Chapter Forty Four: Promises and Reminders
The soft chime of the door startled Freya awake. She blinked against the low light of her chamber, heart thrumming as though it already knew who stood on the other side.
“Come in,” she whispered, voice still hushed from sleep.
The door slid open, revealing Axir’s tall figure framed by the dim corridor. His expression was shadowed but intent, every line of him taut as if he bore weight too heavy to set down.
“Freya,” he said, low and even. “Did you have a good rest?"
Freya's eyes still heavy from sleep said, "Yes. Axir, is something wrong?"
Axir said, "I need to talk to you, Freya."
She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and followed. His stride was slow for her sake, though each step carried urgency. They moved through the winding hall until the door to the viewing deck opened, revealing a sweep of glass that curved like the dome of a cathedral. Stars spilled across the void, radiant and endless. The planet of Nimoa burned faint and blue on the horizon, waiting like a secret.
Axir did not speak at first. He stood at the glass, hands clasped behind his back, his reflection a dark sentinel among the stars. Freya came to stand beside him, waiting.
At last, his voice cut through the silence. “Soon, we will land.”
She turned toward him, brow furrowed. “On Nimoa.”
“Yes.” His eyes lingered on the distant glow. “We believe Vorkesh has fled there. If he survived the battle, he will not lick his wounds idly. He will lay snares. And the Nimoans… we do not know how they will greet us. Allies, or opportunists. Their coin is strong, but their loyalty…” He shook his head once. “It shifts with the wind.” “And, we need to find the core. It has been said, it’s in Nimoa..”
Freya felt the weight in his tone—the way he said Vorkesh, the way suspicion hung heavy. A chill traced her spine, yet she stepped closer, her hand brushing his arm. “So you’ll go after him at the same time look for core?”
“I must,” Axir said. His gaze finally turned to her, steel and tenderness at war in his eyes. “But you must promise me something, Freya.”
Her lips parted, unsure.
“Promise me you will not step out of this ship.” His words were low, resolute. “Not into their markets, not into their halls. The Nimoans do not know we carry a human aboard, much less my mate. If they learn, your life could become a prize. A pawn. I will not risk it.”
Her throat tightened. He had never spoken the word so plainly before—mate. It wrapped around her heart, fierce and grounding. But it also drew fire in her chest.
“You’re asking me to stay behind while you walk into danger,” she said quietly.
“Yes.” His reply was immediate, unshaken. “Archelix and Sirius will remain here to guard you. Nerissa will see to your needs. Everything you require, you will have. But you will not set foot outside.”
“And how long?” she pressed.
“Three days,” Axir said. He inhaled, steadying himself. “On the fourth, if we do not return, Archelix knows the protocol. He will take the ship and leave Nimoa behind. He will return you to Earth. To safety.”
Freya’s hands clenched around the shawl at her chest. “And abandon you?”
His gaze hardened, but not at her. At the thought. “If I fall, my last command will be your survival. That is the only outcome I can accept.”
She shook her head, eyes burning. “No. No, Axir. I won’t leave you. You can’t ask me to sit here while you fight. You can’t ask me to pretend I have no part in this.”
“I am not asking,” he said, voice edged like a blade. “I am telling you. You are too precious to risk.”
“Precious?” she whispered, anger and ache tangled in her chest. “I may not be a trained fighter, Axir. But, I’ve been through danger before. I’ve been chased, hunted—dragged into this galaxy’s war. You think I can go back to hiding while you stand against him alone?”
His jaw tightened, every muscle of his body taut with restraint. He reached, cupping her face with a hand that trembled not from weakness but from the force of holding himself steady.
“Freya.” His thumb brushed her cheek, slow, reverent. “I would burn worlds to keep you safe. Do not make me prove it.”
Her breath caught. She wanted to argue, to demand, to fight him—but the truth of his fear, his love, was carved in every word.
At last, she sagged against him, pressing her forehead to his chest. “I hate this,” she whispered. “I hate the thought of you walking into a trap while I wait here, useless.”
“You are never useless,” he murmured, his arm wrapping around her, strong and unyielding. “You give me strength to step into the fire. You remind me what I fight for. That is more than any blade can offer.”
She closed her eyes, breathing him in. The scent of steel and storm. The steady beat of his heart.
“Promise me you will come back,” she whispered.
“I promise,” he said without hesitation. Then softer, “And I will send word. Through Archelix, through Sirius—you will hear from me. Every step, if I can.”
Her hands gripped his tunic, reluctant but resigned. “Then I’ll wait. But don’t you dare make me wait longer than three days.”
A rare, faint smile touched his lips. He tipped her chin up, pressing his forehead to hers. “Three days,” he echoed. “And when I return, we will walk this deck together again—not as commander and charge, but as two who survived.”
Her breath shivered, but she nodded. Reluctant, aching, but trusting.
He kissed her then—brief, fierce, sealing the promise with the heat of his lips.
When they finally pulled apart, he exhaled slowly, as if grounding himself. “Rest, Freya. Nerissa will check on you at dawn. And I will leave instructions with Archelix. All you must do… is trust me.”
She watched him turn back toward the stars, tall and unbreakable. And though fear gnawed at her, something inside her steadied too.
Because even in the shadow of Nimoa, even with Vorkesh’s threat looming like smoke on the horizon, she believed him.
For now, that would have to be enough.