Chapter 44: Fading link

The aircraft drifted through the void at a pace that defied its own capabilities—deliberately slow. Alaric was stretching time, refusing to rush now, a stark contrast to the blind speed with which he had bolted from the Fenris capital the moment he first felt the link connect. His body had simply moved, his beast snarling urgently within his soul.

Two weeks he'd spent crawling through the void, deliberately holding back his speed just to reach Aetheria's outer edge. It had been just enough time for him to finally realize the recklessness of his flight. His personal communicator had been blaring insistently with urgent messages from Brandon and Albert. His mind knew he needed to turn back—that now was not the time to meet her—but his body firmly refused to listen.

Three more days until he reached Balthazar, where House Aetheria stood. Where she was.

Silver eyes stared through the viewport at the endless dark, unblinking. His hair, long and pale as moonlight, drifted slightly in the recycled air. He sat motionless, a statue carved from weariness and waiting. The only movement was the slow rise and fall of his chest—proof he still breathed.

He planned and re-planned, circling through every possibility in his mind. The approach had to be delicate. He couldn't risk his arrival causing any trouble, putting her in danger, or even just disturbing her. That worry alone made his chest feel strangely tight, a sharp, unfamiliar pressure.

It was surprising he was behaving this way at all.

Before her—before laying eyes on that tiny cub—there had been nothing. No personal reason to keep going. No steady anchor. Just an endless, hollow void gnawing at the center of his soul. He was the last of his kind. The weight of the world pressed down on shoulders that were simply not allowed to buckle or break. His life had never belonged to him, it belonged only to duty, to survival, and to the crushing feeling that he had to endure.

He had been like a machine. High-precision. Built not to fail. He was endlessly running on empty, with no personal reason to live, only the vast, iron obligation to survive for the sake of his race.

And it was exhausting and dull.

Centuries bled together into a hollow, monotonous stretch. He envied the people around him—those who found something to hold dear, something that gave meaning to this cursed, endless life.

What did he have?

Duty. Isolation. The madness that whispered at the edges when he stayed too still, too long, too alone.

And then she appeared, out of nowhere, as if the universe had gifted him something he didn’t even know he needed. A missing piece clicking into place.

The void vanished in an instant. Though they were still separated by vast distance, knowing she existed somewhere in his world brought Alaric immense, physical relief. The constant, low-level pressure of approaching madness that he fought daily dissipated, leaving his mind clear and wonderfully quiet.

She was so tiny. Too small. She felt fragile in a way that truly unnerved him, though he refused to call the feeling fear. He had only seen her a few times—brief glimpses, never long enough—but with each one, the pull grew stronger.

It wasn't simple attraction. It wasn't love, not in the way he understood the emotion. It was a powerful, unconditional need to be irrevocably bound to her, to become whatever she required: protector, companion, guardian—and eventually, partner.

This was a raw, undeniable claim that rooted him to her side and immediately rejected any distance. His beast paced restlessly inside him, demanding he stay near, defend her, and remain close. This was the sensation of finally finding his life's companion. The one meant for him alone.

He had not wished to approach her this early. Too soon. She was barely more than an infant in this world. But ever since he felt the link snap into place—connecting them like a tether he could not sever—both he and his beast had grown unbearably restless. The need clawed at him, relentless and consuming.

He wanted to protect her. Watch her grow. Be there for every moment, every breath, every small discovery. He wanted to witness all of it, even if only from the shadows, even if she never knew he was there.

For the first time in his life, Alaric had a reason that was entirely, selfishly his own.

And he would not let it slip away.

His fingers curled slowly against the armrest. Silver eyes reflected the stars beyond the glass—cold, distant, untouchable. But inside, something burned.

Just as he was justifying his decision to suddenly barge into the galaxy where his mate lived, a sudden signal of agonizing pain ripped through the link. It startled Alaric so violently his carefully controlled breathing hitched. A crippling wave of desperation—none of it his own—shattered his focus. Before he could process it, Emma, the star network’s AI, blared a piercing red alert through the aircraft.

“Priority One Alert: Life-Threatening Event Detected. Subject Gwyneth Windsor is currently experiencing critical instability. Status: Life-and-death situation.”

Alaric was on his feet instantly, his prior calm and refined demeanor gone. The red alert pulsed in his silver eyes. He didn’t shout or move instead, the armrest he had just been gripping crumbled into metallic dust under the sheer pressure of his hand.

Shock detonated through his mind like a catastrophe. His fragile mental peace, so recently achieved, disintegrated. The low-level madness he fought daily surged back, amplified by the crisis. Fenrir exploded into a frenzy, its desperate howls deafening within his soul, screaming one word: danger.

Alaric grabbed the nearest console, his knuckles white, fighting the blinding urge to rage. She is dying.

The thought tore through him, raw and agonizing. A deep, guttural sound—more beast than man—escaped his throat.

"Emma, divert all power to propulsion. Initiate an emergency jump sequence. Now."

As soon as the command left his lips, he bolted toward the small, isolated chamber within the aircraft. He slammed the door shut and closed his eyes, instantly focusing inward. The mate link flickered weakly, nearly fading. He could feel Gwyn's life source slipping away.

Inside the quiet chamber, Alaric poured his entire being into the thin, fragile connection. The process was agonizingly delicate. He was not just sending power; he was filtering his immense mental force—a force constantly battling his own degradation and his beast’s madness. He had to ensure the vital energy reached Gwyn pure and uncontaminated, or risk his own chaos harming her.

Each surge he sent across the link cost him dearly. His face drained of color instantly. Cold sweat broke across his brow. Lines of strain carved deep around his eyes. Each pulse of energy sent tremors through his frame, but he didn't stop. He gritted his teeth, pushing through the pain, focusing everything he had on the distant, fading link.