"Man, the wind's throwin' a fit today!" Mourning Crow shouted with her long prismatic hair whipping hard in the air.

"We should adjust the speakers," I typed into my wristcomm to alert my crew aboard the Black Needle.

We were standing in the middle of a grey desert prickled with tall pink and white crystal spires sparkling in the rising sun while fully revealed in front of the city of Karwarak, the largest city-state in the eastern hemisphere of Menthla.

According to Mourning Crow, this was the place to be during the week-long Carnival leading up to the celebration of the Day of First Light. At least it was when she was a child. Hopefully, the tradition still held true.

My crew and I kept our helmets on to make use of the internal microphones for our upcoming debut. We had a surprisingly large turnout for auditions. Zhaguai may have been tone-deaf, but they'd fight fang-and-claw for a spot on the front lines to represent Jahaa.

"We've got their attention," Eh'kt pulled up an overview of the city on his wristcomm showing the inhabitants of the city congregating at the main wall.

The last few days had my Adjutant in a state of stress I never expected the cunning Zhaguai to be capable. I might have joined in his anxiety if I hadn't been so preoccupied with holding in my laughter.

Mourning Crow had been wildly oscillating from fast talking to pensive silence the closer we drew to her homeworld and the black-scaled Zhaguai was at his limit between his duties as my Adjutant and keeping his mate from climbing the ship's walls.

His only respite was when Mourning Crow was giving me lessons. Music had an immediate calming effect on the razkur.

"Alpha," my Operations Officer spoke through my helmet's comm. "Audio adjustments have been made to account for the elements. We will release the speaker drones imminently."

"Good," I responded. "Commence when ready."

The entire Envoy Armada hovered overhead, with the Black Needle as its flagship. It wasn't quite a full battalion war fleet, but it was enough to prove Jahaa's prowess.

"More than half the city is gathered," Eh'kt made an update.

"Soon," I let out a long breath.

Rehearsals had been awkward. I struggled with the 3rd and 5th chords, and was forced to spend the majority of my off hours in Mourning Crow and Eh'kt's quarters repeating scales and straining to keep up as I played alongside the razkur.

Her lessons were rigorous, but she was surprisingly patient when I required extra guidance. At any time, even when I avoided requesting assistance, she'd pause and walk me through whatever difficulty I was grappling. Had my bearer delivered these lessons, she would have simply shouted an order and kicked me when I failed.

Though the razkur did occasionally jest that her sire would have demanded that I be able to play the melody backward and forward. She claimed I was lucky because there wasn't enough time.

"Ready?" Mourning Crow passed me a gentle sincere smile as she reached for my instrument to confirm that it was in tune. She had also taken the liberty of painting my instrument all black with the word Jahaa inscribed in red letters along the left side.

"I am always prepared to present my voice for Jahaa," I admired her ears as they flexed low toward the strings while her slender fingers danced across the bridge.

The plan was simple. Mourning Crow would handle the music while my crew and I shouted the code. Once in Zhaguai, followed by a second identical refrain that I would perform solo in Oto-Winde.

I've never dreaded a testimonial more.

"Alpha," my Defense Strategist opened a channel. "We're getting pinged and scanned from all sides. All of their military strongholds are on high alert. However, their forces appear to be on standby."

"As expected," I rolled out a satisfied series of clicks. "Make sure they get a good view and continue monitoring. Apprise me of any notable changes in their defensive posture."

"Understood," my officer confirmed.

Mourning Crow returned my guitar and stroked my arm. "Before we start, turn off your comm and take a few deep breaths."

Her cool fingers tipped with tiny razored claws slid over the scales on my bicep and the tension knotted in my neck unwound. But then my chest ached when she pulled away to tune her white guitar.

"Eighty percent of the city is at the gate," Eh'kt came up to me. "The only holdouts are their military and a collection of officials gathered in government buildings."

"Thank you," I nodded to my Adjutant. "Confirm everyone's placement. We only get one shot at this."

Eh'kt saluted and turned his attention to the hundreds of Zhaguai gathered behind us.

No matter how many times I reevaluated the situation, Eh'kt was not my enemy. He had earned his rank and my respect honorably.

Looking back, I should not have disregarded the Reaver Renas' accusations that first day when the razkur arrived. Renas was a notorious bullshitter, and I never cared for her. At the time, I assumed her insults were merely hyperbolic trappings to instigate the duel.

Groon, my old friend and fellow High Council member, was already hot on the trail and throwing his full weight into eliminating the insidious practice of punishing members of Jahaa for winning.

If a Zhaguai cannot demonstrate their power through trophies and claiming victory, then what is the point of anything?

