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Chapter Text

Sun rays spilled across the land as dawn began to near its beautiful end. The two suns sat together above the peaking treelines, weaving between the multitude of huge, fascinating buildings akin to that of an ancient city. Colossal ships soared in the sky, casting slender shadows among the bustling civilisation. 

Fynn gripped the strap of the bag tightly between his fingers, slipping between a huge crowd of creatures he’d come to live among, feared across the entirety of the galaxy. The Yautja towered over him as he went, and the human mumbled out choppy apologies in their native tongue. 

“Sorry, excuse. Sorry,” he huffed, the beating heat from the weather making a small glean of sweat break out against his forehead. His neck twisted and his body leaned past the many hulking aliens, his eyes valiantly in search of one he could recognise with his eyes closed. 

His feet shuffled gingerly closer, biting the soft flesh of his lip in worry. 

Fynn James was a peculiar creature. A human, in the tribe of a feared race of warriors in the galaxy, serving as one of their respected doctors within the tribe. The human had earned a strong title as a “doctor”, drastically different from what he had on Earth. The greatest Yautja of medicine, Yah’kuulh, had kindly taken him under his wing as his apprentice, an act that most Yautja were shocked at. 

The grim doctor was a tough teacher, as Fynn had come to learn over the years. 

He had already known that from his stubborn, rough attitude and personality from when he first met him, but being his apprentice was every bit more challenging than he could have ever expected. Now that Fynn was performing practically, his honour in the tribe had been lifted to great merits, and it easily became somewhat normal to see a human on Yautja Prime. 

Fynn chewed gently at his nail, worry bubbling in his stomach. He had counted the days correctly, had he not? He prayed something hadn’t happened. His heart squeezed painfully at the very thought. 

The human hadn’t had it easy until now. The Clan Leader, Y’u’stoar, was a traditional creature, who had been more than adverse to having a human walking among their kind. He’d been forced to partake in a deadly test, one that pushed him to his very limits, physically and mentally. He had the scars along his stomach and back to prove it, but they were ones he’d been convinced to accept and celebrate in Yautja culture. 

The battle with A’stuialb hadn’t mattered in the long term; Fynn had discovered what could only be described as a family. One of them, his eyes had finally landed on, who was searching for him through the crowd also, and whose eyes lit up and mandibles clicked happily at the very sight of him. 

Fynn’s lips curved into a huge smile, immediately worming his way through the moving crow with a fluttering heart, not caring about the scene he made along the way. When he was finally close enough, the human leapt into his mates arms, feeling them close around him tightly and embrace him.  

“Dra’ak,” he squealed, legs hooking around his waist as the creature pinned him close to his chest. “You’re here, you’re here, you’re here!” 

The Yautja’s chest rumbled with an amused chuckle before it melted into pleasant purrs. His mandibles curved as the human began to press feverish kisses to his cheeks, arms coming to wrap around his neck to press himself closer. 

“Little one,” Dra’ak purred, nuzzling his forehead into his. “I have missed you so.” 

Fynn, in turn, giggled breathily at the Yautja form of affection, his heart rejoicing at the sound of that familiar whickering, and the warm touch and love he’d grown so attached to. In these moments, it was like nobody else around them mattered at all. 

“I missed you too,” the human hummed, his eyes meeting his excitedly. “How was your hunt? Did you get any more trophies you like?” 

Dra’ak’s forehead slipped down a little, nudging at his neck. Fynn was completely aware of how daunting a Yautja sex drive could be, and he braced himself for the scrape of mandibles against his neck that arrived shortly afterwards. He wiggled his legs a little to try and gain his attention, not particularly eager to have the creature strip him right here and take him in public. 

“Many,” he huffed against his skin, begrudgingly receiving the silent message, and letting the human drop carefully to the ground. “I will have Gi’ja come and get them. I have far too many things I would like to do right now.” 

Fynn offered him a short glare, his cheeks flushed red. “I made a promise to Eh’kaad that we would all eat together as soon as you’re back. It’s embarrassing to sit at the table with their children when they can still smell the sex on us…” 

Dra’ak chuckled heartily. “I like it.” 

“I made a promise,” he reiterated, taking the alien’s huge hand in his. He would never get over the fact of how small and dainty he looked when he let his hand rest in Dra’ak’s palm. “That means we have to be on time.” 

Fynn interlocked his fingers with him, smiling up at him. 

“Dinner, and then we can have the rest of the day all to ourselves.” 

Dra’ak’s eyes bore into him for a long while, and he flushed red knowing exactly what he was thinking about. He gently squeezed his small human hand, before softly whickering and nodding his head in agreement. 

“Food,” he agreed. “Then I can have you writhing on my cock.” 

Fynn coughed as passing Yautja shared unreadable looks with each, and he began to tug Dra’ak in the direction of Eh’kaad’s home. His anklet and his necklace clattered as he did so, two of his most prized possessions. 

“I haven’t seen you for almost two seasons,” he sighed, jokingly shaking his head. “I prefer ‘I miss you’ right now.” 

It was funny how something that turned his life upside had morphed into a dream. He could recall the moment he’d been informed he was joining some of the world’s most talented and strongest marines on a mission to rescue those who had mysteriously gone missing. The island wasn’t notorious for it, and his father, a high-ranking commander in the army, had suspected it was either foul play or sheer poor luck. Fynn wasn’t a soldier; he had destroyed every expectation his father had for him since being a baby, and yearned to pursue a career in medicine instead. 

Being a doctor was his every dream. 

His father had never outwardly done something as ridiculous as disown him, but he sensed the way he stopped treating him like a son. He would perceive disappointment and contempt at his son’s decisions, and watery support the next. Fynn always knew that no matter how many times his father said he respected his decision, he would never truly mean it. 

It was the biggest betrayal to find out his father had used his influence to “hire” Fynn as the field medic for the job. His father hardly qualified for a loving dad as it was, but it was then that he realised he had hit a new low. The marines hadn’t been an experience that Fynn liked to think about, simply due to the harsh way he’d been treated, and the people he cared about that he’d lost on the way. It had been living hell, a nightmare he didn’t think he’d ever wake up from, and the icing on the cake had been being taken by a terrifying alien, one that hunted and taunted them on the island. 

The alien had been Dra’ak. Fate worked in funny ways because it was how he found himself on Yautja Prime, fighting for his life, being taken as Yah’kuuhl’s apprentice, and becoming part of one of the largest and most powerful Yautja tribes in the galaxy. 

Finding a family along the way, that he never felt he had on Earth. Fulfilling his dream as a doctor, just not in the sense he had ever expected. After a few long seasons of adjusting to his new life, changes had started to dutifully appear. Dra’ak still had to fulfil his duty as a hunter, considering the fact that he and Fynn were unable to produce pups for some of the most obvious reasons. 

It was difficult to accept, the first few times he’d left for a hunt. 

Nobody was quite sure if it was the complexities of the mysterious mate bond that was making him agitated and depressed, but Fynn struggled to cope by himself without Dra’ak by his side, He hadn’t realised how much he relied on his affections, and his warmness upon waking up in the morning, but it was a huge shock to his system when he wasn’t there. 

Yah’kuuhl had been unhappy by his mopey display and thoroughly busied him with work that often distracted him from his miserable state. 

Zu-Huhn’tha had also experienced something similar, as Eh’kaad and he mutually decided that after O’tui, their youngest pup, they would not bear anymore for the time being. The female creature was an Elite hunter, something she had worked tirelessly for after choosing her mate, and after each pup began their training as a Young Blood, she would leave for many long hunts to satiate herself. Zu was left with the task of looking after their children, which he happily did for both of them. 

He had also seemed visibly distressed by Eh’kaad’s long disappearances, but confiding in one other while each of their respective mates was on their hunts had made it all that much easier. Zu was a simple Yautja, who would simply enjoy talking about him and Eh’kaad whenever Fynn would curiously ask, or training his children thoroughly to make sure they were strong. Gi’ja was coming to the end of his Young Blood stage; Eh’kaad had once explained to Fynn that in order for a Yautja to be considered a hunter in the tribe, they had to pass their Blooding Ritual, a similar test to what he had succeeded in, but with a few various elements. 

Yautja pups were often taught in groups. These pups trained together for many years, working their way through the ranks of an Unblooded, then a Young Blood, and finally fighting side by side in their Blooding Ritual together. The beast in question for Yautja was what they called ‘Hard Meat’. Described as the perfect organism by lots, Fynn’s stomach had sunk with dread at the very description of it. Young Bloods would then have to defeat the creature and live to tell the tale. 

Fynn’s relationship with Gi’ja hadn’t ever grown stronger like it had with everyone else in the family. He had always chalked it up to the stark language barrier situated between them, and the young creature’s dismissive demeanour, but while Fynn started the gruelling progress of learning the Yautja language, he had been given a small device for his ear that acted as a flawless translator between Yautja and English. He could understand Gi’ja, and Gi’ja could understand him when he used it, yet the young male hardly spoke a word or responded with short, harsh sentences. 

Fynn was never quite sure why the creature continued to be so hostile towards him, but he decided to give him time. He didn’t want to bother Eh’kaad and Zu with such trivial problems, not when Gi’ja had already stirred up trouble and there had been questions about whether he was worthy to take his Blooding Ritual or not. 

O’tui had grown from a pup, and was at the age of being granted the title “Unblooded”. They were slightly older pups that had only just begun their training, just like the group of pups that made the anklet for Fynn and loved to visit when they were training. They had grown bigger and taller, having moved onto fresh Young Bloods, but Fynn often liked to sneak in to check in on them every now and then regardless of how busy they were going to become. Sometimes, it was a little frustrating that O’tui was making quicker progress learning the language than Fynn ever could. 

Eh’kaad was the one teaching him, and dare he say that she was an even tougher teacher than Yah’kuulh at times. 

Tugging on his poncho as they went, the air almost seemed lighter and thinner than before. Being reunited with his mate brought him an overwhelming feeling he could hardly even describe each and every time, and he refused to let go of his hand, even as they made it back to Eh’kaad and Zu’s home. The older sister greeted her little brother with a firm embrace before they broke apart to press their foreheads against each other gently. It reminded Fynn of the first time he’d seen Dra’ak’s older sister; now he could appreciate the meaning behind these strange customs. 

Gi’ja and O’tui came out to greet their mother’s brother, and Zu joined not a moment later. There was a pleasant aroma in the air coming from the next room, and Fynn’s stomach almost growled at the excitement of finally filling his belly with delicious food. Cooking with Dra’ak was one of his favourite things to do, but nothing could beat the piles and plates of food that were crafted in their kitchen. 

“It is good to see you back safe,” Eh’kaad breathed carefully, her hand coming up to pat his shoulder. “I trust you brought some trophies back for your mate?” 

Dra’ak offered Fynn a smile. “Of course I did. I think he will like these ones.” 

Eh’kaad squeezed his shoulder, and her hand came up to pinch one of his mandibles harshly.  “If you drag him off in the middle of the meal to mate with him again, I will have no problem humiliating you in front of him.” 

Fynn coughed awkwardly, fingers tapping the translator under his ear. 

“Uh, I can hear you.” 

The female creature’s chest whickered before she released Dra’ak’s mandible, who couldn’t control the uncomfortable twitch in them. He was huffing loudly, all amusement from his eyes gone after being scolded by her. Regardless of her threat, he wouldn’t disrespect his mates promise, no matter how eager he was to drag him off into the bedroom and have his way with him. Eh’kaad shook her head before she bent down and scooped O’tui off the ground. He made loud babbling noises, repeating some simple and choppy Yautja words as she settled him on her arm, pushing back the short dreadlocks that had begun sprouting from his head. 

“Help prepare dinner,” she ordered, waving between the two sharply. “Behave yourselves. Stay where I can see you.” 

Dra’ak’s hand fell on top of Fynn’s head, gently ruffling the hair there. Zu shook his head gently at the display, ushering his mate over. 

“Leave them be, Eh’kaad,” he chastised softly before he swiftly changed his tune when the female shot him a glowering glare. “But, she is right. Come help with dinner.” 

Dra’ak and Fynn exchanged brief looks, before the human dissolved into light giggles, wrapping his arms around the aliens and tugging him eagerly into the kitchen. It was some of Fynn’s favourite moments, when the family was all reunited and together, considering these creatures had been his first exposure to this world. They had been the first ones he’d seen kindness from, and who had supported him throughout everything, whether that be Eh’kaad’s gruelling training, or simply Zu expressing kind words of wisdom and trying to mend his and Dra’ak’s relationship when things got out of hand. 

As they were bustling in the kitchen, roasting meats and chattering loudly amongst each other, Fynn lifted a lid to wash a few handfuls of fruit, when a shocked gasp tore from his lips. 

“You!” 

The black lizard hissed angrily at the bright lights flooding into the pot, slithering out of its hiding spot and winding around Fynn’s wrist tightly. The human glanced inside to see several ravaged fruits, and carefully placed the lid back on before Eh’kaad could see the damage, and decided to throw the lizard in the pot as a last resort. 

“That’s why you were hiding,” Fynn whispered softly, giving the small creature a few scratches beneath its chin. Its eyes closed in pleasure, tongue whipping out of its mouth as a purr resonated in its throat. He giggled at the cute display, letting the lizard curl up on his shoulder instead. 

Eh’kaad eyed him wearily. 

“If that creature touches the food,” she hissed. “I will not be happy.” 

Zu-Huhn’tha slid behind his mate, winding his arms tightly around her waist. His forehead gently nuzzled at her neck, a soft purr erupting in his throat. “Do not stress so much. It will be fine.” 

Eh’kaad tore her eyes away from Fynn, and they were immediately compelled by her mate instead. She huffed with a hint of stubbornness and anger, before grabbing one of his hands and pulling him closer. 

“If you say so.” 

Zu chuckled quietly. “I do.”

Fynn found it was a miracle these two were not intertwined by the mate bond, because it was easy for anybody to assess just how much they truly loved each other. Dra’ak begrudgingly turned towards his mate, who had been trying to pry O’tui from around the back of his shoulders. The older child, Gi’ja, was busy helping with preparations, and the smaller Yautja didn’t seem to want to sit still by himself. Fynn watched him struggle in amusement. 

“Have I told you that I love you yet?” The Yautja whickered, his mandibles drooping slightly. Fynn’s heart fluttered involuntarily in his chest, and a contagious smile tugged relentlessly at the corner of his lips. He leaned forward to let his hands sit on his sides, drawing closer to his warmth. 

“I love you,” he hummed quietly, feeling the weight of the ring around his finger. “So, so much.” 

Dra’ak purred softly, his hand brushing his brown locks from his forehead. “I love you too, little one.”

A swift scold from Eh’kaad snapped the two back into vigilant work, and dinner was everything that Fynn had thought it would be. Everybody being back together made his chest feel warm, and the medic wouldn’t have changed this for the world.  

Chapter Text

Fynn barely made it through the door before Dra’ak was already swooping him into his arms, making a beeline straight towards their bedroom. He couldn’t stop his lips from curving into a giddy smile, wrapping his arms around the creature’s neck as he began to litter his cheeks with kisses. 

Dra’ak had once told him he found it a very strange custom, and it did nothing more than tickle him whenever Fynn would do it. He reiterated he didn’t think it was a bad thing; the medic might not ever be able to arouse the alien with kisses, but he knew his mouth was better at riling him up in other ways. He felt the smooth furs beneath his back, and when he went to sit up, his hand settled on his chest to push him back down again. 

“Do not do anything,” Dra’ak huffed, his fingers tearing the fabric off his body. Fynn watched with his teeth between his lips, feeling a hot fire spread in between his thighs. “I am too eager for patience.” 

When the hand slid off his chest to loop around the fabric around his waist instead, Fynn swiftly shot up to let his fingers curl around his wrists, prompting the alien to halt impatiently in his tracks. 

“You’re the one who’s been hunting for months,” he smiled gently, slowly rising to his feet and letting his hands rest in Dra’ak’s bigger ones. He guided them around, so the creature was forced to sit on the edge of their bed. He sank to his knees, looking up at him through his eyelashes in a way he knew Dra’ak loved to see. “I should be taking good care of you.” 

His mate huffed loudly, mandibles clenching in frustration. “I do not think I have the patience.” 

Fynn leaned forward, shifting the fabric apart and mouthing gently at the hardness beneath. He dipped his fingers inside, and he heard a sharp whickering erupt in Dra’ak’s throat. Despite his adamant attitude in simply grabbing Fynn and taking him quickly, he didn’t seem to be in any rush to stop the human when he began dragging his tongue down the length of his aching cock. 

Fynn grinned triumphantly, taking the tip in his mouth and letting out a soft moan. Dra’ak’s hand twisted through his hair, hips bucking as he forced him to take him deeper.

“Fuck,” he swore in Yautja, and the translator crackled a little in confusion. “I have missed seeing you like this.” 

Fynn’s eyes watered, tears sliding down his cheeks as those fingers tightened in his hair, bobbing his head until the tip of his cock prodded against the back of his throat. His eyelashes fluttered and he moaned loudly, the vibrations making Dra’ak hiss. No amount of imagining his pretty lips around him beat seeing the real thing. 

Fynn pulled back, saliva running down his chin and a string of it connecting his lips and his length, tongue darting out to lick it away. Dra’ak huffed, hastily pulling him up to his feet. The medic scrambled to slip his clothes off and left them discarded haphazardly on the floor, before he clambered into the alien’s lap. His arms wound around his neck, letting his lips connect to his throat. 

He could feel him beneath him, and his hips squirmed impatiently as he urged Dra’ak to push inside of him. The creature growled, the noise sending shivers down Fynn’s spine. 

“I need to prepare you,” he warned, and Fynn shuddered when he felt hands gripping his waist, so big they almost engulfed them. His cheeks flushed red in passion, and his eyes were no doubt severely dilated as he slid his hands sensually down the alien’s bare chest. 

“I…” He sheepishly looked away. “I already prepared myself before you came.” 

Dra’ak huffed, his head tilting. “It will not be enough.” 

Fynn’s eyes snapped towards him, his jaw clenching in determination. He leaned closer to him, enough so that their chests brushed together slightly, and he continued to pepper those ticklish kisses against his collarbones. Dra’ak moved with the motions until he was lying flat on his back, a slither of annoyance in his eyes. 

“Let me take care of you,” he murmured hotly against his skin, letting his eyes roam up to meet his heated gaze. “I should be making you feel good. Let me do that much. Please.” 

He leaned back against his hips as a disgruntled huff choked in his throat, and those hands slipped away from his waist to allow him the freedom to do what he wanted. Fynn’s heart pounded in excitement, and he lifted himself up to slowly sink the tip of his cock inside him. He winced, and realised Dra’ak was right about it not being enough. He eased himself down, rocking his hips a fraction just to tease him, hands splayed out across his chest to take his weight.

“When did you become so bold?” The creature hummed under his breath, finger gently brushing through a haphazard strand of hair that had fallen in front of his face. Fynn’s expression wrinkled, his teeth coming out to press against his bottom lip. 

“When you left for your hunt,” he whispered under his breath, his head tilting back as he slowly rocked his hips back and forth, his cock rubbing against a spot that was making his legs shake. A breathy moan escaped his lips, eyes fluttering closed. “I found a big, strong Yautja who was willing to keep the bed warm while you were away.” 

Dra’ak’s eyes turned hard. “I should fuck that attitude out of you.” 

Fynn’s eyes glimmered in lust. “You won’t.” 

The medic wasn’t surprised he found himself flat on his back moments afterwards, his spine arched in pleasure as Dra’ak’s hips pumped ferociously between his legs. His impatient, brutal pace filled their home with pleasurable moans and screams, Fynn’s cock-drunk babbling for him to go faster almost shaking the plotted plants Dra’ak had brought back from his hunts. 

His hand pinned Fynn’s wrists above his head, relishing in the way his mate shivered so elegantly from his touch alone. 

“I love you,” Fynn moaned, his legs shaking around his waist. The creature’s hand was gripping his jaw, the other now pumping his cock and milking him dry. He shuddered and convulsed in pleasure, tear-filled eyes rolling to the back of his head. “I love you, so much.” 

Dra’ak finished deep inside his mate, a growl tearing through his throat when his walls clenched against his cock, almost like he was trying to keep him there. His fingers pried away from his jaw, cupping the back of his head as if he was porcelain, holding him tenderly to his chest as he pulled out. 

“I love you too,” he whispered, his mandibles struggling to kiss his skin anywhere they could. “I have missed you. More than you know.” 

Fynn’s arms weakly traced the rugged scars on his back, eyelids fluttering in exhaustion. He knew they needed to clean up the mess they’d made, but every limb in his body was overcome by a horrible weakness. Dra’ak settled against his side, and Fynn snuggled into his warm arms with a gentle sigh. 

“I hope you are treated well when I am not here,” the creature whispered, and Fynn swore he heard a glimmer of fear lingering along the edges. “I hope you are happy.” 

Fynn let a smile grace his lips, his eyelids drooping shut. 

“I am the happiest I’ve ever been…” 

. . . 

Fynn moaned, sunlight cascading over his eyelids. It coaxed him begrudgingly from his sweet slumber, forcing himself to crack his eyelids open and blink through the blurry haze surrounding his vision. He saw a flash of black and brown, the brief whisper of laughter and chatter, and his brows pinched in confusion. 

He waved a hand clumsily through the air, sitting up. 

“Dra’ak?” He croaked, still squinting through the moving streams of light. His breath was heavy on his ears, flinching at a crack of thunder. “Dra’ak…” 

He blinked rapidly and glanced down, wondering when he’d stood up. He could see his feet on the ground, and an alarming sense of danger began to pierce through his skull like alarm bells when his eyes caught a glimpse of running neon blood. He swallowed thickly, the moisture drying in his mouth. 

His lips opened, whispering his mate’s name in fear. It echoed through the cavern of his mind, panic exploding in his chest. His feet staggered against something hard, and he threw his arms out to steady himself. He collided with something big, invisible hands grasping his shoulders in a vice grip. Fynn gasped, head snapping up. 

“Dra’ak!” He cried in terror, his hands fumbling to press against his cheeks. He was covered in blood, his mandibles trembling and his eyes unfocused. Fynn’s hands frantically tried pressing over the various wounds inflicted on his body, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t stop the bleeding. “Oh my god, oh my god. Dra’ak, Dra’ak, please!” 

The Yautja spluttered, his neon green-soaked hands digging into his shoulders. Fynn barely registered the stinging pain. 

“Little one,” he croaked, and Dra’ak’s voice had never sounded so weak. So scared. His shaking hands were ghosting over his chest, a pool of blood rushing from where his heart was. He was swaying, dreadlocks easing off his shoulder. “Little one. Fynn…” 

The medic felt hot tears sliding down his cheeks, mirroring the burn of magma. A crack of thunder roared in the sky, and Fynn’s head whipped around in shock. The ground must have stretched for miles and miles around them, and each inch was covered in a Yautja’s dead, mangled body, unmoving in the unrelenting bouts of wind. Fynn slapped a hand over his mouth, a horrified gasp tearing from his throat at the horrific sight. 

When Dra’ak’s hand slipped from his shoulders, he felt something snatch his ankles. Fynn’s eyes shot down to find their corpses clinging to his legs, dragging him away with violent grasps. The medic jerked in panic, his eyes blindly whipping around to find Dra’ak. 

The creature was far away from him now, his figure shadowed by the blood-red sky behind him. Fynn screamed his name, but nothing escaped his lips. His hands flew to his throat as his eyes widened in horror, nails desperately digging into the skin. The Yautja corpses were clawing further up into his body, yanking him back into the darkness. They gripped at his throat, sharp claws tearing through his flesh. Phantom pain spread like wildfire through his body, but Fynn’s eyes could only focus on Dra’ak. 

There was someone behind him. A shadow of a demon loomed over his half-dead form, and Fynn wailed a silent warning, shaking from the pain, begging Dra’ak to be okay, and he was suddenly ripping the furs off his body like they’d been burned into his skin, lurching upright in the bed with a terrified scream tearing from his lips. 

His eyes flickered about frantically, hands clawing against the sheets to try and find Dra’ak. 

The bed was empty. 

Fynn felt cold panic seize his heart, and he leapt to his feet faster than he’d ever moved before. 

“Dra’ak!” He screamed, staggering out into the hallways with frantic steps. His heart was pounding in his ears like the relentless banging of a drum, his blood rushing as desperately as he moved. “Dra’ak!” 

He could only think about the flashes of images burning through his brain. Dra’ak, soaked in his own blood, that horrible weakness in his hushed voice that was laced with undermining trembles of pain. Fynn whipped around so hard, he was sure he had whiplash. Terrors of the grisly nightmare being true stabbed through his heart. 

