The Sovereign's Claim

Chapter 4

Xorath

I woke up in my sleep every night for the next ten nights. Vurlixans didn't dream. They slept half a brain at a time, and at most they drifted into a state of half woken visualizations of their surroundings. The human splice of my DNA meant that I, on the other hand, dreamed a lot when I was a child. Eventually, it stopped, and sometimes I even forgot that I had ever done that. After the breeding, it began anew. I dreamed of Isadora--of arguments, of something being wrong with her, of her miscarrying. Each dream was irrational, yet painful enough to linger in my mind when I woke. It told me how unstable I really was. I'd wake up and check on her through the visual feed. I'd see her cat's eyes glowing in the dark, and she would be asleep, alone, or sometimes in Lyxom's embrace. Once I caught her awake, writing on her table, surrounded by some open books.

The 'C' class volunteer instructed me that it would take ten days for a reliable pregnancy test. Even then, for the first three months, many things could go wrong. It didn't mean something was off with the parts involved. It just happened. How was I to accept that there was simply nothing else I could do, just wait? It was just not in my nature.

With stimulants and work, I pushed through until a Fateweaver intercepted me. My vitals were off their normal, and had been for a few days. I said I was fine, however he ordered me to take a day off to rest.

I took injections of antihistamines and slept for more hours than I should. I woke up and I felt horrible. My mind raced with irrational voices. I meditated then, viewing all the possible futures ahead of me, and I made myself acknowledge and accept them all, knowing I would adapt as I always had. If it was something within my control, I would find a way to make it work. But this was beyond the power of any person and beyond even the capabilities of our best tech. A reality I rarely faced.

Lyxom left for the front again soon after, and I was alone with my anxiety. One day, at three in the morning, unable to sleep, I stepped out of my quarters to find something to eat. The corridors were silent, the hum of the compound's systems being only sound. As I moved down the hallway, I heard a faint noise behind me. I turned, and there she was -- Isadora, stepping out of her room. For a moment, neither of us spoke, the weight of our unspoken thoughts filling the space between us.

"Yeah, I can't sleep either," she said. There was something in her I recognized, because I felt the same. It was the ache of craving a distraction that just eluded you no matter what you tried. The dread of waiting. The itch that couldn't be scratched.

I held her neck and pressed against the wall. I fumbled disastrously to type the security lock password to remove our helmets, and then I finally crushed her mouth with mine.

She was wearing only a loose dress as pyjamas, no underwear beneath, and I went mad when I felt her slit wet in my fingers. I had her right there, first, against the wall. Then we stumbled inside my room, and I sat on the bed and had her in my lap, like the first time, helping her go up and down, watching her entrance gaped by my girth. Her brown skin against my gray, and her pink interior leaking my blue. I had a bad obsession for her. It wasn't just because of her tight warmth, but because she was the one who took my seed in her fertile womb.

Her interior squeezed me with the orgasm. I pulled her back and hugged her, kissing her shoulders as she danced through the wave of pleasure, riding my organ. For the time in days, anxiety left me.

I held her. She wasn't going anywhere. She was mine. Mine to hold, to breed, to fuck, to own. I wanted to brand my name on her, I wanted to tie her in my room so she was always available for me. I wanted to know how many breaths she took a day, and how fast her heart beat, how many meals she had, and how many hours of sleep. I wanted to watch her vitals change under my presence, and see her lose her sleep over how much she thought of me, be it by fear or desire. And I wanted her there, in my compound, where I could see her every movement. If I could turn her into an obedient drone, I would. But that option removed, I was glad to have her in all those other ways.

"Tired enough now?" I asked. She agreed, breathless, drying her sweat on her hand. I pulled her beneath the covers with me, and feeling her presence, I was able to fall asleep in minutes.

I felt her get up a few hours later, but I held her tighter.

"I have work", she said, a sleepy giggle escaping her. "And I have to go to the gym."

"Your Sovereign is excusing you from work today." I mumbled, kissing her nape.

"Don't

you

have work to do, Sovereign?"

"Fateweaver told me to rest," I replied, my voice low as my hands trailed over her waist.

"And since when do you actually rest?" she mocked, a hint of mischief in her voice as she tilted her head to glance back at me.