"You wanna do the countdown?" Mourning Crow twirled on her toes with her white metal guitar primed to sing.

"Hmm..." I nodded.

One of my favorite pastimes as a pup and still to this day was watching Ancients and Elders spar with solely their bare claws. The speed and composure they exercised took centuries to master. Only now did I fully appreciate the level of skill Mourning Crow presented to Jahaa that day when she flooded the Great Hall lobby with her tribute.

Eh'kt once said, sound was to razkurs as combat was to Zhaguai.

I understood now.

Had Mourning Crow been my Blood Oath-sworn mentor, training me the cycle before a musical rite of passage instead of my Dread, I would not have been worthy. Probably never.

Eh'kt messaged me to confirm that our Envoy brigade on the ground was filed into orderly lines and columns in the formation of three massive rectangles.

Everyone was ready.

I complied with the razkur's advice and took a moment to quiet my nerves before opening the full Envoy channel and commanding my troops to attention.

We saluted in unison, producing a cacophonous slam. Then we activated the speakers hovering in the air and mounted on our ships.

I counted off and signaled for Mourning Crow to let loose a mind-bending cascade of finger formations I would require at least another century of training to even begin to quantify. She referred to the musical category as a hybrid of street-funk and deathcore heavy metal. I had no idea what that translated to, but watching the precision with which it was executed made my short quills stand on end.

Her instrument, unlike mine, was built to produce more sounds than what reverberated off the strings. With a succession of perfectly timed flicks and rapid finger gestures, the razkur could generate the equivalent of an entire orchestra.

All of the sounds were sourced directly from Jahaa. The drums of The Convergence, and call of the Fenni bird, the thick static of heavy monsoon rain, and many others I recognized but couldn't immediately identify. All of it swirled together into a fast-paced, combative but harmonious melody.

She reduced the layers to allow space for the Envoy brigade to shout our code in our native tongue while using the rhythmic drum beat to guide the pacing.

The razkur was wise to choose the code of honor. Every adult Zhaguai knew the words by heart. My crew would have likely stumbled through any other recitation. Our only complication was perfecting the volume. Despite repeated instructions to allow the helmet to control the pitch, many of my brothers and sisters insisted on yelling at the top of their lungs.

Once the Zhaguai recitation concluded, Mourning Crow switched up the octave and took the tune into a melodic riff, slightly off-kilter from the rest of the song. I didn't understand why, but she stared intently at me throughout the entire section.

This new sound was dark and turbulent and felt like standing on the edge of a jagged cliff by a violent storming seaside.

Then Mourning Crow ebbed her tempo and let me join her in a duet. The professional bard did the heavy lifting to mitigate my novice abilities and I'm certain the razkurs could detect my lack of long-term training, though oddly, the final product wasn't half bad. Maybe it was the wind and the multiple speakers amplifying our sound. Either way, Mourning Crow looked pleased and pointed one ear at me when it was my turn to shout.

I followed her lead and focused my thoughts on the day of my first Dread Rite to keep my inflections correct. The Oto-Winde version had a slightly higher syllable count, and we put a great deal of effort into constructing a true-to-code translation.

Mourning Crow once explained, and this was the reason I finally gave into this entire ludicrous proposal, that my lack of musical skill and the Zhaguai inability to sing was irrelevant. What mattered was proving to Menthla that Jahaa could hear the beat of Menthla's heart and that we were willing to let ours be heard.

I rumbled out my final verse and sighed a moment to catch my breath.

Mourning Crow kicked up the outro section, then just at the end, she took hold of my hand and raised it up in triumph. The Envoy brigade roared, and I felt awash in glory. I removed my mask and roared with them, pleased to see the razkur join me.

...

"How much longer?" I stood in the empty desert with Mourning Crow, Eh'kt, and a small complement of a dozen select crew personnel.

It was nearly dusk and the Envoy brigade had long since returned to the ships keeping watch overhead. We waited for hours watching the colorful Carnival banners on the city rooftops writhe in the wind and spotted the occasional long-eared silhouette peeking over the top of the city walls, checking to see if we were still there.

"Dunno," Mourning Crow shrugged. "Never been present for an official first encounter."

"We haven't spotted any hostile response," Eh'kt added. "And their military stance has deescalated."

Before arriving at our destination yesterday, we flew over the gaping hole that was once the city known as Thorngate. We saw none of the telltale evidence of a typical crater, just a hole where the city and the adjoining perimeter area had been snatched up and vanished. This city, Karwarak, was three times the size of the hole, and according to Mourning Crow, housed the largest Abura History Museum on Menthla. If anyone knew how to tend to the Abura, it would be their accredited custodians.