Suddenly, he collided with something. The events of his dream flared like fire in his brain. “Little one,” Dra’ak breathed, his hands frantically gripping his shoulders to keep him from squirming. “Little one, what is the matter? Are you hurt?” 

His heart squeezed painfully, and Fynn instantly deteriorated into sobs. He threw himself into Dra’ak’s arms violently, making the Yautja whicker in hurt and confusion as to his mate’s distress. 

“Dra’ak,” he sobbed, fingers clinging onto his clothes until his knuckles turned white. “My dream! You…Y-You were hurt, you were dying, I-I woke up and you weren’t there and I thought—I really thought that you were…” 

He choked to a stop, his hyperventilating breaths making his head swim. His mate’s hand was slowly rubbing against his back, drawing gentle patterns that grounded him into reality. His mandibles curled in anguish, briefly sharing in the pain and fear his mate was feeling. It stung his heart, and he lowered himself onto his knees, taking his mate with him. 

Footsteps echoed towards them. “What is going on?” 

For his modesty, Dra’ak kept his mate shielded from Eh’kaad’s pointed eyes. Fynn was still sobbing into his chest, and he wouldn’t let go until his mate wasn’t shaking like he was. 

“His mind is hurting him,” he murmured quietly, unwilling to raise his voice or let his anger bleed through. “His dreams are not kind.” 

Eh’kaad kept her distance, and Zu came staggering in, his eyes glimmering in worry. 

“I heard screaming from outside,” he breathed, gaze flickering around uncertainly. He was fixated on his mate first of all, making sure she was okay, before slowly turning his attention back to the quiet sobbing coming from Dra’ak’s form. “Is somebody hurt?” 

Fynn’s head was swimming, briefly hearing faint voices coming from somewhere in the room. He quietly counted to fifteen in his mind, lips trembling in sync as he did so, before allowing a heavy sigh to escape his lips. He shifted hesitantly in the comfort of his mate’s embrace, and it seemed to loosen once the Yautja had realised his mate was bringing himself out of the cacoon. He wasn’t eager to let go, but he unravelled his arms away regardless. 

His eyes glimmered with tears, blinking them away. “Dra’ak…” 

“I am here,” he assured, nuzzling his forehead softly. “I am not hurt.” 

He let those words sink into his brain. I am here. I am not hurt. Dra’ak was okay; it was just a bad dream. He pressed his hand against Dra’ak’s chest, something he’d practised doing since his mate had first comforted him from his nightmares, and eased himself into the same pattern of breathing. Dra’ak knew what his mate was doing, and ran a claw through his hair in encouragement. 

Eh’kaad’s eyes were narrowed icily. Her arms came to fold over her chest, watching the scene with distaste in her eyes. Once she could sense the human was no longer in pain, her glare eased away, and so did Zu’s obvious worry. 

She turned to him and nudged his side. “Stop fidgeting. He is okay.” 

Fynn blinked in confusion at that, glancing up at Dra’ak. He was already staring at him, eyes filled with worry and care. Upon realising Eh’kaad and Zu were here, his throat closed up, and he let his hand slip away from Dra’ak’s chest. 

“Oh no,” he breathed, biting his bottom lip in worry. “What time is it?” 

Zu whickered softly. “Midday.” 

Fynn, trying to force the nightmarish images to the back of his mind, hastily rose to his feet, a groan escaping his lips. Dra’ak followed him swiftly, still intent on blocking his nude form from his sister and her mate. Although he’d cleaned his mate up while he slept, the evidence of their escapades last night was still evident over his body. They were only for Dra’ak’s eyes. 

“I’m supposed to be at the laboratory right now,” he hissed, pressing a hand to his clammy forehead. “Yah’kuulh is going to kill me.” 

Alarmed, Zu’s mandibles snapped wide in shock. “Kill?” He whipped towards his mate. “Yah’kuulh is going to…?” 

Eh’kaad rolled her eyes, pushing her mate out of the room with more force than was necessary. “We will give you some privacy, little brother.” 

Dra’ak gave her a grateful nod, and turned his attention back to his mate, still combing his claws carefully through his hair. The medic was humming softly at the touch, simply thankful that Dra’ak was okay. 

“I prepared a set of clothes for you already,” he murmured softly, still too eager to nuzzle against his head to cheer him up. “I will take you there.” 

Fynn nodded his head frantically, his hand latching onto his with more haste than he would’ve liked to admit. 

“Promise you’ll be here when I get back?” 

Dra’ak’s mandibles curled into a smile. “I promise.”

. . .

Against his better judgement, Fynn couldn’t stop the feeling of miserableness eating away at him as he sat on the edge of the laboratory desk, the chair feeling uncomfortable as it dug into his thighs. He knew it wasn’t the fault of the damn chair; he was usually sore for days when Dra’ak returned from his hunts, but it wasn’t the sore feeling that was making him so miserable. 

There was meant to be a demonstration for the Young Bloods that morning, but Yah’kuulh had been forced to reschedule it for another day due to Fynn’s negligence in getting there in time. He’d received an earful and a harsh scolding from the older Yautja unlike anything he’d had to endure in a while, and he’d been left to stew in his guilt alone. 

The looming threat of his nightmare was still hanging heavy over his head, consuming his thoughts so widely, he hadn’t even heard the door whir open. 

Yah’kuulh’s eyes pinned him to his seat the moment he walked in, still lingering with the same, fiery passion he’d used to display his clear anger towards him. Fynn winced when he spotted him out of the corner of his eye, making a show of resting his arms on the long desk, nestling his head on top and turning away from him. 

The older Yautja let out a disapproving, hard huff, but his voice was softer than he’d anticipated.

“Why are you moping?” He asked, pulling open one of the drawers in the walls. Fynn almost shivered as he imagined the cold smoke emerging from it, hearing Yah’kuulh place new medicine inside. His finger tapped quietly against the desk, brows furrowing. 

“Because you yelled at me,” he mumbled quietly under his breath, shifting to plant his chin on his arms instead. The older Yautja gave an angry huff, shaking his head. His dreadlocks were pulled back and tied together with a band. 

“I did,” he sniffed. “You know exactly why. Now, tell me the real reason.” 

Fynn’s eyes flickered to the side when the Yautja came into view, making him slowly sit back. A long sigh was drawn from his lips, tapping his fingers on his lap. 

“I had a nightmare,” he admitted quietly, his hair prickling on edge just thinking about it. “Dra’ak was hurt. He was dying.” 

Yah’kuulh’s single good eye hardened at the mention of his mate, and he folded his arms over his chest. “Your mate is back from his hunt?” 

Fynn nodded. 

“Then there is nothing for you to be so miserable about,” he huffed, dark purple cloak swishing as his head turned aside. “He is fine, is he not?” 

Dra’ak was fine, but the dream had shaken him in a way he just couldn’t explain. “He is.” 

Yah’kuulh was looking at him oddly. “Then what is it?” 

He curled his fingers uncertainly, before he squinted up at the older Yautja suspiciously. 

“Since when do you show so much interest in what I dream about?” 

Yah’kuulh growled slightly. “Since you became my apprentice. I have an obligation to monitor your well-being also. Now, watch your tone.” 

Fynn huffed, but did as he was told regardless. He let his gaze fall straight back into his lap, trying to scrape together a coherent reason he was still so hung up about the grisly tale that played out in front of his eyes. The Yautja whickered impatiently, and Fynn’s brows furrowed. 

“Dreams have this feeling about them. But last night, whatever it was, it was different. It didn’t feel like a dream. It felt too real. It felt like I was living something that was going to happen, but also as if I was right there, in the moment, as if it was reality, but with this overwhelming sense of déjà vu that I just…” He broke off in frustration, fingers combing through his hair. “I feel like I’ve had a similar dream before, but I just can’t…I can’t remember. I don’t know. I don’t know, it was scary. I was spooked, that was all.” 

Yah’kuulh listened wordlessly, before a hand on his shoulder made him wince. 

“You look tired, human.” 

Fynn’s lips curled weakly. “I am.” 

The Yautja hummed, stepping aside for a moment to grab a blanket for when Fynn sometimes slept at the laboratory. He was surprised when the doctor drew it over his shoulders, gently nudging his head down against the table. 

“Then rest,” he ordered. “I do not need you for the workload today.” 

Fynn didn’t have to be told twice. He tucked his arms under his head, whispering a quiet thank you, before drifting off to sleep at a moment’s notice.

Chapter Text

Yah’kuulh was a creature that, despite what everybody else says, was patient. 

Taking on an apprentice had always been something he’d craved, ever since being a growing Yautja in his early years. He’d preferred the cool, scientific atmosphere of a laboratory than the blood-stained battlegrounds he was meant to, and during a time when Yautja had yet to breach their scientific revolutionaries and transform medicine across the galaxy, that had been laughable. 

As a freshly blooded Hunter, Yah’kuulh had been ridiculed and looked down upon with scolding eyes by many. 

It was unbecoming for a Yautja to share passions in something other than hunting. Yah’kuulh, however, just like any other Yautja, loved the thrill of the hunt. It was in his blood, he supposed, yet his desires had turned him elsewhere. Wouldn’t hunting be easier, if we had the medicine to defy the prospect of death? To delay perishing from simple wounds? 

It had never been on his agenda to become a bitter creature. Living through the years of his life had only been fulfilled by the challenges of his mind over his body, stimulating the little neurons in his brain and crafting ways to extend the future. His unbecoming nature turned him away from many creatures in his life; his accomplices, Unblooded “friends”, his family, all in the name of science. What hunter would disgrace the clan to stare into insipid little contraptions and mix together unorthodox concoctions? 

Well, it was good that he did. 

Yautja Prime transformed after his discoveries. 

Friends came crawling back. His family claimed to be proud they shared the same blood. 

Perhaps it was because Yah’kuulh had realised the world truly was unbefitting that he became so bitter. That an undetermined path was only accepted when success came out of it. That their ultimate love of combat and fighting had cost the lives of hundreds of Yautja, including his own mate. Perhaps that was why the mysterious human that arrived on Yautja Prime had piqued his humour upon receiving the news. He’d had no desire to delve into the politics of it all; he’d heard an earful about the growing situation from the Council of Elders, who’d chosen to leave the decision in Y’u’stoar’s hands rather than take it on themselves. 

He had been truly angered when the “situation” landed on his doorstep. The human was still alive, he’d noted upon seeing him, though no worse for wear. He would laugh if he’d been told that human would be the one taking on his knowledge. 

He was truly a worthy apprentice. Yah’kuulh had become content that his work would be left in capable hands. 

Working silently, Yah’kuulh lingered inside the laboratory, setting aside his equipment to put away. The human was still sleeping soundly, arms draped over the desk, head nestled comfortably on the top. It always humoured him how those small creatures could drift unconscious in the strangest of places, and Yah’kuulh had spent years meticulously studying the human species. Why someone like him was mated to a creature like Dra’ak, he would never know. That inferior creature was certainly an extraordinary thing, coming from a species like he had. It made him recall one of their conversations long ago, when they had first made their estranged “teacher and student” arrangement official. 

Yah’kuulh was by no means an innocent creature. Yautja, of course, were renowned for their lack of remorse and thrilling ways of killing others. He had never been one for restraining shackles of morality; perhaps it was something within a Yautja’s nature. The preposterous moral ambiguity that came with the doctor’s extensive and otherwise successful methods of research. 

“You talk of morality,” Yah’kuulh had muttered, his tone harsh. “I took humans from Earth to experiment on them.” 

He remembered the paling of his face, the undeniable fear that had radiated in those eyes. Yah’kuulh remained tall, unwilling to let a reaction shake his resolve. 

“I do not regret anything I did,” he continued, shaking his head. “I took them apart and studied them to learn what I could about your species. I developed many medicines for our race because of it. Humans would find such a thing wrong, with your fickle, interchangeable “morals”. You may think it cruel, but just know, I do not care.” 

The human had stayed quiet for a while. Yah’kuulh remembered this silly sense of frustration growing in his chest, pondering why the actions of his past were being judged by a mere human. 

After moments, the creature spoke. 

“Human experimentation is, well, it’s…” He had struggled to find words. The human did that a lot, but Yah’kuulh would let him fumble until it grew too annoying to listen to. “It is cruel, and it’s wrong. But…in the past, we did the same thing. We took defenceless animals and we experimented constantly on them in order to advance our medicine, and…it worked. It did. It’s a horrible thing to do, and nothing nowadays can ever excuse it, but back then…did they really know any better?” 

He swiftly backpedalled. 

“No. Of course they knew animal testing wasn’t right, and you can argue that if they’d tried hard enough, they could have found an alternative. But what if there wasn’t one? If we had never done those cruel, unspeakable things, would we have been able to discover the things we did at the right time? It sounds horrible, I know it does. I think about things like this at night all the time. If there’d been an alternative, obviously the right thing to do would be to progress with that. But animal testing was…well, it worked. It stupidly worked and if we’d never done it, we might still think that there was only one type of bacteria, or that it just spontaneously appeared in the air.” 

Yah’kuulh had stopped listening about halfway through, but his eyes fell back on the human once he’d paused to wrack his brain. 

“It’s not good, but it was probably the most necessary thing you could’ve done. And you don’t experiment on humans anymore, just like we don’t test on animals, because we now have those alternatives,” the human grumbled, before his eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he took a couple steps backwards. “You…don’t experiment on humans anymore, right?” 

Yah’kuulh’s hand crept for his desk, gripping onto one of his daggers. “I do now.” 

His eyes lingered on the human’s sleeping form, his mandibles curling inwards slightly. The blanket was beginning to slip off his shoulders, clinging onto the limb; Yah’kuulh quietly moved towards him, setting the blanket further along his shoulder. The human twitched. 

The doctor might not have thought anything about it, had it not been for a second twitch after that, and the small spasms that had started to consume his body. Yah’kuulh’s throat clicked loudly, taking the human by the shoulders and attempting to turn him around. He knew something was very wrong when his small body began convulsing sporadically, and he could see his eyelids were flickering, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Yah’kuulh cursed, calling out for other Yautja outside the laboratory with a booming, sharp voice. His mind instantly leapt to all those months taking care of him in that horrific coma-like state, and he worked meticulously to get him down onto the tiled floor. 

He’d experimented on live humans; he knew a seizure when he saw one, and he feared the sudden cause of it. Two Enforcer’s came barrelling in, both females, and Yah’kuulh hissed out commands in a hard, demanding voice, working on setting the shaking human on his side. 

“Call his mate, quickly!” He snapped, his narrowed eyes not tearing away from him. The human was convulsing violently now, and Yah’kuulh gently (though with more urgency than he expected from himself) positioned him onto his side. 

He was a doctor; he knew how to stay calm in these situations. 

But the longer the dreadful seconds passed by, the more he was beginning to realise something. This wasn’t a seizure at all. 

At once, Yah’kuulh fisted the front of his shirt, and grasped the human by the shoulder, before roughly shaking him, enough to startle the Enforcer that was attempting to help. 

“Human,” he barked, his mandibles curling inwards in anger as he continued to shake him violently. His claws dug into his jaw, rocking his skull. The human’s eyelids were still fluttering, quiet wheezing sounds choking in his throat. “Human, wake up.” 

He growled loudly, head snapping towards the unhelpful Yautja. “The cabinet to the left. There is a small box with a circular symbol. Bring it to me, now.” 

He briefly watched the Enforcer bound towards the cabinet, before his attention narrowed in on the human once more. He hated the way his heart was pounding so loudly in his chest, so much he wasn’t even sure he could hear himself think properly.

The human was still twitching violently. Yah'kuulh drew his hand back and struck the side of his cheek. He could control his strength, but the loud cracking sound would have been harsh enough to make anybody cringe. He let his voice turn nasty now, knowing the panic was creeping up on him. 

“Human!” 

Finally, he gasped in a choking breath of air. The human’s eyes snapped open in shock, convulsions ceasing and simmering down into shaken trembles instead. He was panting hard, fingers digging into the tough skin of Yah’kuulh’s arms. 

“Yah’kuulh,” Fynn cried, scrambling for any sort of stability while the crushing weight of reality barreled into him. “Yah’kuulh, it was him. It was him.” 

The doctor slowly and carefully shifted him further along the ground, wrapping an arm securely around his shoulders so he had something to lean on. He set one hand on his shoulder, mandibles curled and eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

Somehow, he doubted this was a normal nightmare. 

“It was him, too,” the human continued, his words panicking and rushing from his lips before he could catch his breath. “The dream I couldn’t remember; he did that. He made me forget about it, but this time he…he…” 

The doctor’s stomach coiled with bitterness and dread. He tried to keep the venomous growl out of his voice as he spoke a single word. 

“Who?” He already knew the answer. The human’s chest shook with shallow breaths, any healthy colour having drained from his face, leaving him a sickly white. His bottom lip trembled, eyes glossed over with a sheen of moisture. 

He swallowed thickly. “Mahto-Yau.” 

Yah’kuulh’s eyes turned icy. 

“What’s happening to me?” The human choked on a breathless whimper, the exhaustion weighing heavy on his vocal cords. “He’s in my head, he’s…” 

The doctor shifted him so he was leaning against the desk, still sitting complacently on the ground. He slid his arm out from around his shoulders, swiftly taking the blanket and draping it over him carefully. The human’s eyes looked dazed and frightened, hair dishevelled. 

“What happened?” Yah’kuulh ordered in a stern voice, taking the box from the Enforcer. He flicked it open, revealing green leaves carefully placed inside. He snapped a round one from the stalk, propping the lid closed and setting it on the tiled ground beside them. 

The human sniffled, his fists clenching firmly at the edge of the blanket. Yah’kuulh took his wrist and pushed the leaf into the palm of his hand. 

“He was there,” he whispered, eyelids fluttering fearfully. “Really there. The last time, too. He showed me things, like…”  He paused, wracking his brain to remember. “I saw him being banished by Y’u’stoar. I saw him with Dra’ak, on that night.” 

The doctor visibly shifted. 

“There was fire, this time,” he swallowed. “It’s blurry. I didn’t see much, just ships in the sky, people screaming, all these horrible loud noises…” 

Yah’kuulh cut him off. “It doesn’t matter what you saw. Did you have a conversation with Mahto-Yau?” 

The human sucked in a trembling breath, and curtly nodded his head. 

“He said,” the human breathed shakily, wiping the back of his palm against his forehead when he’d realised it was so clammy. “He said it was useless fighting. He said…that it was time.” 

Yah’kuulh’s chest whickered sharply, and the human blinked deliriously. 

“Time for what?” The doctor responded slowly, keeping his voice steady for the medic’s sake. He already had an inkling as to what the answer could be, and he was surprised he was so much calmer than he was when he thought the human was in danger. 

“Repentance. War,” he choked out, his eyes welling with tears and voice starting to shake. “He said he was going to take me away. He isn’t going to do that, is he?” 

Yah’kuulh noticed a flurry of movement by the door, and before he could indulge the human in an answer, his mate came rushing through inside, followed shortly afterwards by the Enforcer Yah’kuulh recognised to be the one he sent earlier. The human had barely registered his mate arriving until he was sinking to his side, his hands gently cupping his cheeks. It drew his attention away from the doctor, instantly melting into the familiar source. 

“Little one,” he breathed, mandibles curled. “What happened?” 

The human sniffled quietly, murmuring for the Yautja to hold him instead of answering his urgent question. Dra’ak did closely, eyes flickering towards Yah’kuulh for answers instead, though he wasn’t as eager to explain the situation to the creature he had never particularly liked. His own thoughts were running wild in his mind, too focused to indulge the creature’s curiosity. He needed to visit the Matriarch immediately. 

“Mahto-Yau,” Yah’kuulh simply declared, and watched the way Dra’ak stiffened. 

His throat whickered. “What?” 

“He was visited by your older brother in a dream,” the doctor growled, rising to his feet. His shadow loomed over the younger Yautja, towering over him with narrowed eyes. “We suspect that he and the Bad Bloods are going to declare war.” 

A hint of fear filled the creature’s eyes, but he disappeared not a moment later. Fear wasn’t meant to be detected. Dra’ak’s hand fell to the back of the human’s head, drawing him closer into his chest until he could feel his heartbeat start to settle down. 

“What do you mean ‘we’?” He murmured quietly under his breath, trying not to let his anger affect the purring he’d set in his chest for his mate. “Did you know about this?” 

Yah’kuulh turned away, his cloak whipping along the ground as he did so. Dra’ak watched him go with an ounce of resentment and anger, before he let his focus land on his mate, and it all disappeared once more. He shifted so his mate was sitting more comfortably against his chest, whispering quietly into his ear. 

“Little one, please. Tell me what happened?” 

His brother. Mahto-Yau, the creature his younger self had looked up to and trusted as if he was the only other Yautja on the planet. It brought back a horrible flood of memories, and he swiftly forced them deeper inside of his chest. Perhaps it had been just another unkind dream, the ones that Dra’ak never quite understood. 

His mate shifted in his arms, and slowly lifted his head. 

“He said he wanted me to tell you something,” Fynn whispered quietly, fingers digging into the front of his shirt. “‘I can’t wait to see you again, fighter.’” 

Dra’ak’s stomach went cold. His eyes skittered elsewhere for a brief moment, before he simply drew the human back into his arms, holding him close. His mate fell silent, relishing in the comfortable contact he’d missed since being away on his hunt. It was easier to process the crushing reality of what had happened when they were in each other’s arms. 

“Is there really going to a war?” Fynn whispered quietly, his mate’s voice so delicate to his ears. The Yautja leaned down, nuzzling the crown of his head against his own. 

“I do not know,” he murmured quietly, hand rubbing soothingly against his back. “The Council of Elders have not said anything.” 

He heard his mate swallow uneasily, and snuggled further into him. Dra’ak scooped him up into his arms, wanting nothing more than to take him back home and coddle him until he was certain he was okay. Once he was sure his mate was comfortable, he was determined to confront the Elders, as taboo as it was to interact with them on such a whim. If this was about his older brother, and it was his mate that was being affected, then he deserved to at least know the severity of how long this had been going on. Was war going to tear this planet apart? 

“Are you hungry?” He murmured softly, closing the laboratory door behind him. “I will have Eh’kaad get that meat you like so much.” 

Fynn slowly nodded his head, tucking it under his chin. On any other day, the thought of stomaching food would’ve made him feel sick, but he wanted nothing more than to fill his stomach to rid himself of these nauseating feelings. He ignored passing stares from the Yautja. No doubt they had heard the commotion, or seen Dra’ak bounding alongside Enforcer’s into the building. He had barely heard the conversation between his mate and Yah’kuulh, the lingering and scorching presence of Mahto-Yau in his mind consuming all of his thoughts. 

It hadn’t been for long. Maybe only a couple minutes, from the moment his vision cleared from darkness, to having faced the creature himself. His head had jolted with pain as the memories from that dream flashes across his mind. The helplessness, the weightlessness, the soft whispers commanding him not to move, not to think, not to speak. 

Mahto-Yau hadn’t done that this time, which Fynn had found himself thankful for. Though, in the depths of the situation, it had been one of the last things on his mind. 

That feeling of everything being far too real told the medic that this was reality. That Mahto-Yau, for some unexplainable reason, was really talking to him. He’d remembered some of the words he’s spoken to him in the first forgotten dream. Darling. Stop thinking so hard. 

Even as Mahto-Yau opened his mouth to speak, one of the first things Fynn thought of was how normal the Yautja sounded. He didn’t seem to speak like a Yautja at all, and it had made his spine roll with bouts of dread. His mask was still on his face, recognisable scar running down the tough material in a diagonal line. He’d told him not to be scared, beckoning him closer. 

“I can’t hurt you here, you know,” Mahto-Yau had mused, lifting a hand and crooking a finger. “Let me talk to you.” 

Fynn’s throat had felt like ash. Everything around them was too dark, an invisible light cascading above them. Even though he wasn’t being compelled to, the medic had stepped closer. 

“It’s you,” he’d whispered, swallowing the fire in his throat. “In the stories. You’re…” 

“Oh, there are stories about me?” Mahto-Yau had crooned, a smirk lacing through those words of his. He sounded amused, more than anything. Fynn shuffled closer. “Please. Pray tell…” 

Fynn pressed his quivering lips into a thin line. He wasn’t sure why he was trusting the fact that this Yautja had told him he couldn’t hurt him (because this was a twisted dream?) but he continued to prowl closer to him. The light was following him, leaving the path behind him to plunge into deep darkness. 

“You hurt a lot of people,” he’d slowly frowned, fingers rubbing together anxiously. “You killed Dra’ak’s parents. You hurt him.” 

Mahto-Yau tilted his head. A purr lilted his words. “You’re so precious, sweet thing. I understand why my baby brother is so keen on you. But that isn’t why I’m here.” 