"You are right," I admitted, leaning closer so my lips brushed her ear. "I didn't see the point of idleness, but with you here, I've changed my mind."

She laughed softly. "Oh my god. Xorath skipping work to fuck. Wow. I didn't realize my pussy was

that

good!"

"Is that the word for it?" I asked, feigning curiosity as my hand slid over her hip.

"The technical word is vulva, for the overall region, or vagina for the actual hole, but people call it pussy. I don't know why. Actually, we have a hundred names for penises and vaginas."

"I see." I grinned, enjoying the way her body responded as I pulled her waist back so her ass pressed against me. She let out a soft, delicious sound that made my pulse quicken. "And yes, I am skipping work to fuck you."

I expected her to coil away, but instead she opened her legs, offering herself for me. The hand on her waist, she pulled up to her breast. I grabbed her with all my hunger, caressed her nipple and enjoyed how that made her tremble, and the way her flesh gave in when I pressed.

She turned and sat over me. I suppressed the instinct to counterattack, and I discovered the joy of having a warm

pussy

pressing down my erection. I gritted my teeth, clawed at her thighs.

"I haven't been this horny in forever," she groaned. "This hormonal therapy will drive me crazy." She rocked her hips, already slippery wet.

"I'll gladly help you deal with your desire. Can you find your peak like this?"

"I think I can."

"Do it."

She didn't manage to, but she tried her best, which was wonderful to watch. She only got to come when I took charge, and she could cling to me while I was fucking her.

After, she got up to use the toilet, and came back with her face washed. I just patted the bed at my side, but she didn't come. Awake, back to her senses, she remembered her apprehension. Her eyes studied me.

"Ask what you want to ask," I said.

"Something changed. You are even looking at me differently. I want to know what it was."

I scoffed, sitting up.

"Of course it changed. Two weeks ago you were my main source of stress, now you aren't."

"So I'm worthy of your gentleness because I did what you wanted?"

"I don't understand why you are so offended by it."

She started speaking in a fast stream, and at that time, just after an orgasm, my mind was not at its sharpest. I went after the helmets we had left behind, and, the moment mine was over my head, the gentle stream of information and the damped sounds made me feel less sleepy.

"Now, why would I be nice to someone who's insubordinate?"

"Xorath, you weren't just 'not nice', you were monstrous."

"That's not true. That would require me doing a lot worse."

"You raped me more than once. You tried to brainwash me. You messed with doctor Monique."

"Reprogramming is just protocol. The sex was unorthodox, but so was everything about having an 'S' tier around. Both of those were nothing more than my duty to put my claim on you."

"I don't care what you think is normal or not. You need to understand that you almost drove me mad."

Her anger flared. She was still naked, in my bed, which gave me a lot more disposition to listen to her babble.

"I understand. I took notice. I will take that into consideration in the future. But you must not force my hand again."

"I was trying to survive, you know."

"You do not have military training, of course, so you don't understand. Listen, then, and learn. I'm the Auric Sovereign. I'm always considering how my actions and the actions of others around me will affect our objectives. The Nexus gave me very simple tools to deal with those who defy me and threaten my structure. Some of those I even helped develop. I will not hesitate to use them. If you don't want to have to go through this, don't challenge me. Your way of speaking is entirely disrespectful, your first instinct is to doubt and defy, and your idea of defiance is self-destructive. Putting you or anyone else through a few reprogramming routines for that is hardly cruel."

She stood a second, watching me, eyes wide open.

"Oh my God, you are completely... How can you be the one in charge of us humans? You have no training for this, no empathy. You are like that saying -- to a hammer, everything's a nail to be struck down."

I felt so offended, my words failed me for a second.

"I'm not a hammer."

"You are! You just have no idea."

She tried to walk out on me and left an exasperated sound when the door didn't open until she put her helmet on. The meaning of that last part of the conversation eluded me completely. I realized I needed better data.

***

Lyxom

My Ironclad and I returned to base after a long deployment, battered and tired, but successful. The losses were kept to a minimum, and no injuries were beyond what the Fateweavers could fix. We'd dismantled the militia's main operations across five states, captured their agents, and sent them off for reprogramming. Xorath would likely assign them to one of the food factories -- a place where they could work without posing a threat to critical systems. For now, my front was secure.