There had been a substantial debate over whether to bring the Abura nymph with its sentinel protector earlier, but Mourning Crow and I agreed with Eh'kt's conclusion. Better to give the razkurs an opportunity to accept us without any potentially misinterpreted bribes or inducements.

All of a sudden, the main gates opened. A small group of razkurs prowled out, mounted on enormous mountain lions. I gave the signal for my landing party to begin walking, then ordered everyone to remove their helmets when we met the razkurs halfway.

An unarmed woman led the razkurs. She was shorter than Mourning Crow but just as pale and wore only a pair of brown leather pants with a small blue banana around her neck.

"I am Lost Coyote, captain of the guard," the woman dismounted to greet us. "Thank you for the grand and well-mannered introduction. On behalf of the Lyca Unified Territories, welcome to Menthla and the city of Karwarak."

"I am Shale," I held my head high. "Adjutant and voice of Oru, the Supreme Elder of Jahaa of the planet Sahei. We are Zhaguai of the Eternal Nexus."

I knew many of these words carried little weight on this world, but in time they would come to understand the true gravity of the honor we extended. "We come seeking an alliance."

The razkurs flicked their ears and glanced at one another, then Lost Coyote stared at the anomalous razkur standing among my landing party.

"I am Mourning Crow," the razkur dipped into her most resplendent bow. "Member of Clan Jahaa and daughter of the bard Dire Vulture, the sharpshooter second-class Ice Tail, and service technician Black Sun, as well as the last survivor of Thorngate."

"That.. ?" Lost Coyote stammered in disbelief. "That tragedy occurred many centuries ago. She could not be alive today."

"It's a very long, miserable, and complicated story," Mourning Crow responded. "I am alive and am happy to explain everything."

"Obviously," a male razkur chimed in from the back. "We will need proof beyond your word."

"I understand," Mourning Crow gave a compliant nod.

"Members of Jahaa do not lie," I rumbled in assurance. "Such infractions are punishable by death on Sahei."

"Good to know..." Lost Coyote tightened her ears.

Apparently, I made her nervous.

"Still," the Captain continued. "There are those among us who will demand concrete evidence. I'm compelled to oblige them. Could we take a sample of your hair for a DNA test?"

"Sure thing," Mourning Crow unsheathed her sickle from her gauntlet to snip off a few strands from the nape of her neck.

Clever female. Undoubtedly, the razkur's welcome party heard our sheathed weapons, but it was a sly, non-threatening method for demonstrating how easily we could defend ourselves.

I didn't like watching Mourning Crow hand over her severed lock of hair, but razkur hair wasn't alive like our prehensile quills. They were free to shear it into any length or style they desired.

"We have one condition as well," I signaled the cloaked shuttle to reveal itself and land.

The razkur group held firm but all of their ears went straight and sharp while their saddled mountain lion mounts hissed in the kicked-up dust. Then their ears rotated forward and flattened out when the second the shuttle door opened.

"Please accept this gift on behalf of Jahaa," I extended my hand back to the shuttle. "The nymph of an Abura Liege and its caretaker."

Lost Coyote, who carried herself as a proud and stoic warrior, was the first to cover her mouth. Tears streamed down her cheeks and several others in her entourage crumpled to their knees.

"How is this possible?" Lost Coyote trembled through her words.

"They're a little different than the generation who hunted with our ancestors," Mourning Crow beamed with her ears aflutter. "But, as you can hear, it's the real deal."

The sentinel crawled out to meet Lost Coyote and sat up to present her with the nymph.

Lost Coyote knelt to one knee and hovered her hand over the glossy mewling nymph, but was overwhelmed with shock to let herself touch such a sacred infant. Instead, she touched her forehead to the sentinel and thanked it.

"Could you..." Lost Coyote's eyes lingered on the black sentinel and its precious cargo.

"Take your time," I lowered my head in regard. "Zhaguai are very patient."

We watched the welcoming party escort the sentinel through the main gate and then heard the city explode in a tsunami of beautiful voices.

...

Contrary to the drab desert outside Karwarak, streams of color shrouded the city's interior. In celebration of Menthla's annual Carnival and the observance of the Day of First Light, banners, flags, and ribbons were tethered to everything.

The air inside the city vibrated. There were probably a million sounds floating around that my fellow Zhaguai and I were missing out on, but we could sense more than just the crowd churning around us as we entered and marched through the city's main street.

"Oh, shit!" Mourning Crow's ears shot up and her left foot began thumping rapidly of its own volition. She darted into the crowd.