The creature stalked forward, and Fynn stiffened, craning his head back just to keep his eyes trained on that masked face. His black cloak swung by his feet, but he was too paralysed to look away.

“I want you to tell them all that it’s time,” he’d spoken in a dangerously low voice. “I want you to tell them they shouldn’t waste their time fighting it. And I want you to know, sweet thing, that I’ll be coming for you first.” 

Fynn’s heart had dropped to his boots. As his eyes were in the process of widening, Mahto-Yau’s claw lurched forward and grasped his jaw in an iron grip, almost sending his feet staggering out from underneath him. He gasped in pain, hands latching onto his wrist and digging into the tough skin. 

“Me?” He whimpered, eyes pinching shut when those claws squeezed his jaw painfully. “Why, m…” 

“I’m going to take you away,” he hummed, tilting his head back and forth as if he was inspecting him. The eyes behind that mask burned into every inch of his very skin, and Fynn scrambled in a feeble effort to wriggle free of his grasp. In this place, it felt like all the strength had been sucked out of his limbs. “Like I should’ve done the moment I knew you were going to be born for my brother. Everything has to be perfect for us, after all. You, sweet thing, may be for my brother, but when I’m finished ravaging war on Prime…” 

Fynn’s eyes snapped open, feeling a clawed hand drag down his chest. “...everything, from your body, to your mind, to your soul, will belong to me.” 

He’d released him with a violent shove, and Fynn collided with the ground before his feet could stabilise themselves. He scampered onto his elbows, staring up at the creature with fearful eyes as those words sent a cold strike of terror through his heart. The muffled distortion of screams and explosions lingered hotly on his mind, butchered by the sounds of Yah’kuulh’s distant voice. 

“Deliver a message to Dra’ak, won’t you, darling?” 

Pushing away the vivid memories, the medic instead forced himself to focus on Dra’ak’s steady heartbeat, letting it guide him away from the restlessness he was feeling. He set the leaf crumpled in his hand on his tongue, feeling it begin to dissolve. He chewed it with a scrunched nose, before swallowing back down. It tingled in his chest, and it only took a few moments before his eyelids became droopy, and he was staring off blankly into the distance, tranquillity washing over him. 

Part of him hoped this really was all just a sick, twisted nightmare. 

Mahto-Yau couldn’t really declare war on Yautja Prime, right? 

Fynn felt a huff slip past his lips. Right?

Chapter Text

“What is the meaning of this?” 

G’kahruien’s sharp voice sliced through the tension in the air, rendering the chamber the Council of Elders had gathered in entirely silent. The silver cuffs in her dreadlocks clacked together as her feet strode hastily across the circular room, approaching the empty spot around the large table they frequently gathered at. 

She fell gracefully into the seat, the backrest intertwined with black vines that resembled the shape of a twisted crown. Her hands came to rest upon the table, the impact sending a loud bang through the chambers. 

The Council of Elders all let their gazes fall on her, some staring with malice, discontent, or impassive fear at the situation at hand. Raw anger flared in her eyes, words like spitfire on her tongue. 

“A fleet of our Enforcers were attacked?” She hissed, mandibles curling in a threatening manner at any other Elder that challenged her with a firm gaze. The Council had been summoned on urgent business by the Matriarch, who had yet to make her appearance in the chamber known. The ten influential members had caught wind of a frightful incident that occurred just three suns ago. 

“Quite,” an equally angry Elder, Bu’tei, cut in with fiery passion. “We just received word when the surviving Enforcers returned to their ship. They were ambushed.” 

G’kahruein’s mandibles curled into a snarl. “Ambushed?” She shook her head violently. “We are Yautja. We do not get ambushed.” 

“By Bad Bloods,” An’ti-Thua cut in, turning his nose up. “On an order you pushed to be implemented. Sending our Enforcers to collect dead hunters was a risk we should have never indulged; now Mahto-Yau and his Bad Bloods have exploited that.” 

“Bad Bloods,” G’kahruein deadpanned, her eyes narrowing icily. “Enforcer’s are trained to deal with eradicating the Bad Bloods. Doubling their search was a decision we all collectively agreed was for the better.” 

An’ti-Thua scowled, clearly displeased by her words. “And that leaves our planet less protected!” 

“The more Enforcers there are out there, hunting and destroying these vermin, the more protected our planet will be! Why post them here to sit and wait for an attack, when they could be tackling this problem of ours head-on?” 

“G’kahruein.” Bu’tei interrupted, sharply holding up a hand to silence their bickering. “There have now been twenty-three dead Hunters that have appeared with the Bad Blood sigil on their skin. This is not about keeping their numbers down anymore. Under Mahto-Yau, they’ve grown into a force that we cannot comprehend. It is the people we should be turning our focus onto.” 

“Out of every other discernible race in the galaxy,” G’kahruien bit out icily,” it is our people that would be the most capable of defending ourselves.” 

“Yet we are not perfect,” Ga-A’ytea, one of the eldest, calmly cut in. “We saw firsthand what Mahto-Yau can do with only a small number of followers by his side. Imagine what he could do with an entire army.” 

A sullen silence stretched through the chamber, and the Elders could feel the weight of pressing matter beginning to fall on their shoulders. 

“Is it time we called on the Ancients?” Bin’toh-G’ki murmured. Their name caused the majority of the old Yautja to shift, gazing at each other with discernable expressions. Any discussion about calling for the Ancients made the crushing reality of the situation really weigh into their old bones, reminding them that this was one of the most detrimental moments in many years. 

In the doorway, the Matriarch stepped inside. 

The Elders automatically rose to their feet in respect, G’kahruien slower than the others. Yah’kuulh was walking by her side, causing Bu’tei to scowl slightly.

“Yah’kuulh,” he bit out. “You resigned from the Council of Elders. You have no authority to be here.” 

“He is here on my order,” the Matriarch cut in, her voice sharp around the edges in clear distaste. Bu’tei avoided her piercing gaze, lowering his head. 

“My apologies, Matriarch.” 

She approached the Council, taking her spot at the point, the afterglow from the sun’s cascading from the circular hole in the ceiling, spilling in through the winding veins. It cast along the floor in strange patterns, most falling on the female leader in grace. Yah’kuulh lingered behind her side, unfitting to stand at such a renowned spot. 

Her sharp eyes swept across each Elder, before her mandibles lowered slightly. 

“There has been news,” she spoke clearly, the firmness evident in her voice as it boomed through the chamber. “From Mahto-Yau himself.” 

The Elders bristled, and Bu’tei’s claws clasped together instantly. “That scum has the gall to send you a message?”

“Not me,” the Matriarch hummed. “The human.” 

That caused an unprofessional flurry of murmurs to incite amongst them, a visible ripple of shock moving through them all. Ga-A’ytea’s mandibles curled inwards, an ounce of distaste in her eyes. 

“The human,” she echoed, causing the others to become hushed into silence. “What is the meaning of this?” 

The Matriarch tilted her head towards the doctor, her hand waving through the air slowly towards the awaiting Elders. “Yah’kuulh?” 

He nodded his head curtly, stepping forward so their hot eyes pinned him down. He could practically sense the thoughts oozing from these bumbling fools, but he only had the human’s health in mind as he reiterated what he’d told the Matriarch just moments before. 

“The human was visited by Mahto-Yau in a dream,” he spoke, keeping his itching hands behind his back as he uttered that foul name on his lips. “He spoke to him, claiming he had a message for us all. He’s going to wreak war on Yautja Prime.” 

G’kahruien scowled, her gaze overtaken by fury. “Why the human? Mahto-Yau is foolish to be relaying messages to us through mere prey.” 

Yah’kuulh’s icy eyes fell on her. “For reasons we do not know yet, he is targeting the human specifically. He may be targeting others, too.”

“Although dormant, the human species inherited the Spiritual Eye,” the Matriarch calmly interrupted. “The mate bond may be affecting it.” 

An’ti-Thua frowned, a flurry of anger in his tone. “Where did Mahto-Yau acquire the ability to pierce a Spiritual Eye? The only other creatures capable of such a thing are…” He cut himself off as the Elders turned their gazes towards the Matriarch. 

Bu’tei shook his head in disbelief. “The Des’ull. They are the only species capable of such a thing, and Mahto-Yau has learnt from them. How is that possible?” 

“Humans are just one of the many species who are not powerful enough to use their Spiritual Eye,” Yah’kuulh hummed, his mandibles twitching in frustration. His arms folded firmly over his chest as he spoke. “It is clearly unstable and easy to take advantage of. It would not take Mahto-Yau the strength of the Des’ull to target the human’s Eye, would it?” 

G’kahruein considered lowering herself back down in her seat, because she wasn’t going to stand for this nonsense much longer. Her mandibles hadn’t loosened their scowl since Yah’kuulh had opened his mouth to speak. 

“He is going to drive that weak minded creature to madness and plunge this planet into jeopardy,” she hissed viciously. “The human may very well be compelled to betray us all.” 

“He is not going to do that,” Yah’kuulh snapped, offering her a sharp glare. “He is stronger than you know.” 

“Is he?” G’kahruien challenged. 

Ga-A’ytea held up a hand. “The human is one of us. We should see to it that he is protected, being Dra’ak’s mate.” 

“Since when do we bend to Dra’ak’s needs and tendencies, after what we had to go through with his insolence as a Young Blood?”

“Mahto-Yau manipulated his brother,” Yah’kuulh huffed. “He had the chance to join him, and yet it was because of Dra’ak we apprehended him. You would do well to remember that, G’kahruein.” 

The Elder hissed, her claws scraping along the table in fury. “You, Yah’kuulh, of all people, are defending him? When you make your distaste for that creature so known?” 

“He is mated to my apprentice,” the doctor snapped. “That makes it my business.” 

“This is foolish. Mahto-Yau is a coward, and we should strike him down!” 

“We know he wants the human. Our priority should be gathering as much information as we need. If it is the human he is communicating with, then we need to take advantage of that,” Yah’kuulh sneered, growing tired of the Elder’s incessant arguing. “It is the human’s Spiritual Eye. We can never ask the Des’ull, but the wise women on this planet are the most educated on spiritual business. He needs to learn to control his plain, so Mahto-Yau does not influence him.” 

“And then what?” Bu’tei slid in, his voice bordering on a sigh. “That does not stop Mahto-Yau and his Bad Bloods from bringing war with them.” 

“The human was influenced by Mahto-Yau because of his inability to control the Eye. He had the power; he explained to me that he could control his thoughts, his movements, even down to making him forget they had ever conversed,” Yah’kuulh spoke, trying to keep the anger from dripping from his words. It just reminded him of seeing the human convulsing like that. “If the wise women can teach him to control his Eye, he can easily overpower Mahto-Yau. He can attempt to do the same. We can learn as much information as we can.” 

Bu’tei bristled. “But we do not have time for the human to learn. You said yourself that he is ready to declare war.” 

Yah’kuulh’s mandibles twitched, as if he was turning his nose up at him. 

“Do we have any better ideas?” He echoed. The Elders shifted. “Has anything the Council decided stopped our Hunters from disappearing, or stopped them from being murdered and left disgracefully to rot away? Those Hunters deserve real burials. We could put a stop to this war before it starts.” 

The Council went quiet. The daunting realisation that their fate may lie on that of a human was weighing heavily on their shoulders. 

“If the human fails,” An’ti-Thua spoke slowly. “Then we will fight. We will protect our planet until our last breaths. If we die, we will die knowing we did what we could for our people.” 

Consecutives nods bobbed through the air. A fight was something Yautja trained for; it would be an honour to either go down fighting valiantly for their planet, or they could fight tooth and nail to successfully save it. G’kahruien’s eyes snapped to her claws digging into the table, and her mandibles curled tightly, almost shaking. Yah’kuulh subtly watched her, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

“Are we decided?” Ga-A’ytea spoke, her voice taking on a neutral tone. “If Mahto-Yau is using the human as a messenger, then we protect him with our very lives. He earned his place in this tribe as much as anybody else, and he has shown a great eagerness to respect our culture and learn about it. We will prepare our Enforcer’s, reduce their hunts, and send out the word to Hunters travelling that they should return immediately. If the human does not have enough time, then we prepare for war. That is all we can do. 

“I am in agreement,” An’ti-Thua called, holding up his hand. 

“As am I,” Bu’tei nodded. 

The rest of the Elders poured in their agreements, until the chamber was filled with less suffocating tension than it had been before. Yah’kuulh’s throat whickered softly, eager to return back to his laboratory. The Matriarch tilted her head towards him, and motioned for him to follow. They left the chamber without a word, and the doctor briefly locked eyes with G’kahruien as he passed through the arched door. His whickers instantly melted into growls. 

“G’kahruein is going to be a problem,” he huffed.

The Matriarch was calm. “She is not cause for concern. I trust you will be in charge of making sure the human is safe, and informed of his situation. I wish to keep this as it always has been; between the Council and I.” 

Yah’kuulh lowered his head, challenging her respectfully. “Matriarch, he has threatened war.”

“Until we know his intentions,” she responded coolly,” we can do nothing. The human will act as our safety net, and if that fails, we will put in place proper procedures to prepare for an attack.”

The doctor hummed, his eyes hardening. “It has been centuries since Yautja Prime has been unsafe to this extent. How confident are you?”

Outside the transporter, the female Yautja paused in her tracks. She barely offered the doctor a glance, but it was clear her mandibles were curled up with just an inch of amusement. 

“I would not be a good Matriarch if I answered that,” she murmured, stepping inside the transporter. Yah’kuulh lingered behind, his hands clasped behind his back. She whipped around, her long dreadlocks cascading beautifully down her shoulders. “Do you not agree?” 

The doctor bowed his head an inch. “Of course.” 

The Matriarch whickered quietly. “Make sure the human is well protected. You will notify me of any developments he encounters before the Council. That is an order.” 

Yah’kuulh knew he was pushing his luck by challenging her words, but there was something about her tone that had the female Elder, G’kahruein, entering his thoughts for a brief moment. 

“Do you not trust them, Matriarch?” 

The words hung heavy in the air. 

The Matriarch met his eyes, and yet Yah’kuulh could not find himself looking away. 

“I wish you good outcomes,” she said, and disappeared when the transporter whirred. 

Yah’kuulh’s cloak blew behind him as he walked away. 

. . . 

Fynn gently traced the fur along the bedding, watching his finger mindlessly trace patterns in the silence that consumed him. He barely even felt the furs shift behind him, and was only broken out of his trance when he felt big arms wrap around him from behind, tugging him closer into Dra’ak’s chest. 

The human let a soft, quiet huff escape his lips, squirming around in his warm embrace so he was facing the creature instead. He had to crane his head up a little to look into his eyes, but it seemed to make the tight knot in his belly loosen ever so slightly. 

He snuggled further into his chest, letting his finger trace patterns on his skin instead. 

“You need to get your sleep, little one,” Dra’ak murmured quietly under his breath, gently massaging his fingers against his skull. It soothed the tension in his mind, if only for a little bit. He could feel the tug of sleep against his eyelids; he’d been interrupted by horrible dreams twice now, and it was starting to catch up to him as the suns fell under the horizon. 

“I know,” he sighed, his brow pinching subtly. “But I’m scared. What if he gets in my head again?” 

Dra’ak leaned his head down, pressing his forehead against his gently. “I am here to protect you.” 

“How can you keep him out of my head?” Fynn choked, his eyes darting up to meet his. “I don’t want to go to sleep.” 

“You need your strength,” the creature hummed. “To get that, you need to close your eyes.” 

“But what if he’s there?” 

The words lingered in the air, before Dra’ak shifted against the bed. He moved onto his back, taking Fynn with him so he was draped along his chest instead. The human pressed his face into his skin, nestling his head underneath his chin. His arms came to secure him, and Fynn resisted the urge to sniffle at the feeling of safeness it sparked in his stomach. 

Subtly, he felt those hands slide down to his ass.

“I know some ways to make you tired,” Dra’ak purred softly. Fynn frowned, quickly shaking his head. 

“I don’t think I’m in the right headspace,” he whispered, squeezing his arms around as much of him as he could. “I’m sorry.” 

Dra’ak hummed, his mandibles kissing along his head. The hands slid back up to his lower back instead, resting there comfortably.  “No apologies, little one. I have other ways.” 

Fynn pressed his lips into a thin line when he heard a faint purring start to heat up in the creature’s chest. It was almost like he could feel the little vibrations flowing through his skull, coaxing him into a slumber. He bit back a yawn, taking longer than he would’ve liked to respond to his subtle challenge. 

“I don’t want to go to sleep,” he moaned quietly under his breath, and Dra’ak began to smooth his hand gently against his back, the other drawing the furs over them both. 

“I love you,” the creature whispered. “I will protect you with my life.” 

Fynn’s eyes fluttered closed, and he was gone. 

When he next woke up, he didn’t feel his heart racing in his chest, or feel any sense of impending dread in his stomach. All he could feel was strong arms wrapped protectively around him, and a soft purring still set in his mates chest. Fynn swallowed, a soft breath of relief escaping his lips when he didn’t have the burning memories of a nightmare lingering on his mind. He shifted in Dra’ak’s arms, pleased when he noticed he was sleeping. 

It wasn’t often he woke up before Dra’ak, or saw him sleeping. Yautja were often very light sleepers, and the moment Fynn would move, the creature would stir awake. The longer they spent sleeping in each other’s arms, the more the medic would notice that Dra’ak took a little longer to stir when he finally shifted in his embrace. It allowed him to press soft, whispery kisses against his collar bone, and then slowly crawl backwards until he was dipping his fingers under the fabric of his pants, and freeing him. 

By the time Dra’ak woke up, Fynn was already putting his mouth to good use.

Chapter Text

Once more, Fynn found that he slept for a lot longer than he was anticipating. 

Waking Dra’ak up in such a suggestive way had only seemed to stir his mate more than usual, and they spent the majority of the morning confined to their room. It was a miracle they’d even stopped, but Dra’ak was still worried for his mates poor health, and had to force himself to instead tuck his little mate back into the furs, and clean him up while he slept. 

He was more than satisfied with their vigorous passions, but he was more happy it had allowed his mate to sleep even further and rest his body. The creature was considerably concerned with the news about his brother, and while his little one slept, it gave him the opportunity to really dwell on his annoyance towards Yah’kuulh. 

He didn’t know why the doctor had kept that information from him. 

It was clear there was something huge going on behind the scenes, and yet Dra’ak didn’t seem to have the privilege of being told. Neither did his mate, who was being affected the most by the entire predicament. 

Fynn’s health had always been a concern for Dra’ak; it had been many seasons since he had first brought his mate to his home, and yet he sensed that his mind was still not truly at peace with what happened to him. He wasn’t either, yet he often found himself not admitting it. The idea of losing his mate still haunted him to this day, and had only served to make him more protective over how fragile his human was. 

Because despite everything Fynn had endured, he was fragile. He felt as though one wrong touch, and he might hurt him. He had once told Eh’kaad about such worries, and yet she had become angry with him and scolded him for thinking so little of his mate. Dra’ak didn’t think little of him, but Eh’kaad had seemed so overtaken with anger, that she refused to continue with the conversation any longer. He hadn’t been able to get her to elaborate further on what she meant, and he was left wondering if he’d done something wrong. 

Even now, as he gently watched his mate sleep, softly brushing his claws against his cheek, Dra’ak felt as though he needed to keep him cooped up and by his side, so nothing outside could hurt him again. It pained him to his core to see that his mate’s mind was still at unrest, and that he still often struggled when he looked at the scars on his body. What better than to keep him here? Than to surround him in everything that eased him, everything that made him happy, and everything that would give him a better life? 

It was possessiveness. 

Down to the very bone, Dra’ak knew he was beginning to feel this deep, horrible possessiveness over Fynn that he’d never felt before. 

He had initially brushed it off as a bonded feeling, one that he was feeling because he was his mate, but Eh’kaad’s reaction had made him wary. The realisation that his brother was set on tormenting what was his, trying to hurt him when Dra’ak couldn’t do anything to fight for him; it angered him, and made him feel completely helpless at the same time. 

Peeling away, Dra’ak begrudgingly left their bedroom, shutting the door closed behind him. It whirred softly, relishing in his presence behind the door, before he decided to cook for his mate when he awoke. He fed the black lizard a tarty little berry, who had kept smelling Fynn’s scent on his body, and tried not to let what was to come linger on his mind. 

. . . 

Cracking his eyes open, Fynn didn’t have as much of a peaceful awakening as he’d wanted. 

Upon realising that, once again, he had slept in, he’d flung himself from the bed, almost tripping over the furs that had tangled around his ankles. His hips spurred with a throbbing ache, and he desperately scrambled to find some clothes while hollering Dra’ak’s name at the top of his lungs. 

Apparently, he must have let his panicked alarm slip into his tone, because Dra’ak had come barrelling into the room like he thought someone had broken in. Fynn was nose deep in one of the little storage drawers where he kept his clothes, gripping onto the edge as he stared at his mate with wide eyes. 

“Yah’kuulh is going to kill me. Again,” he cried, genuine fear lacing his tone. He’d been late once, costing them the demonstration, and now he had done the same thing again. Tears were almost welling in his eyes thinking about losing his apprenticeship because of his clear sloppiness. “He’s not going to take me on anymore! He’s going to kick me out of the lab.” 

Fynn’s chest almost collapsed, and he felt Dra’ak’s warm hands close over his shoulders. 

“Yah’kuulh gave you permission to have the day off,” he gently whispered, calm and collected, causing Fynn to blink at him in worry. “He informed me. He would like you to spend the day recovering.” 

A little whimper escaped his lips. 

“Really?” He whispered, sniffling when he bent down to kiss his mandibles on his forehead. 

“Yes, my little one,” he smiled, drawing his hands around his waist. Fynn immediately wrapped his legs around him as he was lifted up, clinging onto him like a little spider monkey. He was still very indecent, but he didn’t care when Dra’ak had already seen and explored every inch of him. A stinging sensation of relief prodded at his chest, and he managed to relax against him with a heavy sigh. 

Fynn had never once thought what he would do if he lost this apprenticeship. It meant everything to him, and so did Yah’kuulh’s opinion. He thrived off what the creature thought of him, and if that had been shattered because of his incompetence, then Fynn might find himself spiraling into a hole he couldn’t dig himself out of. 

He buried his face into Dra’ak’s collarbone, letting him carry him into the kitchen area. The smell of something pleasant wafted through his nose, and it calmed the pounding of his heart. He matched Dra’ak’s breathing, knowing his mate was pleased when he ran a hand through his hair. 

“You will do as Yah’kuulh says,” Dra’ak perked up, shooing the black lizard away when it tried creeping towards Fynn. “You will relax and recover.” 

Fynn let out a hurdle. “Since when did you listen to what Yah’kuulh says?” 

Curtly, Dra’ak patted his ass. 

“Do not read into it.” 

The medic laughed, and he couldn’t help but let his eyes flutter shut again, engulfed in the peace that had finally settled over him. He drowned himself in his mate’s scent, only broken by the preparation of food and a fur blanket being draped over his shoulders. Fynn felt Dra’ak sit down, and carefully swiveled around until his back was pressed against his chest. He took the food, eagerly gulping it down as he relaxed against his mate in content. 

He liked this. 

If there was going to be a war, Fynn was scared he would lose the simple things that kept him happy. 

. . . 

The markets were incredibly busy today. 

Fynn was a little frustrated that he had apparently picked a time where most of the Yautja were stocking up on supplies, but it was difficult to navigate a terrain when he could hardly see two feet in front of him. The black lizard was hunched on his shoulder, and from the little purs in his ear, he could tell that the creature was just as uncomfortable at the roaring noises and busy, claustrophobic atmosphere as he was. 

Fynn sighed softly, gently scratching the top of the lizard’s head. 

“It’s okay, buddy,” he whispered under his breath. The lizard clamped its jaw on the tip of his finger when he pulled away, and Fynn rolled his eyes as it began curling tightly around his hand. 

“Hungry.” 

“I know,” he answered out loud, holding it close to his chest as he found what he was searching for. The translator felt heavy under his ear, and he swallowed down the nerves that were beginning to creep up his spine. It wasn’t as though he’d never been to markets by himself before, but Eh’kaad had been keen to make sure he was keeping up with his language lessons. 

The translator was switched off, and he hurriedly made his way over to the Yautja who he recognised. He spotted the assortment of meat he liked so much, and his mouth watered as he approached, peering up at him anxiously. He shook the nerves off, going through the words he’d been learning relentlessly. 

“Meat,” he said in Yautja, pointing to what he wanted. The Yautja stared at him, and he scrambled to figure out his numbers. 

“Uh, one,” he paused, tapping a second finger. “Two, thr…no. Um.”