Experience had taught me to take at least a few hundred ticks to rest before reconnecting to the Nexus network. It was better to decompress before diving into the endless stream of duties that awaited my return. But this time, my anxiety got the better of me. I needed to know about Isadora.

Her messages brought a gentle thrill. The first time we were apart, I had told her she could write to me while I was away. My little human was a solitary creature. Even when surrounded by people, her deepest thoughts remained guarded. Becoming the one she trusted enough to share them with was a sure way to earn her affection.

She'd turned my inbox into a sort of diary, leaving small comments about her day. Before I left for the second time, during the brief window of peace between her impregnation and my department, we often talked about her life and, more importantly, about her overwhelming fear. Isadora believed something inside her psyche was broken. With her mother gone a few years prior, alienated from her friends after a fight within their group, and trapped in a high-pressure job with no savings or safety net, her life had been a constant storm of stress and fear even before the war. Stress fed itself: the more anxious she became, the worse she performed, and the worse she performed, the more unsure she was with her position, and that fed anxiety. A relentless, self-perpetuating loop that had ground her down. Some days, she couldn't even get out of bed and everything felt meaningless. On the days she had energy, her mind was also loudest, and spoke terrible things. And that burden she carried alone for years.

(The only anchor she had, she said, was her cat. Which only made me more pleased with myself for finding the little creature and reuniting them.)

Her messages told me about her work, her routine, and her constant battle with fear and anxiety, which were now focused much less on her survival and more on the possible pregnancy. Xorath came up a few times, described as insufferable, but not a direct threat. At least I'd managed to remove him as one of her immediate sources of stress.

"I'm back and well. I'm glad to hear from you. I'll stop by tomorrow."

She answered promptly.

"Heyy, good to know you are doing fine. Call me when you have a second? Miss you."

The casual warmth of her reply tugged at something in me--a mix of relief, pride, and something deeper that I wasn't yet ready to name. Her words lingered as I leaned back in my chair, imagining the expression she might have worn as she wrote them. A flicker of softness amidst her guarded exterior.

"Miss you." The simplicity of it carried more weight than she might have intended.

A message from Xorath blinked in my inbox.

"How often do you take your follower's emotions into consideration?"

I stared at the words. Xorath never wrote without purpose, this one felt no different. But he rarely wanted my opinion on how to run his people.

"Why do you want to know, brother?"

"I've been reading some books."

"About what?"

"Answer my question."

"Well, I consider their feelings every day, especially before a mission. I have to make sure their emotional labour goes towards what I need. That doesn't happen if they are focused on other questions."

"Shouldn't that be the responsibility of each Ironclad?"

"Yeah, but I can let it go to chance, or I can interfere. We both know which one is better."

"And you're confident this... management of feelings is worth the time it takes?"

I allowed myself a small, humorless smile. "Every mission so far says yes. What about you, Xorath? How often do you stop to consider how your people feel?"

"Rarely," he admitted. "Because I don't expect them to feel anything but duty. If they're trained properly, emotions shouldn't interfere."

"Shouldn't," I echoed, emphasizing the word. "But they do. Ignoring that doesn't make it go away, brother. It just leaves you blind when it does. We have the advantage that our purpose is a great one, our Ironclad are as involved in it as we are. That saves a lot of burden."

"But if you were to deploy one who disagrees with any specific mission, you would try to persuade them."

"I'd try to find common ground, yes. One working at their best uses body, reason, and feelings to achieve their goal."

"And you believe that takes precedence over strict adherence to command?"

"I know," I typed slowly, "that understanding what drives your people, and then helping them find a link to that in each task they must perform, or on the overall mission, makes them better soldiers."

I knew him well enough to know when he was digesting my words, even if he wouldn't admit it aloud. For Xorath, results were what mattered most, and he was very straightforward about it. He saw people as fixed assets. He preferred changing tasks before understanding why someone would underperform at something.