"Mourning Crow!" Eh'kt and I shouted in unison. I clenched my fangs in reticence when my eyes made contact with my Adjutant. Fortunately, like me, Eh'kt had the presence of mind to keep his weapons sheathed.

The crowd parted, and we found Mourning Crow locked in a tight embrace with a tall male razkur. Eh'kt flinched a glance at me. Both of us were growling.

"Come!" Mourning Crow dragged the tall male toward us. "I want to introduce you to some people."

The shirtless male was rippled in smooth muscle and wearing only a knee-length red sarong. His hair was long like Mourning Crow's, but his skin was dark grey.

"This is Standing Otter," Mourning Crow waved her hand at the grey razkur. "He's an old friend of the family."

"Old?" The grey male razkur narrowed his eyes at her, "I see your tact never developed."

"Oh," Eh'kt confirmed his communicator was set to Oto-Winde. "The one who wrote the musical? But how, after so many cycles?"

"First generation synthetic," Standing Otter explained with his ears at ease, flat and level. "Very few of us remain, but we weren't designed to age."

"Quaite hi'essa jueque xin'tze," Eh'kt dipped his chin and spoke the lesser-known Ahnzi language.

"Jes'sha," Standing Otter bowed respectfully.

"This is Eh'kt," Mourning Crow bounced and pointed to my Adjutant with a big smile on her face.

Standing Otter pulled his head back and his ears went asymmetrical.

That's right, Eh'kt's name meant something in the lesser language. Perhaps that's why he chose to learn it over Oto-Winde.

"He also Ni Eh'kt," Mourning Crow added.

"Oh!" Standing Otter's eyes went wide and he let out a chuckle. "And I thought today was already a rollercoaster! Welcome! And thank you for bringing our girl home."

Standing Otter opened his arms wide to Eh'kt and Mourning Crow had to nudge her mate into letting the male razkur hug him awkwardly.

Then the razkur opened his arms to me. It took me a few seconds to register what was happening.

"This is Shale," Mourning Crow intervened. "He is Adjutant to the Supreme Elder of Jahaa and her voice on Menthla."

"Head-honcho," Standing Otter winked and made finger-guns at me. "Gotcha. Well met. Welcome to the party."

It was no coincidence that someone who knew Mourning Crow personally just happened to be lurking in the crowd.

What other trials were lying in wait for us throughout the duration of our visit?

Being the focal point in a sea of eyes and forward-facing ears was unnerving. In any other circumstance, a Zhaguai would never permit themselves to be exposed and surrounded. The only offworlders we revealed ourselves to were those we dueled to the death during the Dread Rite.

I made a point to comprise my landing party with only subordinates proven to maintain their composure under intense pressure, but standing under the city lights in the middle of the street was enough to make my skin crawl.

My landing party and I were the only members of Jahaa equipped with the latest razkur-proof hand-held phantom blind prototypes.

I was pleased the Institute finally developed a portable variant of the defensive technology. Up until now, they were limited to predesignated stations powered by separate redundant power grids across Sahei.

However, I had no choice but to give orders abstaining my crew from making use of them. The hologram image replacement matrix was only effective while stationary, and insane power cell consumption restricted usage to only a few minutes. My directive's only exception was an emergency where concealment was absolutely critical.

"What are those?" A child came up to me, pointing at my long red-tipped black mane.

"They are my quills," I knelt to be at eye level with the boy.

"C-can I touch them?" The child curled his ears nervously, realizing how much larger I was now that my face was up close.

"Only if I can touch your ears," I growled with a fang filled grin that was not yet recognizable to the razkurs.

The child looked left at his sires for approval, then swung his ears forward.

One of my large quills lifted off my shoulder and extended to tap the child's soft ear tips.

The boy giggled and fluttered back, with his hands clenched in tight, excited fists.

"It wiggles!" He pointed to the tendril snaking in the air on its own.

"They all do," I flared the entire mass in unison and made the outer layer coiled up my back. Then I held one in my hand and pressed down the center with my black thumb claw, breaking the surface to let a bead of sticky blue blood escape.

"Woah!" The child was in awe when I held my blue dripping claw up for him to examine. Then the child scampered back to his parents. "Did you see? His blood is blue and gummy!"

Mourning Crow did not exaggerate, even their younglings are bold.

Suddenly, the crowd parted, making room for a tall male with short spiky hair. Like most of the razkurs around us, his chest was bare, but he wore a tiny open vest and a pair of matching well-tailored black and gold pants.

"Greetings," the finely dressed razkur waved as he approached. "Governor Silver Wing at your service. Apologies for making you wait so long. None of this has ever happened before and we didn't have any protocols to guide us."

"The same goes for us," I stood before the Governor. "We have never made contact with any other society beyond the Nexus in this manner."