He tapped a third finger, desperately searching for a way for his tongue to get around the tricky word. His cheeks burned hot, and he wanted nothing more than to sink into a hole in the ground. 

A hand on his shoulder made him jolt. 

“Three.”

He glanced over his shoulder to find a Yautja slightly bending to his height, repeating the number once more for him. Fynn stared, repeating it slowly. 

“Thr…ee?” 

The Yautja nodded, and he whipped around to the patient Yautja waiting for him to finish. 

“Three. Meat,” he pointed again. “There, please.” 

Finally, he received the nod he was looking for, and he let out a relieved sigh that collapsed his chest. A broad grin split across his face, and the Yautja who had helped him with his pronunciation even reached over to get the meat for him. He handed over a small bag, and turned back to the Yautja who was handing him what he’d bought. 

“Thank you,” he grinned, wincing when he realised he hadn’t said it in Yautja. “Ah, thank you.” 

The creature whickered pleasantly, ruffled his hair, and disappeared into the bustling crowd. Fynn watched her go for a moment, before he felt the lizard worming from under his poncho and settling on top of his disheveled hair. He hurriedly made his way to the training grounds. 

Eh’kaad had wanted him to join her for Gi’ja’s training session today; she had told him that his Blooding Ritual was soon. He understood it was a Young Blood’s passage into becoming a Hunter, and one of the most important rituals in their culture. Dra’ak often told him the story of his Blooding Ritual, how he had to fight a beast with acid for blood, and he wouldn’t lie and say that the very thought of it didn't terrify him. 

Although he and Gi’ja had never become particularly close, he was still eager to encourage him along. This was important for both him and his family, and even though the Young Blood wouldn’t admit the same, Gi’ja was like family to Fynn. 

His feet were aching by the time he had arrived, and he’d already scarfed down most of the meat, so much so that his stomach was starting to feel a little tetchy. He greeted Eh’kaad happily, and she leaned down to swiftly pat his head once. 

“I hope you did not use your translator,” she hummed, an air of firmness to her tone. Fynn shook his head, still buzzing from achieving what he did. 

“No,” he beamed, taking another bite and finishing the second skewer off. “How is Gi’ja doing?” 

Eh’kaad whickered softly, and she turned towards the training grounds. Fynn took a seat on the ground, attempting to take the weight off his feet to get rid of the aches. His eyes scanned the Young Blood’s training relentlessly, until he spotted Gi’ja’s familiar figure to the left of the center. He was fighting valiantly, swooping his opponents legs from underneath them and striking them against their head. The Young Blood fell heavily, and Gi’ja slipped automatically into a strong stance. 

Eh’kaad was watching beadily through narrowed eyes, her arms folded over her chest. 

“He could be better,” she stated, shaking her head. “His Blooding Ritual is in three suns.” 

Fynn tilted his head with wide eyes. “So soon?” 

She nodded her head. The medic’s lips closed, and he let his head lean back down, assessing the smaller creatures with a little twinkle in his eye. 

“I think you’re too hard on him,” he grumbled softly under his breath, and he almost stiffened when he felt her hard glare dig into the top of his skull. 

“How dare you,” she whispered icily, and Fynn gripped the meat tightly. 

“I’m not questioning your authority as a parent,” he reinforced, resisting the urge to glance up at her with a little frown. “I feel like he’s under a lot of pressure.” 

Eh’kaad scoffed, shaking her head. “Every Young Blood is training for the same thing he is. Every Hunter has done what he has to do.” 

Fynn huffed. Gi’ja had always been a complex character; the medic had never quite been able to understand him, because the younger creature had never once let him in. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was a human, or if he still didn’t like Fynn, but it gave him an opportunity to observe his behaviour from far away. Behaviour that he sensed was deriving from this very Blooding Ritual. 

Gi’ja never often spoke much; Fynn often noticed how isolated he attempted to make himself, how little he would speak with his parents, and how that was growing more consistent since the arrival of the Blooding Ritual. Fynn knew firsthand the anxiety of facing something that you’ll have to fight to survive. He knew what Eh’kaad could be like; tough, firm, and unrelenting. Part of him just wished she would give her son encouragement once in a while. 

Fynn had a gut feeling that’s what the quiet creature needed. 

“Were you scared?” 

Eh’kaad sneered at that question, but after a moment of silence, her mandibles seemed to soften, and she quietly sighed. 

“Of course I was.” She paused, shifting. “I am proud of him.” 

“You should tell him that.” 

The creature growled. “Fickle emotions are dangerous.” 

“Emotions aren’t dangerous,” Fynn countered, his brows furrowing. “Do you know how much better I felt whenever you said something to encourage me?” 

“You are different.” 

“Why?” He responded curtly. “Because I’m human? Yautja feel emotions too, you know. What good does it do to turn every single one of you into mindless fighting machines?” 

He knew he had pushed his luck upon saying that. Fynn had always respected their culture, even when it was what forced him into the blood-curdling mess with A’stuialb, and he’d spent hours upon hours learning about it and even trying to integrate into their society. Eh’kaad was staring at him once again now, and Fynn slowly ate his meat while attempting to ignore it. 

“Do not make me say something I might regret,” she hissed. “It is of no cause for concern to you how I decide to prepare my child for his Ritual. I may lose him to this Hard Meat, human. I will do everything in my power to make sure that he is ready, and if it means turning him into a fighting machine, then that is what I will do.” 

Fynn swallowed uneasily. His gaze flickered across the ground, not too sure where to look. 

“We do not work the same as humans, despite what you seem to believe,” she added curtly, and the medic winced at her tone of voice. He’d always hated being scolded by her. “Do not ever lecture me on how I prepare my child.” 

The medic tucked his bottom lip in. “I’m sorry.” 

Eh’kaad shook her head. “Instead of apologising, do better next time.” 

Fynn swallowed, feeling his throat bob, and he suddenly didn’t feel very hungry anymore. He let his eyes gingerly trail up to Gi’ja, watching the Young Blood fight valiantly against three opponents, his moves mirroring some of those he’d seen from Eh’kaad. There was this subtle, delighted fire in his eyes, and Fynn felt his stomach stew with guilt. He knew he had insulted not only Eh’kaad’s duty towards her son, but as a Hunter too. 

“A fighting machine is what a Yautja is,” she cut in once more, and the stab of her words hit him in the gut once more. It was how he knew she was truly angry; she never needed to explain herself with words more than necessary. “That is what we pride ourselves on. I thought you were intelligent enough to understand that, and yet you seem to prove me wrong with each of your remarks. My family is something you should never question.” 

Fynn gave Gi’ja one last longing look, hoping the creature would acknowledge that he’d been here to watch him, but he didn’t spare him a glance. Something ached in Fynn’s heart, that familiar sensation of chasing approval from people who didn’t care for him. He slowly rose to his feet, noticing the way Eh’kaad had let her gaze linger on him again. 

“I thought I was your family too,” he hummed under his breath, pressing the lizard close when it shifted up his arm. His feet ached taking his weight once more, but Fynn had been out in the sun for far too long, and the evening glow had made his forehead and cheeks a little red. Maybe that was what was making him feel so sick, he thought to himself as he began to leave her side. 

“Walk away, and I will not be pleased,” she growled, and this time, her tone of voice even alerted some of the Young Blood’s training. Their eyes watched her with sudden curiosity, and Gi’ja even stopped his intense training to watch the medic walking away from his mother with a melancholy look glazing his face. His head tilted, whickering in confusion. 

Eh’kaad shook her head firmly, ripping her gaze away from him with a deep growl in her chest. Her arms folded once more, mandibles curled tightly in frustration. With a sharp command from the Young Blood’s teacher, they all scrambled to continue their training. The female creature’s scowl slowly melted over time, and she soon began to shut out the uncomfortable, foreign emotions as her gaze lingered on the spot where the human once was. 

. . . 

Fynn returned home after a slow trudge, dragging his feet along behind him, where the sun’s had begun dipping beneath mountains and the trees along the belt of the horizon. 

He entered his home to find Dra’ak sorting through the trophies and little objects he’d brought back from his hunt, emerging from his trophy room when he sensed his mate had wandered through the door. He took one little look at the hollowness in the medic’s eyes, and tilted his head to the side unsurely. 

“Little one,” he whispered, slowly approaching him. “Are you alright?” 

It didn’t take much more than that until Fynn burst into tears. He reached up to frantically wipe the onslaught of tears that had begun flooding down his cheeks, but Dra’ak was quicker, cupping them and quietly shushing him. 

“I made Eh’kaad mad,” he sniffled, gently wrapping his small fingers around his wrists. “I didn’t mean to.” 

Dra’ak loomed over him, wrapping his arms gently around him. He instantly scooped him up, and Fynn buried his face into the crook of his neck, legs wrapping around him tightly. 

“Oh, little one,” he sighed, kissing his mandibles on top of his head. “Do not cry.” 

“She scolded me for saying things about Gi’ja,” he sobbed, letting him gently pry the meat from his hands and store it somewhere safe to eat later. The lizard was hiding under his poncho, clinging tightly onto him. “I’m so stupid for offending her.” 

Dra’ak hummed under his breath, kissing down his face. Fynn sniffled at the ticklish feeling, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from making any noise. 

“You know that Eh’kaad has a soft spot for you,” he whispered calmly. “She would not have meant to make you upset intentionally. She is…under just as much pressure as Gi’ja. You understand what may happen if he fails his Blooding Ritual?” 

“I know,” he cried, gently pounding his fist on his shoulder. “It’s so stupid. I’m so stupid.” 

Dra’ak shushed him. “No. You are not.” 

“I thought I could make Gi’ja like me if I tried to help,” he snivelled, hating how pathetic he sounded. “It’s in three days. I just wanted to help him but I made Eh’kaad angry instead. I didn’t mean what I said in—I didn’t mean it as…” 

He groaned in frustration, turning his head away from his mandibles and squeezing his eyes shut. He gently wiped his tears away, the outburst having stopped itself after only a few moments. Perhaps it was the initial spark of feeling unwanted, thinking Eh’kaad didn’t think of him as a real part of the family, but now that he had settled into Dra’ak’s arms, he knew he needed to see past that. 

“Do you think…” Fynn paused, lifting his head up from his neck. The creature had been gently maneuvering him from the door and into the bedroom, so smoothly he had barely even felt it. “Do the others see me as family too?” 

His mate made a laughing sound, as if what he’d said was funny. 

“What did Eh’kaad say to make you ask such a thing?” He murmured, but his mandibles were curled into a smile nonetheless. “Maybe it will be my turn to scold my sister this time. You are smart enough to know the answer to that.” 

He felt himself being lowered onto the blankets, and Dra’ak got to work wrapping him up tightly. He huffed, offering him a weak glare with his bloodshot eyes. 

“I don’t need to sleep after every little inconvenience,” he dryly chuckled, a bitter smile creeping up his lips. His mate brushed a finger under his eyes, before gently pressing his forehead against his. 

“No, but what is it that you called those little sleeps?” 

“A nap.” 

Dra’ak nodded. “After some food, you will rest with a nap. Females often feel quite challenged when questioned, and Eh’kaad is under a lot of pressure. I have never seen her so restless before. You will understand, right?” 

Fynn frowned, nodding his head. 

“I understand,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to make her mad.” 

“She will understand that when she comes to,” Dra’ak smiled, tucking some hair behind his ear. “You know what she is like. She is blunt, but she is truthful. If she said something she should not have, she will admit that.” 

Fynn swallowed uneasily, nodding his head. “And I’ll do the same. When…If I see her again.” 

His mate whickered, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “How could anyone not like you?” 

“Ask Gi’ja,” he quietly mumbled, and Dra’ak instead just assured him with a gentle pat on his side. He left the room to prepare him some food, and even though he’d had some of those meats before, he devoured it all until his stomach was completely full. He drank some water, and soon the reality of being on a full stomach made him sink into the furs, and doze off like Dra’ak had intended. 

When Fynn’s eyes flickered open, he wasn’t in his bed. 

He was staring up at a blood red sky, with hard, cold stone pressing into his back. When he went to sit up, pushing through the pins and needles stabbing at his limbs, he heard a bone chilling voice from beside him. 

“Finally here, sleeping beauty?” 

Fynn craned his head round to find Mahto-Yau draped along a dark throne, one

that resembled those from the Council of Elders’ chamber. This time, it looked like the top was matted with blood. The medic swallowed uneasily, his voice failing him. 

He realised that every little problem of his, was fickle compared to this. 

Chapter Text

A sickly feeling overtook Fynn as he stared at the face of Yautja Prime’s biggest adversary. 

He slowly rose to his feet, feeling a horrible dizziness slam into him. He winced, hand cradling his head. Mahto-Yau wasn’t paying any attention to him, instead tracing his scaled finger along the intricately woven patterns on a dagger. He flipped it around without a care, despite Fynn’s growing anxiety. 

He was here again. 

Some fleeting part of him had become comfortable at the prospect of sleeping undisturbed, but the familiar ashy atmosphere and smoke stinging his face reminded him that his mind was anything but ordinary right now. 

“What is happening?” He choked out, his head still throbbing. Mahto-Yau finally tilted his head to look at him. 

“They haven’t even told you?” He chuckled, as if the thought was amusing. His shoulders rumbled with a deep laughter. “Shame. They’re making this much harder for themselves.” 

Fynn skittishly backed away once Mahto-Yau rose up from the throne, his movements precise and firm. He was intimidating to even look at, and the medic had grown accustomed to living with these creatures. He seemed to take note of his nervous behaviour, and his head tilted again. 

“There’s no need to be scared, darling,” he purred. “You do remember when I told you I can’t hurt you here, right?” 

Fynn swallowed uneasily. “But, last time, you…” 

“I what?” He smirked. “Afraid I’m going to make you forget again?”

He’d hated that feeling of having no control; the way the Yautja had been able to easily influence something as complex and complicated as his thoughts, making him fear that he could do anything while he was in that state. He wasn’t so willing to accept his words as truth, and doubted whether he could be seriously hurt in this strange, dream-like state. 

“I just want to talk,” Mahto-Yau drawled. “Is that so bad?” 

“You’re a bad person,” Fynn whispered shakily. He was wringing his hands together without even realising, heart aching with dread. “What do you want?” 

Mahto-Yau stepped closer to him. “What do I want?” He repeated, his voice a hum. “I thought I already made that clear.” 

He stopped in front of him, but Fynn’s feet were firmly gripped by the hot stone underneath him. His frightful eyes stared up at him, refusing to do something even as simple as blink, in case he vanished from in front of him. It reminded him of those times he’d been face to face with A’stuialb, but this was too different. Mahto-Yau was far more dangerous than A’stuialb had ever been. 

“I want war. I want you,” he purred quietly. His head seemed to cock in an almost cruel way, his mask keeping him trapped in place. “How’s my nephew doing?” 

Fynn’s eyes widened slightly. The question brought him a strong wave of confusion, before he quickly realised what he meant. He was talking about Gi’ja. His mind instantly went to the younger creature the last time he had seen him, training vigorously for his Blooding Ritual. He thought hard about his impressive skills, taking on three other Yautja at once. He shifted out of those thoughts when Mahto-Yau’s masked gaze slid over his shoulder, a hum vibrating in his throat. 

“His Blooding Ritual is so soon, is it?” 

Fynn stared at him in shock, before whipping around to see what was behind him. Just like the first time he’d been here, when he’d seen those projections of Dra’ak’s past, a blurry memory was laid out before him in vivid detail. Although they weren’t moving, he could clearly see Gi’ja engaged in combat with three Young Bloods, mirroring exactly what he’d been recalling. He felt a hand clasp his shoulder, and he flinched violently as Mahto-Yau pressed him closer. 

“How is that…” He whispered in confusion, shaking his head. “But, that’s my…” 

“Memory,” Mahto-Yau finished for him. “I was probing for it. In here…” 

His other hand came to brush along his forehead, fingers brushing through his hair. Fynn stiffened as a shiver leapt up his spine, but the grip on his shoulder prevented him from moving anywhere. He tried to steady his rapid breathing, the beat of his heart heavy and swift in his ribs. 

“You’re like an open book, darling,” he cooed, moving him forward. They both walked closer to the memory, able to see Gi’ja’s face more clearly. Fynn slowly shook his head. He tried to say something, but he could only manage a puff of air. Mahto-Yau’s voice was low as he spoke. 

“I knew my sister would produce such a strong little pup,” he murmured. “Even with that Zu.” 

Fynn’s defences rose, not only at the mention of Zu, but the whole attitude that Mahto-Yau seemed to have towards Gi’ja. An attitude he didn’t like in the slightest. His eyes remained on the image of Gi’ja in front of them, not daring to look anywhere else, especially not at the imposing presence behind him. What did Gi’ja have to do with this? 

“Everything,” Mahto-Yau answered effortlessly, and Fynn stiffened on the spot, because he was sure he didn’t say that out loud. The image of Gi’ja flickered slightly, like it was losing focus, before disappearing completely, and Fynn felt as alone as ever. His brows pinched subtly, the air around him shifting to a dreadful iciness. His forehead was burning. 

“What are you going to do?” Fynn whispered, his head tilting to look at him as he forced himself to take a few cautious steps back. “Why Gi’ja? Why me?” 

“I thought I already told you,” Mahto-Yau answered sharply. “This is repentance. I’m going to bring war.” 

“For what?” Fynn quipped, and he watched as the creature seemed to still, like the calm before the storm. “Because you were banished for trying to destroy the planet? Whatever it is you want revenge for, all you did was bring it on yourself. Why can’t you leave Gi’ja alone?” 

Mahto-Yau stepped forward, and Fynn suddenly blanched, taking three back. He seemed to let out an amused rumble, his hairs pricking on edge at the sound. 

“Oh, aren’t you just cute?” He purred. “I can’t wait until we meet face to face.” 

Fynn’s mind jumped back to the last time they’d spoken like this. When Mahto-Yau had said those disgusting, possessive words, vowing that every part of his soul, his mind, and his body, would belong to him. Fynn belonged to no one but himself. There was no way he was going to let that happen, not after everything he had been through to prove that he was his own person, capable of being part of their culture. 

“That isn’t going to happen,” Fynn whispered, and Mahto-Yau laughed again like he was a comedian. 

“You sound so sure, sweet thing, but the last time I checked, you can’t even keep me out of your own head. What do you think you could possibly do to stop this war from happening?” 

The medic pressed his lips into a thin line. “I’d keep Gi’ja away from you.” 

“And then what?” The creature teased. “Your mind is mine. Neither of you could run from me.” 

Mahto-Yau swept forward, and although Fynn attempted to steel his back and face him with no fear, his eyes betrayed him when those claws swept his chin in the creature’s grasp, tilting his head back to look up at him. “Besides, once I have my little brother back under my thumb, you won’t be so eager to disobey him.” 

Fynn’s eyebrows lifted slightly. As soon as Dra’ak was mentioned, he found himself ignited with a flicker of protectiveness, and a need to defend. He knew that was more Dra’ak’s nature, but Fynn loved him, and he would never not defend his name coming out of the mouth of his traitorous big brother. 

“After what you did,” he snapped, suppressing a wince when the grip on his jaw tightened. “Dra’ak wouldn’t join you so easily. He’s nothing like you.” 

“That’s where you’re wrong, though,” the older brother hissed in amusement, a claw coming to gently press against his bottom lip. “Just because he fucks you doesn’t mean you know him like I do.” 

Fynn doesn’t have time to blush in embarrassment, because Mahto-Yau is shoving him away, and ascending back up to the throne he had first appeared on. The medic rubbed his jaw, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes, watching that dark cape ripple behind him. Mahto-Yau tilts his head, the mask like a bloodied painting from the blood red sky. 

“Once I have my little brother by my side, you would do well to learn how to obey him. You were made for him, after all.” 

There was a sudden rush in front of his eyes, like Fynn was falling through a whirlpool of colours, before his eyes popped open, and he found himself staring at the ceiling of his and Dra’ak’s bedroom. He slowly blinked, shifting under the furs, and carefully eased himself up into a sitting position. His eyes flickered around, not seeing his mate in the same room as him. He slowly slithered out of bed, a little wary about the dream he had just had. He didn’t feel any crippling fear or breathlessness like the last times - he almost wondered if what he’d seen really did happen, but the conversation lingered in his mind regardless, like a cruel whisper in his ear. 

When he silently crept into the hallway, he noticed Dra’ak already on his way down, who sped up upon seeing him. 

“Little mate,” he whickered happily, tilting his head as he bent down to cup his cheek. “You are awake.”

His tone suddenly turned worried, and Fynn tensed when he realised what was coming. 

“Did you speak with Mahto-Yau again?” 

The medic opened his mouth to answer, and then paused. He watched his mandibles twitch in concern, a slight indication of his subconscious fear that he’d picked up over the time spent together, and then closed his mouth. Mahto-Yau was like a shadow over his mind, and Fynn shook his head. 

“No,” he answered softly, and the relief that flooded into Dra’ak’s eyes made it worth it. “No, I didn’t.” 

. . . 

Fynn had never been this far on Yautja Prime. 

Yah’kuulh had to keep dragging him along by his poncho anytime he paused to take in the breathtaking scenery around him, with a sharp grumble and fierce tut. He didn’t want to aggravate his mentor, but Fynn just couldn’t help himself. It was mostly land and nature out here, and he stopped when they came across the first building he had seen in a while. 

He entered in front of Yah’kuulh, who pushed him forward by his shoulder blades, and his eyes took a moment to adjust to the difference in lighting. When he did, he noticed a female creature approaching from the left, her mandibles relaxed and eyes focused intently on him. Fynn went quiet, gaze darting between her and Yah’kuulh as the doctor placed his huge hand on his shoulder comfortably. 

“Ah, Yah’kuulh,” the female creature greeted, her head bowing slightly in respect as the doctor did the same. “You are earlier than expected.” 

The medic felt him shift slightly, and he wondered what he was thinking. Yah’kuulh hadn’t offered much of an explanation as to why they were here. He figured it had something to do with his reoccurring dreams and conversations with Mahto-Yau, but as usual, the stubborn doctor had kept his mouth shut once Fynn dared to annoy him with questions and simply ask where they were going. 

“Na-Bi’ka,” he greeted slowly, an edge of reclusiveness in his tone. “Have him back by sunset. And do not let him roam back by himself.” 

The wise woman, Na-Bi’ka, let out a sharp whicker. “You are not staying?” 

“I have things to deal with,” he simply responded, and patted the back of Fynn’s head with a little more force than was necessary, making the medic’s eyes narrow in annoyance. “Behave.” 

Yah’kuulh turned, and he left as quickly as he had seemed to drop him off. Fynn suddenly felt a little shy, his gaze falling onto the tall creature he’d been left alone with. He shifted awkwardly, rubbing his arm, completely in the dark as to what was happening. 

“Um, hello,” he offered politely, and the wise woman tutted, waving a hand dismissively. 

“No need for human pleasantries,” she whickered, motioning for him to follow. Fynn picked his feet up and padded alongside her, following her through to another room. There were shrubberies and multicoloured plants decorating the walls, dangling over the little windows and shelves. They were filled with herbs and spices that he somewhat recognised, but most was new to him. He should have brought his journal with him. 

“Did the Council of Elders explain why you are here?” Na-Bi’ka asked, offering him a seat on some furs on the ground. Fynn did as he was told, his brows pinching in confusion. The Council of Elders? Nobody had mentioned such a thing, especially not Yah’kuulh. He had spoken to him about the last dream he had; the doctor was the only one who knew, really. 

“No,” Fynn answered slowly, chewing out the words in confusion on his tongue. “I…wasn’t even aware that they had anything to do with…this.” 

Na-Bi’ka sighed loudly. Her dreadlocks were long - she must be old. “No, of course not. They are a secretive lot. But no matter. I hear you are having some peculiar and very troubling dreams, boy.” 

The medic nodded slowly. 

“I am Na-Bi’ka, one of the wise women of this planet,” she explained firmly, and Fynn couldn’t help but be enamoured by her. “You seem to be having some rather interesting episodes of spirituality. Do not fret - I am here to explain everything to you, and help you tackle this invader of your mind.” 

Fynn looked at her. “Invader? You mean Mahto-Yau?” 

The female creature’s throat made a quiet, deadly growling noise, and Fynn went rigid. He forgot that Mahto-Yau was such a taboo name to utter on this planet after the destruction he wrecked last time. Being as old as the creature was, he had no doubt she lived through it too, and held vivid memories. He shrank back as she collected items from her shelves, shaking her head calmly. 

“Yes, indeed,” she replied tightly. “Now listen, boy. Everything I explain is vital for your understanding, so pay close attention.” 

