on her cheeks as she looked up at Illiana, fear evident in her wide, innocent eyes. "Please, my Lady. Please don't hurt me. I never meant to cause any trouble."

Nearby, Vaako contemplated rising to his feet, ready to intervene, but paused when Illiana directed a questioning glance towards Riddick. Riddick, with a slight shrug and a subtle nod, silently granted her permission to proceed. With gentle determination, Illiana helped Faye to her feet, brushing aside the unruly strands of mousey brown hair that obscured the girl's face, revealing her wide, frightened eyes.

"How would you like to take on the role of my handmaiden, Faye?" Illiana asked, her voice warm and inviting. The corners of Vaako's mouth twitched upward in a smirk; it was classic Illiana to champion the underdog in a moment of desperation.

The tension in the room dissolved slightly as the others held their breath, unwilling to disrupt the fragile exchange. Faye nodded eagerly, hope igniting in her gaze. "Yes, my Lady! I would love that," she replied, her voice steadier now.

"Then very well," Illiana declared, a reassuring smile gracing her lips. "Stand by my side." 

Illiana gracefully retook her seat, and as she did, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations around them began anew, quieter and more subdued, as if reverence had been restored in the wake of an unexpected bond forged within the chaos.

"How are the Legionnaires holding up, Vaako?" Riddick inquired, his voice low and steady as he tilted his head slightly, surveying the tension in the air. 

"Well, my Lord," Vaako replied, his tone respectful but tinged with concern, "but they are growing restless. The scent of battle stirs something primal within them. They crave the thrill of the fight." 

Riddick leaned back in his chair, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across his rugged features. In that moment, he allowed a silent understanding to pass between Vaako and Illiana, causing the air to thrum with unspoken words. Vaako's normally steady heart quickened as Illiana looked his way, offering him a shy smile that softened his otherwise fierce demeanor. 

"My Lady," he managed to say, inclining his head ever so slightly, the edges of his lips twitching upward in response to her warmth. 

"Lord Commander Vaako, you look particularly handsome tonight," she remarked, her sweet voice weaving through the tension like a gentle breeze. "Your wife chose well." 

At her words, a storm cloud seemed to gather over Vaako's countenance. Shadows deepened in his eyes as he reached for his drink, revealing the battered state of his knuckles, a testament to his unyielding nature. Illiana’s gaze fell upon his hands, her brow furrowing with concern as she opened her mouth, about to speak, the weight of unvoiced questions evident in her expression.

Illiana

"No," Riddick's voice growled. "It's none of our business".

"Yes, it is. He is hurt, and your second! You should be worried." She reminded him.

"Look at his wife's throat. It's bruised. I don't worry about what goes on behind closed doors, and neither should you," Riddick warned her. 

Illiana settled into her chair with a soft huff, a mix of frustration and acceptance rippling through her. She knew deep down that Riddick was right, but this was Vaako—the one who had held her close during her darkest moments, the one who had guided her through the intricacies of her burgeoning magic, and the one who had stolen her first kiss beneath a starlit sky.

As she kept her gaze locked on her Lord, she studied the way he spoke with Vaako about the upcoming planet they were to convert. His authoritative voice resonated in the luxurious chamber while his silver eyes occasionally darted to trace someone else's movements further down the table, creating an unsettling tension in the air. Illiana felt a familiar warmth bloom in the back of her mind, a gentle tingle that was unmistakably Vaako's presence.

“Will the Lady join the training?” Irana inquired, her tone curious yet mocking.

“All the noble ladies will,” Riddick declared, his voice filled with resolve. “If you can wield a weapon, you’ll be trained. Although for Illiana, I’ve requested someone quite different to conduct her training.”

Illiana's thoughts flickered to Riddick, a question forming in the privacy of her mind. 

“A seasoned priest who specializes in individuals like you. He calls it being ‘gifted,’” Riddick answered over a mouthful, his tone tinged with a mix of pride and seriousness.

Illiana's brows furrowed in surprise as she turned to her Lord, disbelief creeping into her voice. “You want me to openly practice?”

“Absolutely. And if anyone dares to challenge that, they can take it up with me,” he replied, his voice rising with an imposing edge that threatened to silence any dissent. Riddick's silver gaze returned to her, intense and protective. “I wish someone would try to mess with you. Just give me a reason.”

“A small disrespect to her lady is more than enough reason,” Illiana overheard Vaako murmur, his voice laced with a quiet intensity that made her heart race.

But suddenly, a heavy, icy weight enveloped her, plunging her senses into a cold fog. The vibrant colors of the High Table faded into an ominous swirl of black smoke, and the bustling sounds of conversation transformed into a cacophony of whispers that echoed within her mind—thousands of voices intertwining, indistinguishable yet insistent. Then, through the tumult, a single voice emerged, clear and haunting, resonating deep within her consciousness.

A Day Will Come Where The Furyan King Coupled With A Furyan Sorceress And The Worlds Will Bow When The New Furyan Heir Takes Its First Breath. Yet Comes Another, Half Dead, All Heart To Unite Worlds.