"Oh..." the Governor wavered with his ears tilted at an anxious angle. "Then we have more than expected to learn from one another."

It would seem making adult razkurs ill-at-ease was a skill I was quickly mastering.

"Mourning Crow," the Governor bowed, "It's extraordinary, but according to the DNA test, you are who you claim to be. Welcome home!"

The Governor's ears had a peculiar curve to them.

He still doesn't trust us.

"Please forgive our manners," the Governor turned to me. "We don't have anything formal arranged, what with the Carnival starting today, but if you're willing please allow me to escort you on a tour of our city. Then a meal and, if you're up for it, perhaps a few more details on Thorngate and the chain of events that led your people to Menthla."

MOVE THE BATTALION INTO ORBIT? Eh'kt texted my wristcomm.

I nodded and then accepted the Governor's invitation.

All ears shifted when the ships' engines revved up, and the armada rose into the sky.

I held my ground and locked eyes with the Governor, "Shall we begin?"

Do you see? We are not here to kill.

...

The razkurs possessed a variety of urban transports similar to the public hover bikes and sky-lifts we used to get around quickly in our cities. For our tour, the Governor opted for a leisurely pace on a wide float pad rigged with railings and upholstered benches.

I was trapped in the front with a number of the city's official representatives but could overhear a few snippets of Mourning Crow and Eh'kt's conversation with Standing Otter seated in the back aisle. The female razkur was talking fast and Eh'kt looked desperate to change the subject.

Clearly, she was discussing Thorngate, and bad memories were bubbling to the surface.

"Mourning Crow," I called out as we rounded a corner into a district the Governor referred to as Gazan Heights. "Are there any songs that tell a story about this city?"

Mourning Crow perked up and whispered something to Standing Otter, then the pair of razkurs stood up and sang a strange hypnotic shanty about a razkur on a quest for something called a Coco-Twisty.

My wristcomm vibrated with a text from Eh'kt. THANK YOU.

I did my best to stay focused on my ambassadorial duties, but I couldn't help glancing back at the two razkurs. I'd listened Mourning Crow sing hundreds of times since her arrival on Sahei but this duet was different. They harmonized perfectly, and it was difficult to believe that this performance was completely impromptu and not rehearsed.

Where all razkurs like this? Or just the bards and composers?

I caught a glimpse of the lament in Eh'kt's eyes. Like me, he knew this was a facet of her species that we could never participate.

Eventually, we arrived at the Abura History Museum where their experts were busy determining the best course of action on how to reincorporate the species into razkur society. There was a crowd around the building singing hymns of praise to the Abura.

It was a delicate task defining the difference between the Abura and the U'la'ke and how my people intended to approach the two strains in the future.

The razkurs hated that we clashed ith the cats and seeded planets solely to slaughter their budding prides in our initiation Dread ritual. But our gift of the nymph obtained peacefully and our willingness to update our laws to accommodate their sacred bond carried a great deal of weight.

It was a topic that demanded far more dialog than anyone could express in a single evening.

"And that's the Dire Vulture Museum," the Governor pointed to a pink crystal dome lit up in pink neon lights."

Mourning Crow stood up immediately.

"This was the last stop on his final tour," Standing Otter placed his hand on Mourning Crow's shoulder. "They built the old museum up around his old trailer, then two centuries ago, they refurbished it and expanded into this new one."

Mourning Crow gripped Eh'kt's hand. Her breathing slowed, but she held her nerves together.

"He always loved the color pink," she smiled at her mate.

"Heh, heh," Standing Otter snickered. "He was a very particular dude."

"That's putting it lightly," Mourning Crow bopped the synthetic razkur on the chest.

"After Thorngate," the Governor interjected. "His voice soared above all others. So many shared in his loss and his music resonated. He inspired razkurs to stop fighting."

"I remember his tours," Mourning Crow's eyes were distant. "We were always shifting around the schedule and putting gigs on hold mid-transit due to some stupid skirmish popping up in one territory after another."

"And then one day an entire city-state went silent," Standing Otter gave a solemn look at his friend's long-lost daughter. "Nothing was ever the same."

...

Razkurs and Zhaguai had similar short sleep cycles and even though the sky was dark, the city was pulsing and lively. Eh'kt had informed the officials of our dietary needs and taking the tour gave the razkurs time to arrange a satisfactory banquet. Razkurs never cooked their meat, it was all stripped down and fed to animals or used for fertilizer. But they were masters in concocting candy.

Per Mourning Crow's advice, I included at least one individual in my landing party skilled at cooking to assist the razkurs in the kitchen unless we wanted everything to come out crispy and caramelized.