Fynn shuffled closer as the creature took a seat on the ground similar to him, placing a variety of pots, little boxes and objects on the ground that he took a quick glance at. Was he going to be rid of Mahto-Yau in his mind? The medic latched onto the very thought - after every cryptic warning and threat, not only against himself, but Dra’ak and Gi’ja too, how could he not? 

“Your mate bond,” Na-Bi’ka began, catching Fynn’s attention instantly. “For a Yautja to share one with another species is incredibly unheard of. It is even more of a rare phenomenon that a human would possess the ability for a mate bond. Humans are simplistic creatures by nature, and so the mate bond is a very powerful force within you.” 

Fynn felt his brows furrow softly. The mate bond is what started all of this - Fynn didn’t actually think he had stopped to think about it. Why him and Dra’ak? Why did the mate bond choose them? He wanted to open his mouth and ask, considering that this wise woman was the right person to indulge, but then he stopped himself. The mate bond was a force, like fate. Fate couldn’t be contained to knowledgeable conclusions. It was a force acting of itself, and he highly doubted the wise woman spoke for fate. It was fate, after all. 

“The effects of a mate bond are different for every species,” she continued. “But for a human? It was essentially unknown. Until now. Do you know what a Spiritual Eye is, boy?” 

The medic shook his head. 

“Not every creature has one. Not every creature that possesses one can pull it out of dormancy. Humans, for example, have a Spiritual Eye; but it is dormant. You cannot open it, despite your attempts to do so. Tell me, are there any means of spirituality on the planet you came from?” 

Fynn blanches, wracking his brain. He wasn’t adversed in anything like that, having not really believed it himself. He hesitates, not wanting to say something silly with his lack of knowledge. “We have, like, mediums? People that try to communicate with the dead. Stuff like that. I think some religions are quite spiritual, but I wouldn’t know.” 

Na-Bi’ka tilts her head, unimpressed. “Right.” 

She spills some orange salts in the space between them, and with her sharp claw, she begins to trace the shape of a single eye. “The wise women and I speculate that one of the effects of the mate bond in your human body, is the opening of your Spiritual Eye.” 

A shiver tickles his spine at that. 

“Something that has never happened before. A human’s Spiritual Eye is not meant to awaken, and yet, it has. That is what makes your mind so easy for a Yautja to penetrate. It is incredibly unstable, and you do not have the will to control it. When you slip into your subconscious state, a reflection is awakened. A reflection that could catch the eye of many more powerful creatures across the galaxy.” 

Fynn’s eyes widened at that. It sounds daunting, and completely terrifying. Was she implying that anytime he slept, something could creep into this…Eye of his? 

“You look worried,” Na-Bi’ka remarked coyly. “Do not be, boy. This is why you are here. I know what you did to get yourself on this planet, and the respect that you earned in completing the Clan Leader’s test. You possess incredible will, and it is just a matter of time before you gain a little control of your Spiritual Eye. You do not need a lot - Mahto-Yau is weaker when he is in your mind. He is in your domain. The only reason he has so much control is because you lack it. First…” 

She effortlessly lit what seemed to be two candles, the colour a deep orange and the smoke with an almost red tinge to it. She placed two on either side of the salt, the eye carved into it almost staring up at him in mockery. Fynn understood that this was a lot to take in. The intricacies of the mate bond he already knew, but throwing something like this into the mix? A Spiritual Eye? He processed the information slowly, but he eagerly latched onto one part. He gained control of his Eye, and Mahto-Yau won’t possess so much power. He could keep him out of his mind for good. 

Maybe, just maybe, things were looking up.

“...you learn how to keep him out.”

Chapter Text

“Is your head impeding your concentration?” Na-Bi’ka suddenly asked through the silence that had settled between them, and Fynn let his eyes flutter open gratefully. He hadn’t even realised that his brows were furrowed in pain, the throbbing sensation in his skull too overpowering. 

He nodded his head, shoulders sagging. “Yeah, sorry.” 

Na-Bi’ka hummed, waving out the flames and standing to her feet. “Then we shall stop for today.” 

The pressure in his head seemed to ease off the moment the candles were blown out, and before he could even protest, the female creature was breaking the circle of salts around them and moving the candles away.

Fynn let out a soft breath, an exhausted pull tugging at his mind. They had been at this for hours, it seemed, since it was already beginning to grow dark, the two sun’s just kissing the edge of the horizon. He rubbed his eyes, beginning to rise to his feet. 

The creature’s voice called out to him. “Stay where you are.” 

But by then, Fynn had already been hit by a strong force, his head starting to swim. Hands grappled at his staggering form, gently setting him back down onto the floor again.

“Woah,” he murmured, blinking away the blurriness that had grasped his vision. It took a good few seconds for the lightheadedness to go away. “What was that?” 

“You have strained your mind in a way you haven’t done before,” Na-Bi’ka hummed, and her lack of panic also soothed Fynn’s nerves. Once he was settled back down, the wave had disappeared. “Give yourself a moment’s rest before risking exertion.” 

The two of them had been working for what felt like hours. Na-Bi’ka was building up his will and ability to block things out of his mind - to have something so irritating filling the noise around him, but accessing a part of himself that allowed him to drown it out. To slip into a headspace that kept him calm and peaceful. 

She had taught him that keeping calm was the most vital thing. The moment there was a slither of fear, or panic, or frustration, then Mahto-Yau would latch onto it. 

“He visits you every night, correct?” Na-Bi’ka suddenly questioned him, handing him a bowl of warm water. He raised it to his lip, taking a sip. It was pleasant, almost honey-like. 

The medic nodded his head. “Mostly, yes.” 

“Find a moment to yourself,” she instructs firmly. “Close your eyes. Embrace your ability to reject whatever he may say to you or whatever he may show. You will not get it straight away - this is something you can only develop in your dream.” 

Fynn slowly nods his head. He understands that - the first step to gaining control of his Eye was not giving in to Mahto-Yau’s presence. To calm his mind from his advances. 

He understood this wasn’t going to be easy. 

“Even if you simply close your eyes, and do not engage him,” she confirms. “That will be a step in the right direction.” 

The medic smiles. “Thanks, Na-Bi’ka.” 

She sharply waves her hand. “You are free to leave. Yah’kuulh will want to be notified of your experiences and he will bring you to me as he sees fit. Though, if you wish, you know where you can find me.” 

Fynn nods his head gratefully. He was exhausted after all of that, and very hungry. Running a hand through his hair, he slowly eased himself up onto his feet, pleased when there was no dizziness. He could do with a rest, though. Curl up against Dra’ak’s chest and melt into the warm embrace of his arms. 

As he went for the door, he suddenly halted. It reminded him of something, something that he recalled Mahto-Yau saying to him. He hesitates, meeting her stern eyes. 

“About the mate bond,” he started, unsure on how to properly proceed. He let out a shuddering breath. “It’s just, Mahto-Yau said that I was made for Dra’ak. What exactly did he mean by that?” 

Na-Bi’ka stares at him, and it’s hard to tell whether or not she’s contemplating the question or simply does not want to answer. When she shifts, turning her body towards him, he relaxes slightly. He hadn’t even realised he was so tense. 

“It could mean many things,” she vaguely answered. “Things that no one can determine if they are true or not. I cannot deduce that creature’s reasoning. I am afraid I could not answer correctly.” 

Fynn nodded slowly. He understood, it was just something that had been bugging him. The way Mahto-Yau spoke as if he was meant to be Dra’ak’s property, as if his life’s purpose was to be his. He shifted, and let out a small sigh. 

“Thank you,” he says again, before bowling his head an inch respectfully. She does the same. 

He bid the wise woman goodbye, before slipping away and beginning to make his way back home. Na-Bi’ka stood in comfortable silence for no more than a minute, before her mandibles curled inwards, her head turning towards the other door. 

“I know you’re there,” she speaks firmly and calmly, not letting the presence rattle her. From the door, there was a shift in the shadows, and then a tall, broad Yautja stepped out. His mask was on his face, approaching the wise woman with measured steps. She tilted her head back to look at him. 

“Speak,” she demanded. “What business do you have loitering, General I’ya-Tah?”

Armed to the teeth, the male creature bowed his head, dreadlocks spilling over his shoulders as he did so. He didn’t speak for a moment, but Na-Bi’ka’s intense eyes narrowed in warning. 

“Na-Bi’ka,” he finally spoke, his voice rough. “Pleasure.” 

“Is it?” She hissed. “You are missing. You have not alerted the Elders of your return. They believe you fell victim to the Bad Bloods.” 

The general tilted his head, the eyes from behind that mask peering at anything he could see. Part of his cape was in tatters at the bottom, and he was full of fresh injuries, though none that could weaken him. 

“The Bad Bloods?” He hummed slowly. “Is that so?” 

Na-Bi’ka stared at him suspiciously, but the creature continued after his head tilted back in her direction. 

“I was merely curious that you were indulging a Soft Meat the way you were,” I’ya rumbled, a hint of amusement in his voice. He stepped forward, going back to admiring some of the plants on the shelves. Na-Bi’ka’s hand clasped together in front of her, unbothered. 

“You have been away far too long if the Soft Meat is new to you,” she hummed, watching him carefully with hard eyes. “He is part of the tribe, and protected. You would do well not to do anything if you know what is good for you.” 

The general pauses. “Do anything? I was not planning to.”

“He is important,” she reiterated. “There is a possibility of war.” 

“War?” I’ya echoes. Na-Bi’ka’s mandibles twitch in frustration. 

“Take off your mask.” 

The general tenses, like he’d been caught off guard. The creature turns towards her, his arms folded firmly across his chest. She doesn’t relent, nor show any signs of backing down. It would be pointless to argue with the wishes of a wise woman. He reaches up, unlatching the mask with sharp hisses of air. He pries it off his face, revealing the worn, scarred skin, one of his mandibles crooked. Na-Bi’ka’s eyes intensely stare at the crown of his head. 

“No Bad Blood mark,” she hums, and the general tucks his mask under his arm, tilting his head. “Though, you look as though something has happened. Why have you been missing, General I’ya-Tah?” 

The general’s mandibles curl, the injured one struggling to cooperate. Judging from the scars and the injuries on his face, he must have endured something extensive to come back with injuries such as that. Something that makes Na-Bi’ka’s intuition spark. 

“I think it is best I visit the Council,” I’ya speaks, securing the mask back to his face. It pops in, and his hands fall back to his side. “I will speak with you soon, Na-Bi’ka.” 

When he turns to leave, the wise woman blocks the doorway in one smooth swoop. The general stops dead in his tracks, shoulders rolling back. He may be a few inches taller than her, but she’s not intimidated by his ridiculous male attempts to throw her off. 

“Yautja are going missing,” she informs him coldly, assessing every little bit of body language she could pick up with the absence of his expression. “You were deemed one of them. Your communications were not working, and nobody knew where you were. The Bad Bloods have been murdering and marking our people. What happened, General I’ya-Tah? Why have you returned the way that you have?” 

I’ya lets out a soft huff, his head tilting. Her mandibles remain firmly curled, her eyes narrowed into thin slits. When the general moves past her, she lets him go. 

“I would prefer to discuss this with the Council first,” he repeats, his voice hard. Before he exits, Na-Bi’ka’s voice calls out to him again, a last memento before his departure. 

“Leave the human alone,” she warns, her voice firm around the edges. There’s no room for argument in her voice. She is older than the general himself, and was not a “wise woman” by chance. Even though I’ya had a clear absence of the Bad Blood mark, there was something about this entire predicament, the looming sense of war, and the human’s involvement in this that made her disturbed inside. 

I’ya let out a small hum. “What makes you think I am going to hurt the human?” 

“I do not need a reason to exercise caution, nor am I required to explain myself to you,” she hisses. “Hurry on out of my sight.” 

The general does just that, and Na-Bi’ka watched him go with a quiet whicker. 

. . . 

As soon as Fynn got back home, he was pleased that Dra’ak was making food. 

He must have looked a little peaked, because the moment his mate saw him, his big hand brushed back his hair on his forehead, looking down on him softly. 

“You are back later than usual,” he softly remarked, nuzzling his forehead with his own. Fynn could hear the faint purr in the creature’s chest, and it made all of the unwanted exhaustion weighing down on him fade away. “Has Yah’kuulh been working you too hard?” 

Fynn smiled up at him. “No. We just worked a little later, that’s all.” He buried his head into his stomach, wrapping his arms as far around him as he could reach. “I missed you.” 

The alien purred, gently lifting him up into his arms. He set him down on the counter, just so he could face him better, his hand gently laying on the soft padding of his stomach. His rough fingers gently traced the scars there, and the medic felt himself shiver. Dra’ak leaned into his neck, his mandibles teasingly brushing against the sensitive skin. 

“Yeah?” He murmured, his breath puffing against his skin pleasantly. Fynn was tired, but he was never too tired for this. His fingers gently curled around some of his dreadlocks, not resisting when the creature began to slide his pants off. 

“Yeah,” he whispered back, kissing his cheek. The mandibles curled in and out in excitement, and Dra’ak’s movements began to speed up with the sudden increase of his arousal. He pushed him back so he was lay down on the counter, hands grabbing his thighs and shifting him even closer. The pants were discarded on the ground, and Dra’ak kissed all the way up the expanse of his thigh, teasing him. 

Fynn’s head fell back, a soft, content sigh escaping his lips, feeling Dra’ak’s finger tease the outside of his hole. His stomach fluttered as he slid it inside, making him suck in a sharp breath. 

“Careful,” he whispered breathlessly, his body warming up with movement, dragging pleasantly inside of him. “I’m a bit sore.” 

“It has been a while,” Dra’ak insisted impatiently, massaging that spot inside of him that made him keen. The alien had perfected this - making Fynn go crazy with just a few touches, knowing exactly the buttons to press to make him moan and to make him finish. He could feel the length of his cock growing harder on his belly, neglected. 

Fynn’s back arched slightly when he slowly pushed another in, stretching him out. “It hasn’t been… that long.” 

“For me it has,” the creature growled, his hand gripping the back of his thigh and pushing his leg open. He pressed himself against the counter, to where Fynn could just feel the hard press of his bulge teasing him. The fingers were moving quicker inside of him now, making such a lewd sound echo in the room. Heat pricked at his skin on the back of his neck and his forehead, letting out a soft moan. “I have been concerned for your health. But now I want to make you feel good.” 

Oh, he was. 

Dra’ak was making him feel so good, and Fynn’s legs curled as he came with a soft gasp. Dra’ak’s fingers stroked that spot expertly until there was nothing left, eager to replace them with his cock instead. Something he knew Fynn loved a whole lot more. 

Fynn sucked in a sharp breath, feeling Dra’ak slide his legs up to his shoulder, gently nibbling on his ankle. The way that Dra’ak looked at him, both with so much burning lust and gentle love, it made him easily forget everything that had happened. He felt the pressure between his legs, his hands scraping to hold onto something when his mate sank inside. A hand pressed against the entirety of his soft stomach, and it made Fynn whine as his hips snapped back and forth, the feeling making his spine tingle. 

“That…feels weird,” he whimpered, his fingers scrambling to latch onto Dra’ak’s wrist. His mate continued to press against that spot on his stomach, where he was sure he could feel the movement of his cock inside of him, and it drove him crazy. His grip tightened on Fynn’s thighs, the bruising pressure from his thrusts making him scream. 

He loved to admire how pretty his mate was like this, teary eyed from pleasure, Dra’ak’s cock being sucked greedily into his hole like he didn’t want to let it go. He wanted to finish deep inside of him, over and over again, until it was spilling out. 

So that’s exactly what he did, with only the intoxicating thoughts of how much Fynn was his, and his only. 

. . . 

When his eyes blinked open, Fynn knew he was dreaming. 

After many different rounds of sex, over the counter, in the bed, in the tub, they had eaten together, wrapped in each other’s arms, and fallen asleep. He hadn’t wanted Mahto-Yau to ruin the evening of bliss, but he had been expecting this. 

To be met with a blood red sky. His first instincts were that dreadful, intense pressure dropping in his belly. He tried to keep his thoughts calm, to listen to everything that Na-Bi’ka had taught him. First, he slowly sat up, rubbing away the ache in his head. This was good - this was practice, as the wise woman had said. She was wise, after all; it was in her name. 

He crossed his legs, taking a steadying breath. 

Stay calm. His eyes fluttered closed, embracing the darkness in his vision. He tried to focus on something that he could keep his mind occupied with, something that could let him drift off into his own thoughts. 

“What’s this?” 

Fynn tried not to freeze. The voice was so close, and yet he hadn’t heard Mahto-Yau approach at all. He attempted to steel his nerves when the creature let out an amused rumble, thundering footsteps pacing around him. 

“Oh, I see,” he drawled, something sinister in his voice, like it didn’t scare him in the slightest. “I guess they finally got to you. Which wise woman was it? Uatei-Kuih? Na-Bi’ka?” 

Fynn kept repeating the same mantra in his mind. Even if he couldn’t block Mahto-Yau’s cruel words out, not engaging with him was still a step in the right direction, and that was exactly what Fynn was going to do. Don’t engage. Focus. Breathe deeply. 

“It’s not going to be easy to block me out, sweet thing,” he teased, and Fynn’s brow ticked just an inch, before he focused back up again. He thought of Dra’ak, reminded himself that he was curled up in his arms right now, safe and sound. That his mate was holding him close like he was the most precious thing in the world. 

“I think you underestimate just how much I’m in your head,” he purred, making him involuntarily shudder. Breakfast in bed, watching the sunset, drinking hot drinks when it got cold. But there was a shift that drew him out of his pleasant thoughts. “I know everything about you, pup.” 

It took all of his willpower not to open his eyes. Because he knew that voice - that was Char. The footsteps continued to circle around him, and Fynn’s heart rate increased in his chest. 

“You still think about me sometimes, don’t you?” Char grinned. The medic forced himself to concentrate, to realise that it wasn’t really the marine. Mahto-Yau was just using his voice, plucked from his memories. “Do you think I made it off the island? Do you think I died before they could find me?” 

His pulse pounded against his skin. He felt like it was getting hotter, but his eyes remained scrunched shut, desperately trying to ignore him. What could Mahto-Yau do if he didn’t react to his torment? But then came another voice. 

“What makes you tick?” Silver spoke, her words a harsh hiss. His concentration wavered as he thought of the island - he couldn’t. That was exactly what Mahto-Yau was feeding off. 

It was Franco next. “Or rather, who?” 

“Don’t you ever think about us, the ones who died?” Kain. 

Harper’s soft lull. “Aren’t you guilty?” 

The next one made his heart rip into shreds. That low, deep rumble. A voice he had the luxury of hearing only briefly at the most rare times, but made him feel that bit happier anytime he would speak. It made his watery eyes flicker open, tilting his head back to see Pink staring down at him. His bottom lip wobbled. 

“What reason did I have to die?” The man grimly spat out, his hardened face tense with a small glare. The medic’s tongue was twisted into knots, making it impossible for him to speak. They died uselessly on the edge of his lips. His vision was suddenly overcome with a torrent of memories - fire and smoke, the rip of the explosion in the forest. The last expression of the marine, reaching out for him, still trying to protect him despite everything. 

“I was killed by a creature you call a mate,” he hisses, taking a measured step closer. He crouched down, and he looked so real, down to the small details that had vanished from his mind. His question repeats, a question that Fynn had asked himself over and over again. “What reason did I have to die? I died for nothing.” 

Fynn’s voice came out as a strained croak. “Stop it.” 

Pink’s head tilted to the side, and the medic’s hands came up to his ears, pressing down hard on them to block out their haunting voices. 

“Stop it, please,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “I’m sorry.” 

A clawed hand landed on his head, and Mahto-Yau gently carded his fingers through his hair, looking down on him in the same way Pink had just been. He could feel himself shaking, the overwhelming pressure from those horrible weeks piling ontop of him like a falling building. He felt crushed, utterly hopeless, the cruel whisper of Mahto-Yau’s voice making him shiver. 

“There’s a good boy.”

Chapter Text

Dra’ak remained by his mates side during the entire duration of his nightmare. He had awoken many minutes before, as per a Yautja's limited sleep cycle, just admiring his mate’s peaceful face and small body engulfed within his arms. 

His soft purrs had turned into worried whickers when Fynn began to moan softly in his sleep, shifting positions when his mate began to writhe and his breathing began to increase. 

He layed his head in his lap, his clawed hand running soothingly through his hair as his small face began to break out into an increasing clammy sweat, brow furrowed tightly. He looked as though he was in so much distress, too much for such a fragile body, and it pained Dra’ak to see his mate so tortured. 

His mandibles curled hopelessly. What was Mahto-Yau doing to him? Why did his brother have to hurt his mate’s mind like this? In the doorway, Eh’kaad stepped inside. Her hardened eyes instantly went to the human, and they softened, just an inch. Dra’ak stared at her, almost as if pleading for his big sister to help. She was cradling some things in her arms.

“Is he alright?” She asked, setting the box down on the ground beside the bed. Dra’ak’s attention fell straight onto his wrinkled face, his soft moans and groans of pain making his chest tight. 

“I cannot wake him,” he whispered quietly, whickering. “I have tried, but he will not come back.” 

Eh’kaad eyed up her brother’s face, unmoving. He knew that she and his mate had not parted on such pleasant terms, not when Fynn had commented on her upbringing of Gi’ja the way he did. He could sense his sister was still holding hostility, but cared for Fynn regardless. Her eyes averted away, back to the box. 

“Yah’kuulh had these delivered to the human,” she informed, trying to somewhat distract Dra’ak from the pained expression on his mate’s face. “I looked inside. They seem to be from the wise women.” 

Dra’ak’s mandibles twitched. “Wise women? What business would they have with my mate?” 

“I do not know,” she scoffed. “Everything has been quite secretive. But there has been word among the other Elites, that the Council are restricting travel because hunters are going missing.”

“Missing?” 

“Quite,” the female creature hums. “With our brother’s recent arrival into your mates mind, I fear that there is something much bigger at play they are keeping from us.” 

Dra’ak gently stroked his mate’s cheek with his thumb, so gently, as if he was porcelin. There were little droplets of moisture falling from the corner of his eyes, creased in distress, and Dra’ak ever so gently scooped him up, mandibles kissing the top of his head. 

“Why won’t he leave him alone?” He spoke, ever so softly, and Eh’kaad’s arms fell to her side. She slowly approached the bed, and sat down on the edge with a shake of her head. 

“I suspect this is all connected, in some way,” she hummed, her eyes staring into Fynn’s flushed face. “Something big is going to happen, little brother. If our…” She paused. “If Mahto-Yau seeks revenge, I think it is time to think about sending your mate someplace safe.” 

Dra’ak froze. He whickered, mixed with something of a growl. He held his mate closer, even tighter, because nothing was going to separate him from the human he loved so dearly. If his mate was left alone, he wouldn’t be able to bear it. They didn’t know the strange effects this mysterious mate bond would have on them, not only Fynn, but as a pair. What if it drove his mate mad? What if Dra’ak was not there to protect him? 

Eh’kaad was studying his reaction closely, shaking her head. Her mandibles curled in disappointment. 

“I said to think about it,” she muttured coldly, yet Dra’ak’s eyes still narrowed into a cold glare. “You must do what is right for your mate.” 

At those words, the Yautja was more than relieved to find Fynn stirring, his eyes cracking open. He pulled him closer, tucking him snugly against his chest, and the medic’s shaking, disorientated voice barely even reached his ears. 

“Dra’ak?” He croaked, melting under the warm hand that cupped the back of his head. 

“I am here,” he murmured, kissing his hair. Fynn’s eyes squeezed shut, and he could tell he was trying to steady his breaths. Those olive eyes flickered over to Eh’kaad, an ounce of lucidity coming back to him from her form. He shifted, face rippling with guilt.

“Eh’kaad—?” 

“I will leave you to it,” she cut off firmly, rising to her feet. She seemed to ignore Fynn, motioning towards Dra’ak. “Remember what I said.” 

Dra’ak could sense the increase in his mates heartrate, watching the female creature leave the room and abandon them in tense silence. He gently attempted to distract him, pushing back his hair from his clammy forehead and coaxing his eyes back to him and only him. 

“She’s still mad,” he murmured, and Dra’ak whickered softly. 

“Yes,” he admitted. “But that does not mean she does not care. How are you feeling, little one?” 

“Fine,” he mumbled. His cheek squished against his chest, eyes half lidded and filled with something akin to guilt. Dra’ak was tempted to pinch the squishy flesh, but refrained from doing so. This wasn’t the right time. 

“Little one,” he warned gently, not wanting his mate to think he could be dishonest about how he felt. The medic huffled softly, pressing himself even closer. 

