Claimed by the Fallen Five

A heavy, pulsing boom-boom-boom sounded below her. Not the sound of malfunction. Not coincidence. Purpose. “Wait, what’s that?” someone muttered. One boom after another, louder each time. A red warning light spiraled into life over the back entrance. The security drones along the ceiling twitched, then sparked. One after another. Dropping like dying insects. “System error. Turret offline. Zone breach, Zone breach.” A scream shattered the rising panic as the side blast doors, thick slabs of composite steel, were blown inward. Fire and debris exploded into the auction, slamming buyers, guards, and slaves alike into walls and railings. Chaos. Pure, perfect chaos. Mae didn’t flinch this time. Her body curled instinctively, the shock collar buzzing uselessly as the system it connected to shorted out. A spray of concrete dust coated her skin. Blood, someone else’s, splattered at her feet. Her wide, sharp eyes snapped upward. Back to that dark VIP balcony-they were looking right at her. The

Silence. For the first time in hours, there were no alarms. No gunfire. No screaming. Just the steady hum of engines and the rattling vibrations of a ship clearly not designed for stealth or comfort, but fast enough to outrun death. For now. Mae sat slumped against the cold wall of the cargo bay, her wrists still bound in magnetic cuffs, metal edges biting skin. Her legs curled beneath her, every muscle tight as a bowstring. Her eyes flicked between them. The monsters. The killers.The Fallen Five. Kaine paced near the weapons rack, armor scuffed, jaw set like stone, cybernetic plates along his arms twitching as his stress pulsed through them. Sethis sprawled across a crate, boots kicked up, flicking a glowing data pad between his fingers like he was bored out of his mind. A devil’s grin never left his face. Riven stood near the bay doors, plasma wings flickering low now, but his hands clenched like he hadn’t decided if he was still in fight mode. Lucien? His form barely stayed solid

-Asher’s thoughtsSomething isn’t right. Ashar sat still. Always still. Motionless as the ship drifted into stolen airspace, the sound of low arguments and hissing plasma vents filling the air. His arms were folded, posture deceptively relaxed, but every muscle coiled with precise tension. Her. He let his gaze slide sideways. No one noticed. No one ever did. Noticing him required his permission. There she was. Small. Shackled. Fragile. Or so it appeared. But no.No, no, no... something is seriously off. His mind rewound, cold, clinical, back to the auction. The dagger. Thrown with precision, intent to kill. A fraction slower, a breath off course, and it would have embedded itself in her, killing her. He stopped it. Of course, he stopped it, but he almost didn’t. His hands were phase-tuned, calibrated through thousands of battles to lock onto moving metal. No blade could touch him unless. Unless. It did. His palm still ached faintly, a razor-thin slice across the edge, a mark that s

The tension did not fade. Not completely. But it shifted. Softened at the edges. Warped into something heavier, quieter. Everyone had spread out now, claiming whatever space felt safe enough within the strange cathedral of living stone and twisted energy. Riven leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, chewing the corner of his glove like he wanted to bite through the tension itself. Sethis sprawled lazily across a semi-floating platform that drifted a few feet off the ground, looking like he was relaxed but watching everything. Kaine sat farthest from Mae, legs wide, elbows on knees, his glare heavy but quieter than before. Lucien paced in a slow, measured loop around the perimeter, hands clasped behind his back, like a predator in a cage pretending he wasn’t sizing up every shadow. And then there was Ashar. Sitting, no, occupying, the center of the space. His throne wasn’t a throne, not really, but it fit him all the same. Black hair draped over one shoulder, crystalline eyes duller n

Silence pressed down like gravity, heavy, suffocating, absolute. No one dared move. No one dared breathe too loud. Not after that. It was Riven who broke it. The only one who could. The only one Ashar trusted enough to say it. “Ash.” His voice was quieter than usual, missing the sharp, reckless bite that usually coated it like a shield. “Ash,” he repeated, then firmer. “We need to talk.”A ripple went through the room. Not words. No movement. Just the subtle tension of everyone knowing this was not a request. Ashar’s crystalline eyes flicked toward Riven. They held for a long moment, something unspoken passing between them. Then, without a word, Ashar stood. His coat dragged against the fractured floor, boots echoing softly in the unnatural space. No command. No explanation. Just a sharp tilt of his head.Riven followed. The others didn’t stop them. They didn’t dare. They walked down a hall that folded sideways into a staircase that did not exist until they stepped onto it. Through a d