We spent the meal exchanging intelligence on Thorngate, the Graven, and how we came in contact with Mourning Crow. While the razkurs explained what they knew of Thorngate and the repercussions of the tragedy.

The Governor was particularly fascinated by Eh'kt and Mourning Crow's intentions for producing a hybrid offspring. I knew it was a painful subject for the pair, but their potential genetic union made great strides in persuading the razkurs that our invitation into the Nexus was genuine.

At one point, a cerebral-looking official from the opposite end of the banquet table proposed a visit to the city's medical center. He was enthusiastic to discover more about Zhaguai anatomy, as well as exchange information about razkur biology to aid in Eh'kt and Mourning Crow's reproductive hardships.

"Now that's an excursion I must decline," the Governor chuckled with his drink raised. "I don't think I could handle even more hours in my day staring at charts and graphs, especially on the first Eve of Carnival."

"Primary," Eh'kt stood up. "I volunteer for this assignment."

"Permitted," I nodded, confident in Eh'kt's judgment and discretion.

As Oru's assigned Voice and Special Envoy of the Nexus, we both knew interbreeding would prove essential in forging a long-term connection. Accumulating anatomical data was both a personal and political top priority. Not to mention this was precisely the type of droll task the rank of Adjutant was made for.

"We haven't had time to assemble anything structured," the razkur official at the end of the table amended, "But I've been in constant communication with my colleagues since your arrival. If you like, we could head over now and at least define the parameters of what information will be most helpful."

Eh'kt turned to me and I dipped my head in consent.

I didn't blame him for jumping at the opportunity. I had no idea where things stood with Dr. Kazz'mon's treatments, but I supported any excursion that might prevent Mourning Crow from experiencing a repeat of that day on my ship.

Maybe the razkurs possessed a means for removing the need for a donor?

Eh'kt said his farewells to his mate and then selected three Zhaguai in our party to join him and went off to the medical center.

Mourning Crow wished to join him, but Governor Silver Wing requested that she stay. I was wary of his insistence.

"Does Jahaa observe any celebrations similar to Carnival?" A female council member to my left queried.

"There are some parallels to The Convergence," I pondered briefly. "Not really any music, but the crowds are just as noisy."

"Oh," her ears arched up. "What holiday does that commemorate?"

"Mating season," I stated.

The razkurs stared at me with a perplexed tilt to their ears.

"There's a lot of drinking and dangerous games," Mourning Crow added. "The trophy displays are crazy impressive too."

"Is that the only time your people copulate?" The lady council member seemed to be asking the question everyone in the room was hesitant to say.

"Yes," I tried not to growl, but sometimes it comes out that way. "For those of us who do not have lifemates."

"An entire year?" The lady council member touched her fingers cautiously to her lips.

I nodded.

"Zhaguai who have not completed the Dread Rite and are deterred from entering the Joust, but that has more to do with lack of combat skill and their inevitable poor ranking."

"What is the Joust?" The woman's eyes were wide with inquiry.

"The main event," I explained. "There are various rosters in which we compete for rank. It determines what partner we are paired with. However, competing in the arena is optional."

"All at once?" The lady council member straightened her back.

"In close succession over multiple arenas on many different Nexus homeworlds," I explained. "The window for conception is limited."

"What about other species?" The Governor leaned in. "Do the same rules apply?"

"I don't know," I flexed a few quills introspectively. "Mourning Crow is the only non-Zhaguai to have ever participated. She had not completed the Dread Rite at the time, but she ranked First Champion in the free-for-all and no one dared contest it."

Mourning Crow snorted with a snicker. "That's not how I remember it."

I narrowed my eyes and let out a long, clicking sigh. "No Zhaguai is above the sways of hormonal upswings. It's why we do not seek combat during the sacred time."

"Yikes," Mourning Crow giggled. "Now that's a terrifying image."

"Hmm.." I grinned and filled the room with a low rumbling chortle. "That would be unpleasant for all individuals entangled."

It was good that I could laugh about such things with her.

"Then perhaps now is the time we view something uplifting?" The Governor redirected. "Mourning Crow, would you like to visit your father's museum?

"Tonight?" Mourning Crow's ears bobbed with a mild tremor.

"It's always open," Governor Silver Wing stretched a toothy Cheshire smile. "And even if it weren't, we'd make a special exception. I'm sure you're dying to hear all the songs he sang after Thorngate."

"Ah..." Mourning Crow forced a smile, but one of her ears curled with an odd twitch. "Yeah. Let's go check it out."

Dread.

I knew the sensation well when it came to living in the shadow of an overachieving parent.

...