“No, seriously,” he mumbled, his voice a little breathless, but naturally convincing. “Fine.” 

Dra’ak would be less inclined to believe him had he woken up screaming. But he hadn’t - Dra’ak wasn’t entirely convinced, but he would let his mate rest before talking about the presence of his brother. He purred, the sound soothing his mate as intended. He watched his rigid shoulders relax, even just for a second. It filled him with a bright achievement. 

“Okay,” he hummed, nuzzling the top of his head. “I will always be here when you are not. Always.” 

And Dra’ak meant it. The love he felt for this small little creature was unlike anything he had ever felt before. The urge to keep him close, to keep him wrapped up in his arms where he could admire him till the suns came up and then trailed back down. It was hard to imagine being separated from his mate. Hunting was hard enough as it was - so Eh’kaad’s proposal to think of a safe place for his mate?

If there was going to be a war, the last place he wanted his mate was on the battlefield. But with his nightmares, and Mahto-Yau in his mind, Dra’ak didn’t want his mate to be alone to suffer. He wanted to be with him, consequences be damned, though he feared it wouldn’t be his choice sooner or later. 

“Ah, Eh’kaad brought this,” Dra’ak hummed, and he motioned towards the box beside them. He subtly watched the way his mates eyes flickered over to it, weary, but more alert. Fynn untangled himself, yet the creature gently helped him sit up. “She said it had come from Yah’kuulh. Whatever it may be.” 

His last words lingered on his tongue, mandibles remaining still. He let Fynn go as he slid off the padded furs, scooping it up into his arms. His sleepy mind needed a few stammers to get his words out, as Dra’ak watched him intently. “Uh, yeah. Yes, it’s just work. To make up for the demonstration.” 

The creature whickered. It wasn’t friendly. “Medicine?” 

Fynn didn’t look at him. “Yeah. Medicine.” 

He wiped a small sheen of sweat from his brow, bare feet padding against the floor, gripping the bottom of the box. It wasn’t the heaviest, though, so he managed just fine. 

“I love you,” Fynn smiled, and Dra’ak whickered - he softly bowed his head. 

“And you, little one.” 

He watched the little human disappear out of their room, a twinge of sluggishness from just awakening from his sleep that Dra’ak found so endearing. He hoped that’s what it was. Sluggishness. 

. . . 

Gi’ja hated his family. 

A traitrous maniac, a previously mate-adverse female, a male deemed unworthy and an untrustworthy Yautja. The human didn’t help. 

He felt like he hated a lot of things, the judgemental comments and looks from the other Young Bloods, ever since they had been pups; it was never because of him, always handling these heavy expectations on his back from his controversal family. There were many times he wished that he had simply not been conceived, if only to another person to have the amount of respect that he deserved. 

Gi’ja didn’t think of himself as entitled, but he was certainly scorned. 

He had come home as a pup growing up with too many bruises and cuts, facing beratement from his own mother for letting himself get picked on. Never given any form of opportunity from the Elders that taught them. It was frustrating. 

Dra’ak’s public displays of affection towards a human had only called forth something else for the other Young Bloods to sneer at him for. The weak willed human who had seduced his uncle - although having earned his place in the clan with his impressive fight against A’stuialb, the taunts went to Gi’ja instead. The human didn’t have to endure it, only Gi’ja. His narrow minded view on it all had caused deep, bitter hatred towards the human. 

Towards everyone. 

He focused on his training, on building himself to the top; following the expectations that he should be like his mother. Strong, independent, intelligent, tough. If he were to complete his Blooding Ritual and defeat a Hard Meat, he would have to be that and more. His life, and the reputation of his family rested on it. He already received shamed looks from the older Yautja, hunters we wished he could be like. He heard names being thrown around when he passed, leading him to believe his family had caused the plight that had wrecked Yautja Prime when he hadn’t even been born. 

A story refused to be told. 

Gi’ja bristled. 

His family name was a disgrace. It’s all he had ever heard, and he was determined to kill this Hard Meat with his bare hands. 

. . . 

When the day before his Blooding Ritual arrived, Gi’ja was already up and training outside. The suns cast an orange glow across the lands, the thuds of his fists against the pads the only thing filling his ears, focusing on each blow. The way his shoulders stiffened. The position of his feet. He imagined he was sparring, ducking and shifting like he was dancing on hot coals, mandibles curled tight in concentration. 

His heart thudded in his chest, keeping a check on his adrenaline like he’d been taught. Adrenaline often made creatures do something drastic, like flee - but he wasn’t the prey. He was the predator, and he would be the Young Blood to retrieve the Hard Meat’s skull. 

No one else. 

Teamwork was essential, as younger Yautja, to take down the Hard Meat, but it was your performance as an individual that decided if you were worthy of hunting. Many died, many fled in fear, but those weren’t hunters that were ready. 

The ones that were would fight the organism head on, would spill their blood and make themselves proud. 

Gi’ja heard a subtle shift of the ground, and he let his fists drop for a moment, head tilting round to see who had snuck up on him. He felt a flicker of irritation at the sight of the human. All wide eyed and unsure of himself - Gi’ja whickered sharply, wrenching his head away. Guarded, like he always was. 

The rhythmic thumps of his fists started again, filling the air with distinct thuds on wood. Mandibles curled tightly in concentration. He attempted to flush away the humans prescence, block him out as though he wasn’t really there, but it wasn’t so easy. It never had been. 

The human, a part of their tribe. Living on Yautja Prime. 

He’d earned his spot before Gi’ja; why did it make his chest tight? What did it matter? The circumstances were vastly different - Fynn had still fought a creature that was superior to him in almost every regard, just as a Hard Meat. And, deep down, there was a yearning part of Gi’ja that respected it. Was in awe of it. He had not witnessed the battle in full detail like many others, but the creatures talked. Of course they would; a human had killed A’stuialb. A well experienced hunter that represented everything their culture thrived about. Some say it was blind luck, some commend his quick thinking and manipulation of A’stuialb’s expectations of what he could do. 

So did Gi’ja. He wished he could have seen it properly. 

All he witnessed was his uncle’s depression and Eh’kaad’s far away look at the end of each season that passed. Zu was the only reason things had functioned half as well as they did. 

Another nasty thud had his knuckles twitching as they smacked against wood. Fynn had earned his place, so where did that leave him? The Young Blood of the family, not yet a hunter like he was supposed to be. The only other person now the object of ridicule and backhanded treatment, because a damn human was more accepted than him and the blood running through his veins. 

Yet he trained. He did everything he was supposed to; he had to, if he wanted to be an offspring that was worthy of being his mother’s next of kin. Maybe all of this envy and resentment would release with the thrill of his first official kill. The skull of a Hard Meat. 

“Gi’ja?” 

His mandibles twitched. The muscles across his back surged as he stepped back from the post, glancing at the scuffs and small little scars on the knobs of his knuckles. Only from training. None from a real hunt. He turned to find the human still lingering there awkwardly, narrowed eyes assessing his form with scrutizining intent. 

Smaller than him. Build and just about height, too. Squishy skin. Easy to break bones. Often such a meek composure - it screamed prey. Gi’ja might consider him not even worth a kill according to the code if he didn’t know what he was really capable of. His mandibles flexed in a clear show of his discontentment. The human had picked up on body language enough to understand the silent cues he was giving. He visibly deflated, shifting. 

“I was looking for Eh’kaad, but…” Fynn trailed off, eyes dropping. An uncomfortable silence permeated the air, and Gi’ja straightened, almost puffing out his chest, as if to ask, “what’s that got to do with me?” His eyes lifted back up again. “You’re Blooding Ritual is tomorrow, isn’t it?” 

Gi’ja stared. 

The human was here for Eh’kaad, not him. The excruciating attempt at small talk made his throat close up in irritation. Fynn often did this a lot - like he was searching for something with Gi’ja. Why? Because his lover’s sister was his mother? Because he thought they were one big happy family? 

Yautja didn’t get to play happy family. That wasn’t the life they were cut out for; not when your next hunt could very well be your last. It was something your kin would celebrate, and would cherish, that you’d died honourbly in a hunt, but Gi’ja got the impression that he didn’t quite understand that. How easy it would be, when one time he eagerly waited to see Dra’ak return, that he might never show up. 

Gi’ja didn’t understand humans. He was never taught their culture - why would he? Only that they could be a worthy challenge, despite their physical disadvantages in nature. Really, Gi’ja knew nothing about Fynn. He was starting to realise that he had never thought about that before. 

In response to his question, he gave the barest tilt of his chin. A nod. 

The human pressed his lips together, providing a few curt nods too. As though he was trying his hardest not to let the barest of interactions between them go just yet. Like Gi’ja, this time, might relent. 

He turned to continue training. He felt the human’s eyes watching him. 

“Well, I’m going to wait for her,” he forced out, like he was chewing the awkwardness that filled the air in plumes of thick smoke. “Good luck, Gi’ja.” 

He didn’t respond. But when the human turned his back on him to trudge around to the front of their home, he glanced over his shoulder to watch him go. 

. . . 

Fynn kept coming and going. 

It was a distraction, really. Weapons flying and jerking in the air, beads of sweat dripping down his scaly skin. The familiar pattern of small feet pattering on the ground. Gi’ja’s dreadlocks would snap as he turned in frustration, tired of being interrupted. He’d give him a meek, “is Eh’kaad back? Do you know where she is?” 

Gi’ja knew there was a bit of tension. Something regarding him, he’d figured. The last time he’d seen Fynn and his mother together had been when he was training. Nothing he would’ve considered concerning himself over, had he not been halted mid session for what he felt was the twelfth time. 

It was irritating. Even when he wasn’t training, the human appeared in the kitchen. 

“Do you know where she is so I can find her?” 

“She is busy,” he’d snapped, mandibles flaring aggressively in the human’s face. Fynn had winced, and wasn’t to be seen until the suns began to drop. 

Came and went. 

Gi’ja left during the evening to train with the other Young Bloods - the same old routine. Block out any ignorant comments, refrain from talking back, lest he get a clip round the ear from both the Elder and Eh’kaad. He’d returned to find the human now sitting outside near the door, leaning against the wall and on the brink of dozing off. 

Gi’ja scoffed, stupid thing, and headed inside. 

No one was around to see him leave out a small basket of dried fruits by the sleeping human.

Gi’ja was greeted by his mother when she returned from her duties, whatever it was that she seemed so consumed by (apart from his Blooding Ritual). She’d lectured him, kissed him, and given him a stern talk before he went to bed. 

He lay wide awake on the pelts underneath him, his mandibles curled. His mind was active - Eh’kaad would surely give him a stern clout for not taking the opportunity to rest. But he instead slowly crept out of bed, sneaking down the corridor so that neither Eh’kaad nor Zu would wake (or hear him). 

He found the human still outside. Sleeping, albeit, a little more deeply. 

Frustrated, Gi’ja gave him a firm shove on his shoulder. It easily roused him from his slumber, sleepy eyelids blinking open blearily. The human’s face tensed in surprise, but upon tilting his head back and recognising Gi’ja, he seemed to relax. 

“Gi’ja, are you—?” 

He firmly held up a hand to cut him off. Gi’ja quietly closed the door, and reluctantly took a place on the floor beside the human. Fynn watched with curious eyes, but they seemed to soften after a moment. They also flickered to the basket of dried fruits, lighting up slightly. 

“I must have been sleeping when Eh’kaad came back,” he muttered under his breath, sensing the slight edge of frustration in his tone. He gently scooted the basket closer, fingers scooping up one of the fruits. A look of relief passed over his face. “I guess she left these for me.” 

Gi’ja’s mandibles curled, just a little bit. The cold night breeze ruffled against his skin, savouring that this would be his last night as a Young Blood. That when the next day emerged, he would see the world as a hunter. And he would be respected. Just like Fynn had done, his mother, even Dra’ak. So he wasn’t quite sure why his assumption made his chest tight. 

“I did.” 

The human hummed, a confused noise. Eyes fell on him. “What?” 

Gi’ja didn’t clarify his clipped words. Just stared passively at the ground, the stars winking at them both. It took a moment for Fynn to understand what he meant, and the relief on his face drained. He looked away, shoulders sagging. 

“Oh,” he sighed, dejected. Without realising, sharp whickers started rumbling in his chest, and Gi’ja stubbornly looked away. The human’s eyebrows perked up. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he assured, patting the basket. “I…appreciate it, Gi’ja. I really do.” 

The whickers stopped, but his gaze remained trained. There was silence for a few moments. 

“She walked right past me, then,” Fynn chuckled, though there was a distinct lack of humour. His expression looked terse, taking a pitiful bite out of the fruit, and chewing on it solemnly. Another silence washed over them, the kind of silence that seemed to accompany them at all times. He listened to the bustle of the planet in the distance, the breeze whispering past his ears, the sound of soft chewing. He felt the human’s eyes fall onto him, knowing a question of some kind was evident. 

It never came. 

Fynn shifted, as though he was going to stand up. Gi’ja finally turned his head to look at him. 

“I should head off,” the medic sighed. “I’m disrupting your peace.” 

You were here first, Gi’ja wanted to spit, not understanding the human’s angle sometimes. But maybe that was his own fault. His mandibles curled with… something. 

“Were you scared?” 

The human stilled, a look of surprise passing over his face. It felt like in his presence, the human had not once seemed to relax - almost as if anticipating a cold shoulder, a silent glare, or a nasty word or two. Not that Gi’ja had done anything to prove otherwise. He wondered why the human kept trying. Why he had offended Eh’kaad over him, whatever it had been. 

“You mean, for my fight with A’stuialb?” He shifted, nodding his head. “Terrified.” 

Gi’ja looked away. Not that it changed the fact that his Blooding Ritual would be when the sun’s next rose. He had never had anything to be scared of in his life; was that what this was? Fear? A little anxiousness got the adrenaline pumping, and was good for reflexes in combat, but this felt consuming. It consumed his thoughts, preventing him from sleeping. Fynn had faced death itself and come back out of it. Not without a scar or two. 

The human relaxed back against the wall, lips puffing with another short sigh. “I made Eh’kaad angry because I keep seeing myself in you.” 

Gi’ja tilted his head, and the human frowned, pondering on his confession. 

“Well, it’s not just that, but…” He paused, redirecting his focus. “I know how all of this feels. How suffocating the pressure felt. How many sleepless nights I went because I knew that falling asleep would just mean it was closer than before. I had Dra’ak beside me. I had Eh’kaad. I needed words of encouragement to make me feel like I even had any chance against A’stuialb.” 

Fynn shifted, visibly uncomfortable. “So I thought, wouldn’t it help Gi’ja? To know that even if Eh’kaad didn’t say it, some words of encouragement might make you feel less… scared. She is proud you, so why won’t she just say that?”

The words lingered in the air. The Young Blood could almost taste the sincerity clinging to those words, and it made him breathe deeply, chest rising. Gi’ja wondered why the human would want anything of him when all he had done was display his obvious dislike for him. If dislike was what it was. 

“Because it made me feel less scared,” Fynn breathed, unconsciously laying his hands over his stomach. Distinct, rigid scars covered by his fingers. “It didn’t get rid of it. Not even close. But it was what I needed at the time. It’s what I’ve always needed.” 

Another comfortable silence fell over them. 

“I do not need words,” Gi’ja finally spoke after a pregnant pause bloomed in the air. “Nor does my mother. I am encouraged, and she does tell me that she is proud. In other ways you do not see.”

Fynn stared, a look of clarity passing over his eyes. His lips parted, squeezing his own arm as a puff of air escaped his nostrils. Like something clicked. Gi’ja’s eyes skipped over to the basket of fruits he left out. 

“I am not good with words,” he managed. The human’s lips curved into a tiny smile, glancing at the fruits as well. “But I am less scared. Because of other things.” 

A slight movement in the distance caught Gi’ja’s attention before it did the human’s. The shape of a Yautja, heading towards them. Dra’ak, it seemed. Probably wondering why his precious little human had not returned to their home, he mused internally. The human’s body language instantly changed when he recognised the figure, and it reminded him of his parents. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Good,” Fynn breathed, offering him an assuring smile. “I’m glad. You’ll do well, Gi’ja. More than well.” 

When Dra’ak got closer, his mandibles curled stubbornly under his scrutinizing gaze, more than likely taken aback by the strange scene. The human and him, sitting beside each other. They both stood, the basket tucked under Fynn’s arm, piled with the dry fruits that Gi’ja had picked. Not with any particular ones in mind, but picked at random, nonetheless. Whickering, his eyes landed on the human. 

“Will you watch?” He asked tentatively. The human’s hand was taken by Dra’ak’s, but his eyes remained on him. He tilted his head. 

“Your Blooding Ritual?” He clarified gently, like he wasn’t quite sure if he had heard him correctly. “Would…you like me to?” 

“No, but…” Gi’ja trailed off stubbornly, voice hard, the end of the sentence escaping him. Desperately chasing some sort of excuse that didn’t exist, and what for? To keep his dignity intact? His eyes snapped over to Dra’ak, mandibles curved and looking all pleased at the conversation playing out, and it made him growl. He rolled his eyes, spinning sharply for the entrance of their home as an indication he was done with this. 

Fynn grinned, his spirits lifted. “Good luck, Gi’ja.” 

The Young Blood gave him a nod, a silent tilt of his chin, before he disappeared. Their conversation faded into the night, the last thing on Gi’ja’s ears. 

“Are your visions rubbing off on me, little one?” Dra’ak teased. 

“Dreams, Dra’ak,” the human giggled, huffing when the larger creature easily swooped him off his feet, carrying him as they walked away. “They’re called dreams.”

Chapter Text

The Blooding Ritual had Gi’ja feeling light. Almost untouchable. 

Arrogance was a weakness, having got A’stuialb killed, but the Young Blood knew better than to allow arrogance to consume him. The Hard Meat was the perfect organism, both offence and defence, and today, as the suns cascaded over his skin for the last time as an untrained hunter, he imagined all the ways he was going to kill it. 

The ships rumbled under his feet as he climbed on, a quiet, but bustling buzz amongst the other Young Bloods as they prepped for their fight. Gi’ja sealed the mask against his face, a resounding hiss indicating it was lodged securely into place. He sat away from everybody else for the moment, ensuring that his heart rate was steady and his nerves were kept in check. It was a little more difficult when he could feel the trickle of anxiety in the air, but he was determined to do so. 

Just as his mother had taught. 

Of which, Gi’ja had just parted with, travelling in the ship with the rest of the single parental figures that had come along for the Blooding Ritual. Not to watch, but to embrace their new fully blooded hunter after the defeat of the Hard Meat, if they were worthy enough to survive. 

Gi’ja steadied his breathing. Mentally went through everything that his mother told him to before they landed; physically, he was ready. He needed to sharpen his mind, make sure that he was fully settled in the correct headspace. Adrenaline was only an edge, though Gi'ja couldn't fault the excitement that he felt. This was what being a Yautja was all about. It was their blood. And he couldn't wait to perform. 

. . . 

When the Young Bloods were dropped into the arena, there was a tension lingering in the air. 

Keen ears sharpened to detect any noise, any evidence of where the Hard Meat may have scurried off too. Gi’ja was aware that if they dwindled too long, then it would cunningly catch onto the fact that it was being hunted, and in turn, become the hunter. Gi’ja scanned the environment with narrowed eyes, the mask doing the work of detecting any anomalies in the air. 

It was basic land, much like the forests he had trained at; impossibly tall trees stretching into the sky, dry dirt like a blanket under their feet. Minimal food and a lack of traces of water - this was going to be tough if they were stranded for longer than a day, but Gi’ja intended to complete his Blooding Ritual with efficiency. 

He pointed across the trees. “We should get to more open ground. Track its location and flank it with fire. It cannot win in combat against the nine of us.” 

Gi’ja heard a smug snort. He lowered his arm, turning to glance at the other Young Bloods. 

“You and your family are a bad omen,” came the hissing retort, and Gi’ja felt his shoulders stiffen. A sharp whicker rose in his throat, instinctively reaching for his blade. The moment he drew it out, his feet planted themselves deep into the ground. He felt a shift from the other Young Bloods, judgemental masks tilting in his direction. 

“See?” Another snorted. “We will find high ground.” 

“High ground will not do anything but put a target on your back,” Gi’ja tried to reason, his fingers flexing over his weapon. 

He was ignored. “You may consult your fire theory, Omen. You would be more purposeful as bait”

The Young Bloods swiftly activated their camouflage, a pattering of feet and the rustling of trees filling the air, until Gi’ja was alone. His clenched fist relaxed just an inch, lifting his weapon to stare at it. A part of him felt a surge of anger at his temper, knowing that drawing it on them only solidified what they thought of him. He shook his head. 

No; he was used to it. Taking on the Hard Meat would prove that he was not a bad omen. It would prove that he was a worthier hunter than anyone who dared to insult his family. With a surge of determination, Gi’ja began the difficult task of tracking down the organism. A thrill tingled up his spine. He was reminded of the tracking exercises his mother would put him through - deep in the forests of Yautja Prime. All times of the day, and all kinds of weather, spending hours traversing the clues she had left to locate her. 

It came in handy. Hard Meat’s were intelligent, but their intelligence mostly came from their ability to learn. A Hard Meat initially dropped into an unfamiliar environment would take a short amount of time to learn of its surroundings, but it was enough for Gi’ja to pick up on tracks and disturbances. Even claw marks - this Hard Meat was angry, it seemed. 

Gi’ja wondered if they riled it up before dropping it in to really test their strengths. 

He pinned its location down, scaling easily up a tree until he emerged through the leaves, his expression under the mask filled with concentration. The suns were beginning to set, casting an orange, almost fiery glow in the sky. Night time came with an increased risk, but also the same opportunity to assert himself and gain the upper hand. Gi’ja drew his weapons, and he prepared himself. 

The Hard Meat had covered a considerable amount of ground, likely due to the lack of food and other life forms in these forests. Gi’ja had been keeping a track of these things as a way to monitor any changes in trails or behaviour, and anticipate how volatile the Hard Meat may be. From the looks of things, he sensed this was going to be a bloody, well earned battle.

It was truly a sight to behold, too. 

Gi’ja took it all in, admiring his mothers trophy of one of its skulls in his head for a moment. It truly was the picture of a perfect organism, prowling the darkened ledge with ease as though stalking for food. Analysing its environment. Finding a place to sleep. Whatever it was, it was a truly magnificent being. But Gi’ja wasn’t here to admire. He was here to complete his ritual. 

Steadying his heart and his mind, Gi’ja went over his mother’s final teachings; command the environment, choose where you fight. Pick strategically to your strengths and your opponents weaknesses. This was a Ritual, and his goal was to defeat the Hard Meat and survive - it was a clear directive, one that he intended to follow. And persevere like the human, keep getting up, and use their weakness against them. 

His first strike was made completely unawares. 

A fiery blast that struck the side of the creature’s skull in a spitfire of sparks and embers. The creature gave a horrific squeal, lithe body twisting and flailing to get away from the sudden burst of temperature that erupted against its skull. Gi’ja eagerly made some room, brandishing a long weapon that elongated at the press of his thumb, but a charge in the atmosphere made him stiffen, head whipping around just before a voice hissed out. 

“Omen!” 

The momentary distraction landed Gi’ja with a long, sharp tail swiping at his chest, the force sending him completely off balance. He clipped his shoulder against the rough trunk of a tree, scattering his weapon and forcing him to his knees. He grunted, momentarily winded, before gaining his senses and hissing in a threatening gesture towards the Young Blood that had appeared. 

More of them did, the Hard Meat on all fours, bared teeth glistening with saliva and tail raised high above its head, a warning to them. There were considerably less, and Gi’ja realised that those claw marks had been tussles. 

“We can slay it,” Gi’ja hissed with determination, ignoring the dull ache in his chest as he rose to his feet. They had flanked it against a large shrubbery of trees, leaving its options minimal. It seemed to understand that it was outnumbered, but it continued to bare its teeth, poised for another attack. He scooped his weapon up, ignoring the scoff from the Young Blood. 

“We were about to,” they growled, the anger evident through their jerky movement, brandishing their weapon. “It was unaware. We could have dealt with it quickly.” 

“It was perched on higher ground,” Gi’ja chastised. 

“You spoke of higher ground as though it was a bad thing,” the Young Blood hissed, and the young hunter could sense the curl of their mandibles from beneath their mask.

“It has acid blood,” Gi’ja deadpanned. “You would not have known until it had burned through your thick skull.” 

The Hard Meat broke off their senseless argument with a snap of its jaws, lurching forward with a swing of its tail. It clipped one Young Blood’s in the chest with the sharp edge, tearing through the armour like a warm knife through butter. Others narrowly avoided it, but the Hard Meat clocked onto the one it had struck, as though sensing a potential victim. 