Which was sensible -- Auric Sovereigns ruled over many people more than Eclipse Forgers. The emotional labour would be overwhelming atop of all the strategic work. However, Xorath'd be a mad dog if he coordinated combat. His ways would win as many fights as would lose us our Ironclad by violence and by grief.

"And if this approach of yours fails? If their emotions betray their duty? What then, Lyxom?"

"Then I adjust," I said simply. "It's not a perfect science, but it's better than pretending emotions don't exist. Blind obedience might work for a time, but it breaks under pressure. Loyalty born from understanding? That endures."

"I understand. You gave me much to think about, brother."

Did I? That was new.

***

Isadora

I sat on a bench that was halfway to the medical wing, gathering my courage. My fingers were ice-cold despite the warmth of Clara's hand wrapped around mine. My throat felt tight, like every breath was caught just below the surface, and the hollow ache in my stomach twisted and turned as if my body itself was confused about what I should feel.

Clara sat quietly by my side, giving me the space I needed. Her other hand gently rubbed my back.

"I don't know if I'm more worried about being pregnant or not."

"What do you mean?"

I let out a bitter laugh, wiping my damp palms on my thighs. "Well, for one, alien baby. And if I'm not... I'm really afraid of what Xorath might do to make sure it happens next time."

Clara hugged me, caressing my back. She didn't have an answer for me, and we both knew it.

"Is your period late?" she asked after a moment.

"A bit. But I was on birth control, and then I took the morning-after pill, and then Xorath pumped me full of vitamins and supplements and hormonal therapy. So who even knows how my cycle was supposed to work this month?"

Clara frowned, counting on her fingers. "Well, we have the day of your ovulation, so... it should've come, like, three days ago?"

"So I'm probably pregnant." The words felt heavy on my tongue, sinking into the pit of my stomach.

"Yeah?" Clara said, her voice a hesitant mix of support and uncertainty.

The only way is through,

I thought, trying to steel myself.

Then, a message notification popped up on my helmet display, sharp and intrusive against the haze of my thoughts. I groaned audibly as I read it.

"Xorath want's to talk to me." I muttered, my stomach twisting further.

Clara's hand on my arm tightened. "Should I come with you?"

I shook my head, forcing myself to stand. My legs felt like they were made of lead. "There's no point. You won't be able to help... I'll be right back."

Clara hesitated but eventually nodded. "I'll wait for you at the medical wing."

I walked feeling my head already light with dissociation. I was dreading it so much already, my body buzzed with anxiety, my pulse thrumming in my ears as I neared Xorath's war room. By the time I stepped inside, my palms were slick with sweat, my breathing shallow.

He stood in the center of the room, a sharp and dark presence surrounded by the flickering holograms of his endless data streams. The air felt colder here, and my heart pounded in my chest as his head turned toward me.

"Your vitals are all messed up. Care to explain what's running through your mind?" He spoke in my language, courteous. His voice was serious, but the lack of the metallic tinge of the translator helped soothe his questioning.

"It's just anxiety." I answered. "We humans have that, you know, when we are anticipating something."

"Ah, yes," Xorath replied in cold analysis. "An inheritance from your origins as prey animals that lingers and manifests even if the current problem is not about being hunted down and eaten. Fascinating survival mechanism. Which comes to why I called you here..."

He placed his hands on my helmet, and took it off. In the gloomy war room, I felt my eyes try to adjust to darkness, blinding me for a second. I didn't see his hand approach, but felt it on my chin, gently pulling my head up. "It's an important day. I know you are wondering what we'll do going forward. And first, I need you to know that whatever your fear is, what happens today and going forward, won't be nearly as bad as you expect."

I swallowed, the knot in my throat tightening. "Even if I'm not pregnant and you might have to try again?"

"If you are not pregnant, that means you will be kept on a healthy diet, monitored, and that next month we'll try again," he listed without any emotion. "Apart from that, your life will go on in here just as it has been these past two weeks."

"And if I am?"

"It means you will be kept on a healthy diet, monitored, and we'll assess what needs to be done month by month as the pregnancy progresses. Which, as I'm informed, will be very little because your body will take care of most of it." He paused, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. "And it also means Lyxom will be insufferable, treating you like a baby bird he has to feed and protect, as far as I understand."