The inside of the pink crystal dome resided a series of large open rooms with soft spotlights illuminating the exhibits and interactive displays. There was an old all-terrain hover trailer in the center of the foyer.

"Back in the day," Mourning Crow hung in the doorway next to me. "This area was all an abandoned airfield. We'd parked here between tours. Karwarak was kinda our home base when we weren't out on the road."

Governor Silver Wing led the way to a tall, colorful kiosk and handed Mourning Crow a pair of headphones. "This contains every song your father ever recorded. Care to listen?"

Was this another test to prove her identity?

I knew razkurs had the capacity to be as deadly as they were friendly. But was his blithe statement sincerely careless or intentionally sadistic?

Mourning Crow spoke with gratitude but something in her posture had me strongly debating summoning Eh'kt.

Standing Otter stepped up and put on a second set of headphones to share in the listening process.

How was she handling all of this?

What if it were Tharu, somehow alive and returning as an adult and learning about the whole big life I built in his absence? I shook my quills and tried to stay focused.

"We can make you a copy, but for now, please take your time and listen," the Governor waved over a technician from the museum staff. "Formatting with Zhaguai tech might be tricky but I'm sure we can solve it."

"Alpha," one of my female officers volunteered. "I will oversee the transfer."

"Proceed," I hissed in satisfaction.

No, Governor Silver Wing, you will not observe Mourning Crow's every reaction to all she missed out on during her absence.

Beyond the kiosk were rows of pedestals holding black and pink guitars, statues, small-scale dioramas of concert arenas, and a specially designed echo chamber for immersive listening. The walls were coated in murals, photos, concert posters, tour maps, and video clips playing on loops. There was even a sealed built-in display storing locks of braided white hair with pink ribbons woven in, each paired with detailed accounts of when, where, and to whom the personal mementos were gifted.

This is how they matched her DNA. How much more evidence do they require?

I wandered over to a lifesize 3D render of Dire Vulture. He was tall and lean, and I assume handsome by razkur standards, with long white hair shaved on the sides. The statue wore black leather pants with a matching black leather vest, both with a neon pink stripe stitched up the left side. Tight black leather straps wrapped his bare biceps and his black and white sneakers were tied in hot pink shoe laces.

"The hands are off," Mourning Crow snuck in behind me, running her finger along my knuckles. "At least I recall them sounding a lot more calloused."

"I'm certain your memory is more accurate," I turned to her. "Are you tired? The razkurs offered us rooms or we can return the Black Needle if you prefer."

"Not yet," Mourning Crow shied her eyes but wore a sly grin. "I don't think I could sleep if I tried."

"I can call for Eh'kt," I strolled through the pedestals beside her. "I expect he would appreciate sharing these memories of your sire."

"No, that's ok," she shook her head. "The work he's doing is important. I don't want to interrupt."

"The razkur's research will not evaporate before morning," I wanted to touch her shoulder, to emphasize her well-being mattered. "Besides, he has subordinates of his own to review the reports in his stead."

"He'll hate that," she chuckled.

"Yes," I laughed at myself. "I realized that the second the words escaped my mouth."

Suddenly, Mourning Crow's eyes lost their glimmer. We were standing under a giant steel sign engraved with her name.

It was an alcove furnished with images of her and all of her childhood belongings.

"You do not have to enter if you do not wish to," I reminded.

"We both know I have to," then she raised her ears high and entered.

There were six guitars in the center of the room, in varying degrees of complexity. Three black and three red. The strings were worn and there were little nicks in the bridge where her claws had once rested.

I hung back and let her meander through the displays while I stood before a wide-screen depicting an old recording of her and her sire singing together. She was bare-chested and dressed in black shorts and a little red vest.

"What is your favorite color?" I called out to Mourning Crow.

"Supposed I'm partial to red and black," Mourning Crow pointed to a full-chromatic photo of her, her sire, and Standing Otter smiling in front of the rusted all-terrain trailer. "Always thought they paired well together. Especially in contrast to my skin."

"Hmm.." I reflected. "My apologies for assuming you would prefer a lighter shade of metal for your gauntlet."

"That's ok," Mourning Crow spun toward me from across the room. "The law's set up so we have to earn the good stuff, right?"

"True."

Mourning Crow's relationship with her sire was nothing like mine and my bearer. In every image, she was looking up at him with love and admiration.

Will she ever smile like that again?

I crossed paths with a video of a small wiry Mourning Crow playing scales on her novice guitar. The detailing on the instrument was identical to mine.

"There's one more section to go," Mourning Crow crept up to my side.

I followed her into a tunnel marked Thorngate.