The pointed tail drilled again, and this time, the Young Blood twisted out of the way, boldly crowding into its space with a flick of their weapon. Gi’ja intervened, wrapping an arm around the tail just as it attempted to pull back, giving the Young Blood an opportunity to jam their sharp dagger through the hardened flesh. The knife was clearly designed to cut through the Hard Meat’s thick armour, but not strong enough to remain instact. 

It broke upon impact, leaving the Hard Meat screeching in pain and twisting what was left of its tail away from the two Yautja’s. Sizzling blood spurted from the wound, and the sharp, thrashing movements sent a spray of blood to the Young Blood Gi’ja had been arguing with. 

It hissed immediately upon making contact, steam rising from the chestplate as it ate through the material with frenzied vigour. The Young Blood grunted, jerking the straps of their armour off and tearing the chestplate from their body in a frenzy. 

Gi’ja shared a knowing look. 

The Young Blood growled in anger. “Not a word, Omen.” 

Excitement bubbled in Gi’ja’s chest, redirecting his attention back to the writhing Hard Meat at hand. He twirled his spear, encouraging the others to draw out their long ranged weapons to cripple the organism as swiftly as possible; with the acid blood, their weapons were at risk of eroding before they managed to finish the job. They carefully slashed through hard armour, finding weak spots and soft flesh that they adapted their attacks to.

Gi’ja’s breathing was slightly laboured, his grip on his spear knuckle white. He turned to the Young Blood beside him, giving a sharp nod of his head. Under the jaw - that’s where they’d finish the job. 

The Young Blood gave a firm nod back, raising their weapons above their heads. A thrill chased his heart, feeling the rush of adrenaline that was like an intoxicating drug dancing through his blood. It was a feeling Gi’ja knew he would experience many times as a hunter; what made their love of their culture so rich and inviting. This was what it was for. And nothing would compare to the kill he was about to make. 

A sudden bang cut through the air, the Hard Meat’s jaw erupting in a violent spray of flesh. Blood flicked into the air from the sheer impact of the weapon used, hitting the other Young Blood’s and eating its way through their masks. They gave sharp, panicked  whickers, fingers fumbling to unhook the piece of armour from their face. One was unlucky enough to get a single drop under their eye, mandibles scrunching as they let out a howl of pain, knees thudding into the ground. 

Gi’ja’s head snapped to the side, a mix of shock and pure anger striking his chest. He had not lowered his spear. He had not made the kill. It was not tradition for their Ritual to be interrupted, nor was it possible. 

His breathing became thick. 

Gi’ja had dreamed of this moment, and it had shattered right before him. A tantalisingly cruel nightmare of the most important kill of his life, snatched from right under his nose as though it had meant nothing. 

But as the figure drew near, that surge of anger was squashed down by a sudden pang of fear. A fear that he had not felt during his Ritual. The other Young Bloods felt it too, a quiet whisper slipping from his throat before he could stop himself. 

“Bad Blood…” 

. . . 

“Acid for blood,” Fynn murmured under his breath, his head tilting back to glance at Yah’kuulh with a small look. “I suppose that made it hard for you to dissect it.” 

The cheeky play at the creature’s history of dissecting creatures only drew a gruff grunt of disapproval from the old doctor’s throat. A hand lightly smacked the back of his head, and Fynn frowned in his own disapproval. 

“Once I discovered that the casing over its head was immune to the effects of its blood, I was able to do my duties,” he replied sharply, setting down a vial and eyeing the small human with a suspicious glance. He had been working thoroughly today, and so Fynn had the privilege of witnessing Yah’kuulh with that mound of dreadlocks tied back. He always imagined the creature with a pair of thin glasses and a lab coat, and it made him smile.

“Why are you not with that mate of yours?” 

Fynn paused, kissing his teeth. Yah’kuulh seemed to take that in his own way, turning up his nose in a gesture that always got under the medic’s skin, like Dra’ak was something foul to look down upon. “Ah, I see. Something is wrong.” 

“Nothing is wrong,” Fynn protested. 

“Mate trouble?” 

It reminded the medic, fleetingly, of one of the first times they had met. He gave a sharp look, flopping against the table and resting his head on his arms. The lizard leapt up onto the surface immediately, nuzzling against Fynn’s palm. It brought a weak smile to his face. 

“It’s not anything to do with Dra’ak,” he sighed. “I think you know what I have to deal with right now.” 

Yah’kuulh was still, but eventually, he hummed in response. “Get it off the table or I will eat it for lunch.” 

The medic pouted, scooping the lizard into his lap instead, forcing him to sit up. The lizard’s tongue peaked out, as though tasting the air. Its beady eyes stared up at him. 

“Sleepy.” 

Fynn chuckled. Yeah, he was sleepy. But sleeping wasn’t something that came so easily to him at the moment. In reality, it was really Gi’ja that he was thinking about right now. The knowledge of the Blooding Ritual was terrifying enough, knowing what kind of creature he was facing, but also because of Mahto-Yau. He seemed to have some sort of interest in the Young Blood, and it made Fynn weary of what was to come. Everything was. The responsibility weighed heavy on his shoulders. 

“Gi’ja may be returning shortly,” Yah’kuulh spoke, seemingly interested in changing the conversation topic. Perhaps he did not have the strength to think about Mahto-Yau either. Fynn raised his gaze. 

“I thought the Rituals didn’t have a time limt.” 

“They don’t,” the doctor sniffed. “But talented Young Bloods should only require a day cycle. The Hard Meat is severely outnumbered.” 

Fynn frowned. “I hope he’s okay.” 

“You should not waste needless energy on the ifs and the buts,” the doctor grunted. “You will tire your mind. You are already handling plenty of responsibilities.” 

“I can’t help but be worried.” 

Yah’kuulh almost rolled his eyes. “Humans...” 

The whirring of the door cut through their exchanging of words, a panicked Yautja barely holding onto the strings of their composure standing in the doorway. They didn’t even make a move to step inside. 

“Yah’kuulh,” they hissed. “Come.” 

Fynn was in a momentary daze, his eyes flickering to the older creature in some attempt to understand what was going on, but he had already surged into action, sauntering across the laboratory with firm footsteps. The medic scrambled to follow, a spring in his step just to keep up with their long, purposeful strides. A conversation in Yautja was passed between them, but Fynn did not need his translator to recognise the name that cropped up between harsh spoken words. 

“Is Gi’ja okay?” He almost demanded, their paths diverting into a single room towards the back of the building. A female Enforcer blocked the door after the two Yautja had entered, her mask sending a flicker of unease through his chest. The presence of Enforcer’s was not a good sign. 

“You are not permitted to enter,” she spoke harshly, her words causing a tense, almost angry Yah’kuulh to whirl around. He assessed the commotion in a second. 

“He is a doctor,” he snapped. “Let him in, now.” 

The Enforcer tilted her head in his direction, soaking up the words, before her head nodded an inch. She reluctantly allowed Fynn entry, who was granted full view of the scene in front of them. A panicked, bloodied and bruised Gi’ja was being crowded, his mandibles curled defensively and his expression tense. But it was obvious there was an anxiousness in his eyes, a flicker of fear that he so desperately attempted to hide. Yah’kuulh bounded to the scene, hand gripping the Young Blood’s shoulder and easing him forward slightly. At the sight of something, he seemed to stiffen, observant, narrow eyes scanning with vigour. 

Fynn hesitantly stepped forward. 

There was something in the air when Gi’ja caught his eye, almost like a wince. A flicker in his eye like he wanted to say something. Fynn’s expression softened, an almost gentle encouragement for him to do so. But Gi’ja seemed to fight violently with whatever he was thinking, turning his head aside with a curl of his mandibles. The medic gently inched forward, assessing what it was everyone seemed to be looking at. 

His blood ran cold.

“That’s…” He couldn’t even get the rest of his words out, a tight force winding its way through his throat and squeezing the breath out. His hand pressed over his mouth in shock. 

Yah’kuulh confirmed his thoughts with a solemn whicker.

Chapter Text

His fingers danced gently along the wound, mopping up any leftover blood that lingered on the edges of the flesh - not that there had been much blood in the first place. Just raw, angry skin. Yah’kuulh had been silent, but when Fynn snuck glances at him, he could see just how tense and deep in thought he seemed. The whole situation was… disheartening. And concerning.

It made Fynn’s guts twist into a knot - the horrors of what he was seeing in his mind was bound to transcend into the real world, with Mahto-Yau being a very real threat, but Fynn didn’t imagine something like this could happen. The worst part, was that Gi’ja refused to say anything.

From what the Enforcers were saying, they had been greeted by what seemed to be a normal completed Blooding Ritual. The dead corpse of a Hard Meat lay sizzling in the ground, unmoving with no heartbeat; the sight of almost the entire lot of Young Bloods dead was disheartening, but it happened. It was part of the brutal nature of the Ritual, after all. The remaining Young Blood had been found a good few miles from the battle, shaken and injured to the point where he seemed to struggle to breathe.

The sight of the brand on his back called for Enforcer’s immediately.

Despite their incessant probing to fully understand the situation, Gi’ja had kept his mandibles curled tight. Much to the annoyance to the Enforcer’s at the hospital, while a batch had been sent out to thoroughly search the grounds for the Bad Blood that had, by some miracle, infiltrated Prime.

Fynn was interrupted by the door sliding open.

And an angry, fuming Eh’kaad came storming in.

Fynn stopped dabbing Gi’ja’s wound, feeling the Young Blood - well, he’d completed his Ritual now, so did that still apply? - look up at his mother. The medic stepped back slightly to give them some space. He assumed Eh’kaad would be furious at the Enforcer’s for allowing a Bad Blood to slip onto Prime and threaten their children. But instead, she loomed over Gi’ja, her mandibles so tense he swore he saw them shaking.

“What happened?” Eh’kaad snapped, her voice dripping with an uncontained anger that Fynn had never heard before. It was nothing like when she had scolded him. This was completely different. “You want to play games? You want to keep your mouth shut?”

Her narrowed eyes were flaming. Fynn stared in shock. “You are withholding vital information? Why? Do not test me!”

Gi’ja’s head turned away, apparently meaning to keep up his stubborn bravado. Eh’kaad let him have none of it, her claws snapping out faster than Fynn could even blink. They dug into his cheeks, making Gi’ja whicker slightly in discontent. She jerked him forward, his hands gripping the edge of the table until it creaked.

“Unwind your tongue, now,” she growled, her voice booming. “Tell them what happened.”

Her intense eyes bore straight into Gi’ja’s. He was stronger than Fynn was, knowing from the moment she walked in, he would have relented and said anything to get her to calm down. But the young creature’s mandibles curled tight, clearly not budging. Eh’kaad released him abruptly, and struck him across the face with the back of her hand. Unpleasant whickers rose in Gi’ja’s throat, and Fynn’s eyes widened.

“Eh’kaad,” he gasped, his brows furrowing defensively. “You don’t have to hit him—”

“You,” the female creature interrupted, crowding into his space with a threatening aura that actually had Fynn’s heart lurching into his throat. He felt the heat of her anger on him, and it was like it was melting through his skin,” are going to speak of my child? Again? You do not learn your lesson, you dimwitted thing.”

He flinched back as she clipped his ear harshly, his hand cupping the area tenderly as he skittered back. The fuming female had already made her exit with long, forceful strides, his breath hot in his throat. The threat was clear, and that was to stay out of it.

“Fuck,” Fynn breathed shakily, feeling his eyes water.

He felt Yah’kuulh’s presence behind him. “Human—”

“No,” he snapped, shaking his head. He made a hurry for the exit. “Just help Gi’ja.”

He knew he shouldn’t be disrespectful to Yah’kuulh, feeling his grumpy disapproval as he left. But he ducked into a familiar laboratory, the doctor’s, and locked the door shut behind him. He took a deep, shakey breath, rummaging through glass jars before he found what he needed. He seated himself down on the floor, popping a massive handful of leaves in his mouth. Probably wasn’t the best idea, but he needed a way to sleep immediately.

The taste was a little bitter, closing his eyes and forcing the tension out of his shoulders. It took a lot less time than he had thought for their effects to kick in, leaving his vision dizzy and his limbs heavy. He let his head fall back against the wall, taking in a deep soothing breath. Once he was done, he opened his eyes, gaze flicking around.

And he saw him.

“What did you do?” Fynn frowned, climbing to his feet with more bravado than he could have ever imagined.

Mahto-Yau pretended to look at his nails. “Elaborate, dear.”

“You know what I’m taking about,” he snapped. “What happened?”

The Yautja’s head tilted in his direction, as though his words had caused a flicker of realisation in his head. He suddenly chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “Oh, my nephew didn’t tell you?”

Fynn frowned. “Tell me what?”

“I suppose he thinks he’s protecting you,” Mahto-Yau drawled, his voice mocking. “How cute.”

Suddenly, that look Gi’ja had on his face made much more sense. Glaringly so; he had wanted to tell him something. But some noble cause was stopping him. Why? The question probed annoyingly at the back of his mind, and he felt his fingers twitch.

“What did you do?” He demanded once more. The Yautja pressed a hand to his chest, mocking offence.

“Me?” He echoed. “I’m far from Yautja Prime.”

“You know what I meant,” Fynn snapped.

“I think you’re bright enough to get the picture, no?” The male crooned, leisurely strolling past him as though he was taking a walk down a lake. Fynn watched the environment in front of him stretch obscenely, as though creating a path. Against his better judgement, the medic followed behind.

“You sent a Bad Blood to the planet,” Fynn started, his voice strained. Mahto-Yau nodded. “How’d he get here undetected?”

“That’s a secret, darling.”

Of course. “He attacked those Young Bloods, killed them, and you made him—” He took a breath. “You made him brand Gi’ja with a Bad Blood sigil.”

Mahto-Yau paused, his feet stopping their calm stroll. Fynn replicated him, not willing to get too close if he didn’t have to - his cape fluttered to a tantalising stop.

“Would you like to know what else I made him do?”

He turned, head tilting smugly in his direction. “I made him tell Gi’ja that he was going to do the same to you.”

Fynn swallowed the lump in his throat. He could almost feel the singe in his skin, the symbol burning though flesh and permanently branding onto his body. A symbol that like other Yautja, he had come to despise. What kind of sick individuals slaughtered children? It made his blood boil enough that he was impenetrable to the flicker of fear he felt at the idea that the Bad Blood could possibly be out there, looking for him to do the same.

But then Fynn’s eyes narrowed, shaking his head. “He’ll be caught.”

Mahto-Yau shrugged. “Don’t doubt that he will. I don’t care.”

“He’s one of your people,” the human frowned, but then realised that this was Mahto-Yau, and he likely didn’t care what happened to some grunt. His purpose had been to get a message across - that their children weren’t safe, that their people and their defences would be destroyed. That he’d stamp the sigil on everybody until Bad Blood’s ruled Yautja Prime.

“At the end of the day,” Mahto-Yau purred. “It’s tit for tat.”

“Tit for—” Fynn bit his tongue, hard, to stop himself from snapping angrily. “You’re sick.” 

Mahto-Yau didn’t discredit the notion, eyes boring into him from behind that mask. He cupped his hands casually behind his back.

“You’re angry” he observed, though Fynn figured that was obvious. Tit for tat? He was crazy. “So emotional, and yet you are instinctively blocking your head. Shame; I wanted to see my little nephew with his new brand.”

The human’s lip curled. “Stay away from him.”

“He’s my nephew.”

“You are not part of our family,” Fynn growled, feeling a defensive heat lick at his chest like roaring flames. “You branded him. You’re sick. How could you do that to a child?” 

“I could do a lot worse, and I will,” Mahto-Yau snapped, and the flames were splashed with cold water. He skittered back slightly, but then reminded himself what the wise women had told him, forcing his ground. He puffed his chest out a little to try and get some semblance of courage back. “War is not for the healthy. But don’t worry; you’ll love your new life. I’ll break that pretty little mind of yours until you see reason. Gi’ja, too. Even Dra’ak — we’re one big happy family, darling. We’re the cure.” 

The air in his mind had seemed to change, feeling something tense coil around him, like a pressure was trying to suck him away into the night. His gaze flickered around. So did Mahto-Yau’s.

“Ah, kept you for too long this time,” he hummed, brushing a hand through the air. Fynn’s expression faltered, those ominous words ringing in his mind.

“How? I’ve hardly been here a for a few minutes.”

Mahto-Yau chuckled, the noise reverberating through his head. He stepped back as he approached, only to bump into a figure behind him. He whirled around to see another Mahto-Yau, their voices speaking in echoey unison.

“I guess when you come here willingly,” they chuckled, their voices a cacophony in his head that rang like bells. Fynn’s eyes scrunched shut, the sounds making his vision pop and crackle. “I can make you stay here for days without even realising…”

The human awoke with a startled gasp, choking on the air almost. Hands were already grasping his shoulders tight, and instinctively, Fynn tried to shake them off, thinking Mahto-Yau had got his searing claws on him again. But he was met with the face of Yah’kuulh instead, and over his shoulder, a worried looking Dra’ak. The sight of his mate sent a shudder of relief through him.

It was swiftly diminished when he noticed how angry Yah’kuulh was.

“Three sun cycles,” he snapped, his voice laced with venom. Fynn’s chest constricted. “Three sun cycles.”

He yanked the glass jar from beside him, fingers pressed into it so hard he thought the glass was going to shatter. The leaves, he realised, his heart pounding in his chest. What Mahto-Yau had said was true. What had felt like a five minute conversation had left him in his mind for… three days. A little needle was sat in his arm, and he shakily pulled it out.

“What were you thinking?” The doctor growled, jerking his shoulder to get him to look at him again. Fynn opened his mouth to say something, but could hardly form a word. He was dehydrated, hungry, and disorientated. His voice was piercing. “You stupid human.”

The glass jar was set down with a bang, and Yah’kuulh wrenched towards Dra’ak, dreadlocks whipping harshly. He jabbed a finger in his direction. “I have done my job. Deal with the rest.”

Fynn’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, hearing another harsh ‘stupid human’ from the doctor’s mouth as he made his exit. Dra’ak slowly inched forward, a warm hand cupping his soft cheek. When the medic responded and leaned keenly into his touch, he gently pressed their foreheads together, whickering softly. Fynn drew his arms around his neck, and Dra’ak returned the hug, holding him close until he melted against him.

“I’m okay,” he breathed, letting his eyes flutter closed. Dra’ak did the same.

“I was worried,” he responded softly. “Your heart rate was not abnormal, and you were not in distress. But why did you do that?”

He withdrew, mandibles flexing as he motioned to the jar of leaves. Fynn looked away sadly.

“It could have been dangerous.”

“Eh’kaad told me to stay out of it,” he echoed. “I just… couldn’t. I was angry. I was scared for Gi’ja. What happened, it’s—”

He paused, struggling to find the right words.

“I know,” his mate encouraged.

“He might go after more Young Bloods,” Fynn whispered, and Dra’ak gently cupped his cheek again, feeling the soft flesh squish against his palm. His mandibles curled lovingly. Gods, his mate was so pretty. “What if—”

“He was caught.”

Fynn blinked. “What?”

“The Bad Blood,” his mate informed, nuzzling his forehead again. “Less than a sun cycle when they first retrieved Gi’ja. General I’ya-Tah apprehended him swiftly.”

With how easily the infamous creature had seemed to slip through their defences, Fynn didn’t think that he would be apprehended so easily - but then again, he was in their territory, and the Enforcer’s were not a group to be taken lightly. Hunting Bad Bloods was their job, and it seemed they had been successful. It made his mood lift a little.

“Has he been questioned?” Fynn asked, perking up a little at the thought of getting a clearer picture on Mahto-Yau’s intentions and how he managed to get inside Prime. Dra’ak tilted his head, whickering softly. The medic’s face dropped a little. “No?”

“The Bad Blood, he…” Dra’ak paused to find the right words. “He had something. In his mouth, I have been told. Some sort of medicine or food that he ate that killed him the moment he was imprisoned.”

Suicide - that’s what it sounded like. Fynn pressed his lips into a thin line, his brow furrowing in frustration. He had learned that suicide was looked down upon in many respects, and only in certain contexts was it deemed an admirable thing to do. In this case, it was the cowards way out of facing your consequences. The murdering of Young Bloods. He shook off the anger in his heart, feeling Dra’ak engulf his hand. Fynn hummed, kissing his knuckles softly.

“Coward,” he grumbled, feeling Dra’ak’s chest rumble with a chuckle.

“You need soup,” he ordered. “And water, little one.”

Fynn drew in a deep sigh, nodding his head in agreement. He had done something stupid and rash and got hardly anything out of it other than - oh. He glanced up at Dra’ak with those big, wide eyes. The Yautja knew he wanted something when he looked like that.

“What is it?” He purred.

“Gi’ja,” he whispered. “Can I see him?”

Dra’ak’s mandibles clicked uncomfortably, tilting his head. “He is still here, in the hospital, but after the confrontation with my sister, he has been very grumpy with anyone who wishes to speak with him.”

The mention of his sister suddenly made Dra’ak straighten up, as though remembering something important. Fynn noticed how his expression went serious, and a gentle had brushed over his ear, and the medic’s expression was almost thoughtful, pondering on his mates actions.

“Eh’kaad told me that she hit you,” he forced out, his voice serious.

Fynn’s eyes softened, feeling those gentle finger playing with the bottom of his ear. He shook his head, remembering the moment with a little shudder.

“She didn’t, not like that,” he admitted. “She just clipped me round the ear, like you would a child.”

“You’re not a child,” Dra’ak hissed.

“No, but I also should have kept my mouth shut,” he frowned, biting the inside of his cheek. “I had already made her mad saying what I said, and my stupid mouth had to go and repeat the same mistake when she was already livid.”

Dra’ak tucked some hair behind his ear, letting out a sharp whicker in his throat to show he did not approve. It hadn’t hurt him, not like he imagined the slap she had given Gi’ja did - the young Yautja hadn’t seemed all that in pain, though. Had he jumped in when she shouldn’t? Fynn had been here for a while, tried to integrate into the culture as best that he could, but he did not know everything. Things often drove him crazy, and he often felt like he understood less and less with each passing day. A culture so vastly different to his own was something he might never fully understand or grasp.

“She didn’t have a right to touch you,” the big Yautja hissed, hands grasping his waist and nuzzling the top of his head. Mandibles kissed at his hair. “Only I do. You’re my mate.”

Fynn’s lips pressed into a thin line. You were made for him, after all.

He eagerly shook that voice from his head, patting Dra’ak’s shoulder in a comforting manner.

“Let’s talk about it later,” he sighed. “I will visit Gi’ja soon.”

The change in topic seemed to break the big creature from his stupour, mandibles kissing at his cheek before trailing under his jaw. Fynn bit his lip, a rush of arousal suddenly pooling into his stomach like a wildfire. How long had it been since he and Dra’ak had been intimate? Long enough, it seemed, since he didn’t find himself protesting when a hand palmed him through his pants, his head tilting back with a soft moan. The stress of everything made him want to just blank his thoughts for a bit. He wanted an empty head.

“I want to ride you,” he whispered against his cheek, sucking in a sharp breath when Dra’ak wrapped a hand around his cock. His hand twisted, pumping at a pace that had his heart singing. Dra’ak purred, a claw holding him still by his waist.

“I will let you,” was his response, the medic’s forehead clammy as he was easily brought to a finish after his mate pleasured him, whining Dra’ak’s name into his shoulder as his thighs shook. The creature’s eyes lit up - perhaps that would have to wait until he had a little bit of self control. He bent Fynn over the desk first before he let his mate bounce on his cock, happy to oblige him. Oh, how he wished male humans could reproduce

Chapter Text

Standing outside the bars of the cell, the Matriarch stood with a stiff posture, her expression unreadable. Cramped in the corner of the cell was the crumpled Bad Blood, neon green blood dripping into a small puddle on the floor.

She had not heard General Iya’Tah stop by her side, his eyes boring into the same grim scene. The bleak cell seemed to spill into the atmosphere, casting a blackened mark on the situation. The Matriarch barely moved an inch, as she regarded the general with a sharp look.

“The prisoner?” She questioned. Iya’Tah bowed his head respectfully.

“He was hiding some sort of capsule in his mouth; a fast acting poison, we suspect. He consumed it when we apprehended him.” His voice was tense. “This was how we found him. There was no time for questioning.”

The Matriarch held back a frustrated huff, keeping herself as composed as she could. It was a poor look for her to seem withered, and so she steeled her frustrations instead, something years of intense discipline and training allowed to come easy to her. With the increasing threat of war, there was a lot on her shoulders. She was keen to avoid full scale conflict - as much as their kind relished in the thrill of the fight, this was too great of a risk to their civilisation and society as a whole.