There was a giant accent wall displaying a candid photo of Dire Vulture sitting at the edge of the hole weeping with his hands over his eyes and his ears loose down his back.

"I was supposed to be with my grandparents that weekend," Mourning Crow confessed. "But I snuck off into Thorngate to see a punk-reggae band my dad wasn't keen on me being influenced by."

I kept my body silent and let her speak.

"He was pretty chill about nearly everything," the razkur wrapped her arms around her chest. "Unless it came to music. Perfectionist, that's what his bandmates called him. I, on the other hand, thrive on conflicting harmony. I get why there are rules in music. It helps people learn how to make it. But songs, the good ones, they come from in here."

Mourning Crow laid her palm flat on my chest. "It's like when you roar. The big ones, when you've found the one you're going to kill."

I laid my hand over hers. "Yes."

"Rules guide the way," Mourning Crow didn't pull her hand away. "While the heart does the rest."

"Mourning Crow," Standing Otter called from the tunnel entrance. "Would you like to visit your father's grave?"

...

"He insisted on being laid to rest near the trailer," Standing Otter led us into the center of a lush winding park residing next to the museum. "In case you came home. He wanted to be easy to find."

We arrived at a simple stone pillar looking out over a small glade covered in little red and black flowers.

I remained next to Standing Otter while Mourning Crow walked alone up to her sire's gravestone. My officers, Governor Silver Wing, and several of his official entourage joined us, but they kept their distance in such a sacred place.

She knelt on the ground for several minutes, talking and placing her hand on the stone.

"There are sound dampeners," Standing Otter pointed to small metal protrusions in the ground around the grave.

Good. The dead have no need for prying ears.

Mourning Crow laid her head down on the ground for a long while, then she sat up and began braiding a lock of her hair. Once secured, she sliced it free and got up to tie the strand tightly to the stone post.

"It is a custom of her tribe," Standing Otter explained quietly. "To make peace with the past and those who have gone."

Eventually, Mourning Crow stood up, then she retrieved four circular drone speakers from her belt, and walked into the open field. "I'm going to sing to my father now."

She did not look at us, and her ears were straight and high. "You don't have to stay. This is going to take a while."

Mourning Crow released the floating speakers into the air and stood her ground in the center of the field, facing her sire's grave.

I slowed my breath and stood motionless, in the manner I was trained to lay in wait while stalking a target. My crew members followed my lead.

It was obvious the razkurs found the predatorial posture unsettling, but I didn't care. Mourning Crow was my only priority. I would show respect to her sire and mentor.

The performance took hours, one gut-wrenching song after another. Ballads of her experience in Thorngate, the songs she wrote for the friends she lost in the chaos, haunting odes she used to taunt her enemies, and wild anthems in languages I didn't understand. It went on and on and I gave each and every one of them my full attention.

Halfway in, a crowd began to form. Unbeknownst to us, the Governor had been streaming her unfiltered performance to the entire city.

Are you satisfied? Do you believe her now?

Mourning Crow belted out her final song, surrendering every ounce of her musical mastery into an opus finale that made my short quills shiver.

Then she folded on her knees and broke down crying.

The crowd scuttled closer, with their intrusive ears pointing at her.

"No!" I growled with my fangs on edge and stomped forward, startling the front line of razkurs to jolt backward.

I scooped Mourning Crow into my arms and activated my upgraded phantom blind while summoning an emergency shuttle pickup.

"I'm sorry..." Mourning Crow wrapped her arms around my neck with her face buried in my quills. She clung to me like I was a stone outcropping, keeping her from drifting out to sea. "I didn't mean-"

"Zhaguai do not cry," I silenced her baseless apologies. "But we know what it is to experience profound loss. You may have accepted your father's passing a long time ago, but today is the first day that you are allowed to grieve. There is no shame in mourning someone you cherish."

.

.

.

TRANSLATIONS:

Quaite hi'essa jueque xin'tze = I am honored to meet you.

Jes'sha = as am I

Ni Eh'kt = My Heartbeat/Bonded

U'la'ke/Abura = alien cat species that are mortal enemies of the Zhaguai. Have stinger tails with paralytic venom. Known as "The Felija" to humans. They live in large Prides. The Lieges are the biggest, are both sexes, have large manes, and thirteen tails. AlSO: a sacred predatory species that shares a symbiotic relationship with the Razkurs.

Jahaa = Wraith Clan

Sahei = Jahaa Clan Homeworld

...

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading. If you're enjoying please remember to click the ⭐star⭐to vote and help others discover this book. Wattpad counts votes for each chapter. And as always, comments are most appreciated.

A 🔥🔥🔥 Chapter is imminent!