“Remove the body and incinerate him,” the Matriarch ordered. Slaughtering their Young Bloods was not a crime to be taken lightly. The coward had sought the easy way out of endless torture and humiliation, a fate still not quite as substantial as he deserved. It was clear Mahto-Yau was sending a strong message. They had little time left.

Iya didn’t look at her. “We are redoubling our defences. However, I do not believe Mahto-Yau will send more Bad Bloods until he launches an attack.”

“No,” the Matriarch bit back. “He has made it clear there is no negotiating.”

“We would not negotiate with Bad Bloods,” the general huffed.

“You do not know what I would do to preserve our honour.”

The statement was a heavy one, the echo of a strong promise on her tongue. She did not get to where she was without any blood, sweat and tears, and she would not let her position be compromised so easily. Yautja Prime was not a place to threaten, no matter the apparent substantial army that Mahto-Yau had laid low to grow. Although the humans progress, according to Yah’kuulh, was startling slow in trying to figure out the Bad Blood’s plans, she realised it mattered little. He was not being secretive; he was clear with his intentions, and the great fleet he was going to bring. It bordered on how well they could defend their home planet.

“Your absence concerns me,” the Matriarch cut in. Iya barely looked at her, though his shoulders tilted a bit.

“I am no longer harmed.”

“I did not say I was concerned for you.” She finally turned to face him, her gaze heated. “Pray tell.”

“I updated the Council on my absence.”

“I am not the Council.”

“I trust they told you.”

“In case you forgot, I am preparing for war,” she curtly snarled, finding the general’s pussy footing a little grating on her nerves. “I have little time for idle gossip from those Elders. I ask, you tell. Now, pray tell.”

General Iya’Tah seemed to reflect on his answer, finding that she was right; he bowed his head in a deep apology, his mandibles curled submissively. “You are right, I was disrespectful. It was a harrowing time.”

“Speak.”

The general glanced back over at the corpse of the Bad Blood, as though just looking at the symbol resurfaced memories he would rather forget. But Yautja learned from their past experiences, and only grew stronger from them. He squared his shoulders.

“Commander Bo’kath had intel on a Bad Blood. I led a small group of Enforcers to deal with him,” he explained. His eyes seemed to unfocus in the haze of the memories. “It was an ambush. They slaughtered the Enforcers, kept me captive for a long time. Subjected me to countless hours of torture for information on Prime. And you.”

The Matriarch didn’t seem concerned.

“I told them nothing. I was kept relatively sedated and unable to fight back. I lost time quite often,” Iya hummed. “They let me go.”

She didn’t seem convinced. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Again, her gaze fell on him, and yet this time, he kept his eyes attached to the Bad Blood sigil on the Yautja’s forehead. After a moment of intense studying, the Matriarch finally relented, her cape whipping as she turned away from him with a sharp wave of her hand.

“I want Commander Bo’kath to join me in the meeting. Incinerate the body. He doesn’t deserve a burial.”

General Iya-Tah tilted his head, honouring her wishes. As he eased up, his intense eyes watched her go with a fiery spark, before fulfilling her requests diligently.

. . .

For the last time in what was going to be a while, the Council of Elders gathered.

There was an almost looming sense of dread lingering in the air, heavy with the situation at hand. Since their last meeting, things had seemed to grow even more morose, especially concerning the Bad Blood that had slaughtered the most recent Young Bloods during their own Blooding Ritual. Snuffing the life out of them and snatching away their Chiva. It was abhorrent, and it was only a glimpse of what was to come.

“Mahto-Yau has been crafting this siege for years,” G’kahruien snarled in a deadly whisper; the Elder had been unable to reign her temper in lately, though her emotional outbursts were a sentiment shared by others, and not entirely looked down upon. A warrior race should not feel so hopeless against an enemy like they did. “We are under prepared.”

“Surely we outnumber them, no?” Bu’tei growled, his mandibles curled tight. He offered the female Elder who had just spoken a knowing look. “There are more of us than there are Bad Bloods.”

“We both know numbers matter little,” the Matriarch cut in, not caring for their ceaseless babbling and complaining when heavy decisions were weighted on her shoulders. She cared little for it when the situation was so dire, however, she also sensed the morbid news had reigned everyone in today, even including G’kahruien. “We do what we do best. Fight.”

“And what of our intel?” Bu’tei asked. “The human may have tried, but it served us little.”

“Mahto-Yau was incredibly transparent in his goals,” the female Yautja hummed, taking a moment to observe each face that looked to her for guidance and their next move. “However, we have a better understanding of his targets. I would like to see the human and Gi’ja off planet.”

“You are starting preparations for war?” the female Elder, Ga-A’ytea, asked, her mandibles twitching slightly at the idea. Whether that be from anticipation or anxiety, it was difficult to tell. The Matriarch nodded firmly.

“Young Bloods and pups are to be removed immediately,” she ordered. “The human and Gi’ja will make for Earth.”

“Earth?” G’kahruien snapped, her voice curt. “What business do they have there? The sanctuary is the safest place.”

“I feel, for them, Earth will be safer.”

“If Mahto-Yau gains the upper hand on us, do you believe some primitive human planet will keep them safe?”

For the first time in a while, the Matriarch found her voice rising with a flicker of impatience. “Do not question me, G’kahruien.”

The sharp, frustrated words seemed to shock the Elder to her core, her whole body stiffening. It took her a second to even find the words, and instead bowed her head in apology. Her eyes were still narrowed, but her mandibles curled in an almost sheepish manner. The rest of the Elders listened intently to the Matriarch’s orders. If they were to be escorted to Earth, then so be it.

“We send out a message to the other Clan Mothers and Leaders, and increase our numbers once the young are safely off the planet. Is this clear?”

There was a ripple of agreement, and the Matriarch’s shoulders eased. “Good.” She turned to Commander Bo’kath, her presence in the Council an unusual one, hence her respectful silence. With the preparations beginning, the Matriarch wanted the respected warrior informed on the proceedings. “Commander, start to open up communications with other clans. The meeting is adjourned.”

She bowed her head. “Yes, Matriarch.”

. . .

“I’m…leaving?”

Fynn couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of his own mouth. It almost made his tongue feel inexplicably numb, playing with the necklace Dra’ak had gifted him around his neck anxiously. A trip to see the Unblooded pups, a regular routine for him, had caused a downward spiral of events. Witnessing them being gathered and the mirage of ships awaiting them had left him seeking out information at the confusing scene.

Upon finding out the pups were being taken somewhere safe to prepare for war, Fynn felt a deep knot curl itself in his stomach. Yah’kuulh crossed his arms over his chest, expression tight.

“You are not hard of hearing,” he scoffed sharply. “This was something you should have anticipated.”

Fynn’s mouth opened and closed like a fish on land. He was suddenly struck by the inevitability of it all, how out of control all of this was, like sand through his fingers. With his teachings from the wise women and his somewhat small, but growing control over Mahto-Yau’s influence in his mind, he had thought that there would have been more time - had all that been for nothing?

As though sensing his self doubt, Yah’kuulh let out a sharp growl. He had still seemed icy towards the medic for the stunt he pulled, however, after being informed of the evacuation, he had swallowed his pride and come to tell him.

“Do you think because you bested A’stuialb that you are capable of preventing a war?”

Fynn blinked slowly. “No?”

“This was always going to happen,” the doctor huffed, tapping Fynn’s forehead. “You had a vision, remember?”

The very thought made the human shudder with a jolt of fear. He didn’t want to think about how much fear that had induced, trying to push down those horrific flashes of images from his mind. But, in a way, it made his shoulders sag in defeat. Because he’d had a vision of a war to come, and it seemed like there was no changing that.

“I feel like I could have been more helpful,” he sighed.

“Stop saying stupid things,” Yah’kuulh growled, a snap in his tone that made Fynn’s eyes lift up through his eyelashes. The doctor’s mandibles curled tightly at the sight, and then he sharply turned his head away with a flurry of abrupt whickers. “Stupid human.”

At that, a small smile began to spread across Fynn’s lips. He shuffled forward slowly, until he was close enough to wrap his arms around the doctor’s middle, pressing himself close. Perhaps the most shocking thing, was that the doctor, for the first time, did not kick up a fuss and shove him away harshly. He may not have embraced him back, but a hand rested on the top of Fynn’s head. Because it suddenly struck the medic that this was a goodbye. That he was leaving the planet, and he didn’t know when he was coming back. He didn’t know if he would be coming back to see his family alive or dead.

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he squeezed them shut.

“I have time to say goodbye, though?” He shakily asked, pleased that his face was hidden so Yah’kuulh could not make fun of him. He felt his head nod an inch.

“You have time,” he told him. “I will see you off. You should go to Gi’ja. Your mate and Zu-Huhn’tha are with him, too.”

Fynn clung on for as long as he could (really, until the doctor decided it was enough and moved away first), until his tears were fought back and he succeeded in forcing the moisture out of his eyes. He reluctantly peeled away from the creature, sucking in a shuddering breath at the direness of the situation unfolding. The older creature withdrew his hand, his eyes serious again.

“Do not think what you have been practising has been for nothing,” he informed him sternly. “Keep doing it.”

Fynn nodded his head. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I will. Promise.”

. . .

It seemed that now, officially, word was spreading.

When the medic returned to the hospital room Gi’ja was being kept in for monitoring, there was a heavy atmosphere in the air. Dra’ak immediately greeted his mate with a kiss atop his hair, his chest whickering softly.

“Little one,” he murmured.

Fynn swallowed uneasily. “I know.”

His head tilted towards Gi’ja and Zu, who seemed to be looking at him expectedly. They had time to take their goodbyes slow, to discuss the future that lay ahead of them. War had descended upon Yautja Prime once, and so perhaps a second one could be prevented before it got too bad. There was a prickling anxiety in his stomach, but Fynn tried to be optimistic. He had worried himself to death about A’stuialb, and had only come back stronger from the whole ordeal and the outcome it had provided. He worried about what might happen to Dra’ak on his hunts, if one day he might never come back. But he always did. Fynn, for once, had faith in their strengths, the more he tried not to overthink it all. It would be okay. It should be okay.

“Gi’ja is coming with me to Earth,” he sighed, glancing at the Young Blood with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The young alien didn’t seem to impressed by the idea, his expression twisted into one of annoyance. Zu nodded his head.

“He wants to stay and fight,” he told the medic. “But by a technicality, he did not complete the Ritual.”

“I had the kill,” Gi’ja snapped.

“You did not take it.” Zu sounded a little more serious than Fynn was used to. “There is nothing to do.”

“Besides, Gi’ja,” the medic perked up, his tone taking on a careful and considerate one, knowing that what had happened during the Ritual was still a sore subject for the creature. His eyes flickered to his shoulder, knowing that the skin of his back was branded with that sigil. “I think it’s best you’re away from all of that.”

Both of us, he wanted to say, but he didn’t. The thought caused him to turn to his mate.

“Are you coming to?”

Dra’ak tilted his head. “I will fight, if it comes to it.”

But Mahto-Yau wants you too, he almost replied, biting down on the inside of his cheek. It wouldn’t stop him from attacking, but for whatever reason, the Bad Blood was keen to fulfil his promises of collecting him, Gi’ja and Dra’ak, as though it was his right. For whatever sick, twisted plans he had in mind, he wanted none of them to be part of it.

His expression must have reflected his upsetting thoughts, because Dra’ak’s thumb stroked the flesh of his cheek, tilting his head up to make him look at him.

“Do not fret, little one,” he murmured, but there was an undeniable thickness to his voice, like he wasn’t quite convinced that this was the right thing to do. “I will be fine. I will return to you, safe. We will all make sure that our home is also safe for your return.”

Zu nodded. “This evacuation is not an emergency. Just a precaution.”

“I will miss you, though.”

Fynn warmed at the words, leaning into Dra’ak’s sweet touches and soaking in the love he felt for him. Zu’s mandibles curled at the sight, nodding his head an inch. “I will, too.”

The medic cooed. “I’ll miss you both too. So much.”

Gi’ja pretended to gag.

. . .

Packing his things felt like a foreign concept to him. He was almost so dissociated it reminded him of when he had packed for medical school, leaving behind his childhood home and the memories forged there. Just a blur of slow movements, like he was drunk, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing before it was all done, and he was out of the door. Dra’ak and Zu helped transfer his things onto the ship he would be spending a long while in as it made it’s way to Earth.

Earth. Not something that Fynn had thought about for a very, very long time.

Time on Yautja Prime was slower than it was on Earth, he had been told by Yah’kuulh. Many seasons had gone by while he lived here; would his father be old? Could he have passed away already? What about his sister? The marines that survived? A knot formed in his stomach. Choosing to forge a new life for himself had been the best decision he could have made. Getting tangled up in old memories resurfaced some old doubts he didn’t want to entertain.

He smoothed out the furs along his bed, a rather spacious room with a large window to stare out into space. Considering he’d be occupying a bedroom for the longest time out of everyone on board, that being Gi’ja and the pilot T’auyui, a Yautja close to Dra’ak and the first person he had met on Prime, he was given the largest one.

When he turned around, he noticed Gi’ja lingering by the door, looking as though he wanted to say something. When Fynn opened his mouth to ask, the Young Blood scurried off. Odd.

Exiting the ship, the medic glanced up to the sky, watching intently as a few ships harbouring pups and Unblooded were jetted off into the starry vacuum that was space. His chest felt a little tight, but he tried not to think about it. When he looked away, Eh’kaad was standing in front of him. Fynn blinked sheepishly, feeling taken aback by her sudden presence.

“Eh’kaad,” was all he managed, his voice a little tight. The female creature’s eyes burned into him with an intensity that could make anyone nauseous. They both seemed under prepared for a conversation since the last time they had spoken. It must have been a kick in the gut for Eh’kaad to lecture him on how she raised Gi’ja, and now, it seemed Fynn would be looking after him for however long this evacuation took place for. She didn’t say anything. His heart ached.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said,” he forced out, the words like acid on his tongue, tipping down his throat and burning his heart. The first step broke through Eh’kaad’s stiffness.

“I should not have clipped you,” she spoke low, her eyes drifting to his ear. She had told Dra’ak about that, so he knew she had simply acted impulsively in her anger.

The medic rubbed his ear subconsciously. “It didn’t hurt.”

“You looked hurt.”

“It wasn’t physical.”

“Then I still hurt you.”

Fynn tilted his head back, fiddling with his fingers anxiously. She was almost speaking like she was fighting with words, like it was a matter of life and death. Like she was struggling to keep herself as composed and stoic as she usually was; he could understand. With everything that had happened with Gi’ja, she had to send her two children away to safety, where she could not defend them. It was obvious that despite being such a strong, and independent creature, her family meant everything to her. She knew Mahto-Yau; probably better than Dra’ak ever did, blinded by his brothers affections.

Dare he say, Eh’kaad was a little scared.

“Gi’ja and O’tui will be okay,” he whispered, feeling his eyes well with tears that he willed back. “I swear, Eh’kaad, I’ll protect Gi’ja with my life. I’ll look after him. I’ll make sure that he’s well fed, and warm, and that no harm comes to him and—”

“I know you will,” she interrupted, her voice a little sharp. Her mandibles seemed to twitch. “I never had any doubt.”

He surged forward to hug her, but the female placed a firm hand on his shoulder, keeping him at bay. She shook her head firmly. Hugs were still something he had yet to draw out of her, so he was content that she was at least maintaining the parts of herself that he knew all too well. She instead kneeled in front of him, pressing the crown of her head against his forehead. She closed her eyes, and so did Fynn, soaking in the sound of her affectionate whickers and the moment between them he had ached for for far too long.

In her arms, she seemed to cradle something, leaning back slightly. “Give this to Gi’ja.” It was a skull, not human or one that Fynn recognised, all sharp bones and razor-like teeth. There were beautiful little carvings into it, a treasure that the medic marvelled at before she spoke again. “It was my courting gift to my Zu-Huhn’tha.”

The human blinked. “Courting? But I thought—”

“We are not a conventional family,” she spoke, having gathered her bearings, it seemed. “But it holds a lot of sentimental value to me and to my mate. I do not want it to be destroyed.”

He took the skull with careful hands, not wanting to ruin the value that it clearly held for the alien female. A smile formed across his lips, nodding his head firmly at her request.

“Of course.”

Eh’kaad tilted her head curtly, and then rose to her feet. He placed the skull in Gi’ja’s room, the Young Blood having joined his family outside as he did, and then returned. Even the wise woman, Na-Bi’ka, had visited him before his departure, which he noticed had caused Eh’kaad to linger as far away as she possible could, and a part of him wondered what that was all about. Having already been sentimental enough with Yah’kuulh (and the grumpy Yautja would never get soft in front of other people), he had bid him farewell with a stern lecture and a scoff.

Parting with Dra’ak was always sweet sorrow. After every hunt he had to go on, Fynn just wished he could sneak onto that ship with him and sail away at his side. This time, he fantasised about Dra’ak sneaking onto the ship to stay with him. He didn’t. He anxiously twisted the ring on his finger, staring at his mates sweet, but sad face as the door rose to seal shut. Dra’ak mouthed a final ‘I love you’.

. . .

T’auyui bid his goodbyes to his family and to Dra’ak, making sure that his friend’s mate and Gi’ja were prepared to leave with everything that they needed. He had been stopped by a hand on his shoulder, and turned to greet the face of General Iya’Tah, a figure he had not been expecting to see.

“General,” he greeted respectfully. “What are you doing here?”

“To accompany you,” the creature answered in a stern tone, and something flickered uneasily in the pilot’s chest. His mandibles visibly twitched, before he shook his head.

“I do not believe there was anyone else to accompany me for this evacuation.”

The general’s fingers tightened on his shoulder, just for a fraction of a second, before he released him entirely. There was an air of accusation in his tone, but Iya’Tah did not seemed threatened by it.

“I understand the confusion, I apologise for my hastiness,” he answered. “The Matriarch ordered me under short notice. She seems eager for this vessel to reach Earth safely, even if it means to consider hiring my efforts to protect the two of them. You would not have been told.”

The uneasiness in his chest eased up, and T’auyui regarded the creature with a look of understanding. He patted the general’s shoulder with a nod, urging him on board.

“If the Matriarch wishes, then it shall be so,” the pilot agreed, allowing Iya entry on board.

. . .

Fynn stared out of the window.

Even though he had convinced himself to be optimistic about the situation, he still found a growing sense of hurt in his chest. A tightness that seized his heart and made him want to wallow in misery. He had planned to console Gi’ja when they set off, but found himself too weak to do so.

Instead, he threw himself into his furs and sobbed.

Chapter Text

Fynn had a concerning level of déjà vu whenever he opened his eyes to the view of the stars out of his window, taken aback by the vast expanse of space that greeted him. Since he had first landed on Yautja Prime, he had never set foot off the planet. Just embraced his new life, his new family, and his job, and focused on his health and mind.

All that time ago when Dra’ak had first taken him, he had felt so tiny in a giant world he felt like he had known nothing about. Like he had been stripped of a blindfold and guided out of the small box that had been his life on Earth. The fresh start was a refreshing change that Fynn would forever be grateful for, even the hardships that he had faced along the way. Because it had ultimately made him become a better person, working on his flaws he realised he carried.

It was why he was traversing the ship for Gi’ja - as much of the idea of wallowing in his misery had admittedly gripped him over the course of the first days, the Young Blood was likely hurting just as much as he was, even if he wouldn’t admit it. He still felt a little nauseous from the vast change in atmosphere, something he suddenly felt grateful for having not experienced for a long time. Space travel was still a new concept for him, and an even newer experience. Compared to the pilot, who seemed unaffected by the sickness that bogged him down.

T’auyui spent the first hour of the take off making sure that they’d punched in the right coordinates to their destination, and made sure the route their ship was taking would be safe for the duration of the flight. He had flown these ships for many years, and was well acquainted with the way it worked, like most Yautja.

General Iya’Tah had performed his introductions to Fynn, the medic having had a big scare seeing the unfamiliar intruder on board. But after a small explanation, he eased up, a bit encouraged at the thought of having an extra person on board, just in case something went wrong. He had told him the Matriarch herself ordered him on board, and he trusted her judgement in these matters. For the most part, Iya seemed to keep to himself.

As for another stow away, Fynn had shrieked when fixing his furs, the lizard popping its tiny, scaly head out with innocent eyes. He should have known the sneaky little thing wouldn’t separate from him so easily, and he couldn’t even stay mad when it was looking at him like.

“Hungry.” It whined. The human chuckled, pricking his thumb and letting the lizard lap happily at the blood.

“Okay, buddy,” he sighed. “Here you go. You’re in big trouble, though.”

Satiated, Fynn left the little thing to warm up in his furs, continuing his search for Gi’ja. He found him at the rear end of the ship, training diligently by himself on the mats. Eh’kaad had even lectured Fynn on keeping up with his training, and to make sure he brushes up on his skills while he was away; he shuddered. Eh’kaad’s gruelling training was something he would much rather forget, lest his bones start aching in memory. But he understood why Gi’ja was here - letting off steam.

Even the way he went through those practised motions, there was a sense of aggravation in them, his mandibles curled in frustration. Fynn bit the inside of his cheek, leaning in the doorway.

“Gi’ja,” he called softly. The Young Blood came to an abrupt stop, but didn’t glance his way. The medic pushed off the door, lingering just beyond the mats. Stepping on would likely be seen as an invitation for a spar, and Fynn didn’t want any head injuries.

“What?” the youngling growled impatiently.

“Your wound,” Fynn scarcely brought up, feeling as though he was treading on thin ice bringing it up again. No one but Gi’ja knew what happened during the Blooding Ritual, or at least, the gruesome details he seemed too hesitant to even disclose. He didn’t know if it was because he was being stubborn, or because it had frightened him. Bearing the mark of the Bad Bloods was not something that would fair well later in his life, he assumed. Even now. “It’s still healing. You might damage it with exertion, and if you sweat it could get irritated and infected—”

“Let it rot for all I care.”

Fynn closed his mouth, a sympathetic expression falling across his face. He glanced down at the mats, feet shuffling a little away from them. With a deep breath, he steeled his shoulders, reaching over to the wrack of weapons and pulling out two long training sticks. He strolled onto the mat, tossing one of them at the Young Blood. He caught it easily, but not without confusion, whickering softly.

Well, so much for avoiding Eh’kaad’s words of advice on training.

Fynn offered an encouraging smile, getting into position. There was a moments pause from the creature, as though analysing the situation inside and out. When he deemed the human serious, he gripped the base of the stick and mirrored his stance, swooping forward to attack. Fynn dodged the blow, angling the stick to block another fast hit from the right.

They danced around the mats in a tandem of attacks and blocks, until Gi’ja smacked the stick against Fynn’s back, sending him hurtling face first onto the floor. He let out a groan of pain as he lay there, rubbing his back to try and soothe the familiar sting he felt. Yeah, he didn’t miss this at all. But judging from the way Gi’ja leaned down to pick up his weapon and hand it back to him, he seemed eager for the spar. Fynn took it, using the momentum to help himself up.

“I talked to Mahto-Yau about what happened,” he opened up with after a few more rounds, most of them ending with their weapons knocked out of their hands, or one of them smacked flat on their ass. Gi’ja’s mandible twitched at the mention of him. He tried to hit him a lot harder after that. “You wanted to tell me something, that day in the hospital.”

Gi’ja whickered sharply, as though in an attempt to deny it. But after a moment, he seemed to relent, his fingers tightening around the stick like a lifeline. The words struggled to arrive. Fynn used that momentary distraction to get the upper hand, sweeping his legs hard enough to send him crashing to the ground, hard. He set the stick against his shoulder, smiling smugly.

“What that Bad Blood told you,” he spoke, his voice turning a little serious. “Why couldn’t you tell me?”

Gi’ja remained on the floor, his mandibles curling in an almost stubborn, sheepish gesture. It was like getting blood out of a stone with the Young Blood, but his willingness to spar with him to help him blow off some steam had seemed to soften him up just enough for him to open up.

“You are human,” he answered, refusing to look at him. “I did not want you to be scared.”

It made his heart warm, just a little. He was reminded of what Mahto-Yau had chuckled, in that Gi’ja thought he was trying to protect him from a threat that he believed might scare him. He was a little surprised he had managed to pry that out of him, considering he seemed a little miffed now that a few seconds had passed since he’d told him. But taking the same advantage as the human did, Gi’ja got his revenge and swiftly thrust the butt of the stick up from his position on the floor, cracking right under Fynn’s nose.

He staggered backwards, sudden pain blooming through the bone. His hand flew to his nose, catching the stream of fresh blood trickling out of his nostrils. When his eyes snapped towards the Young Blood in shock, he was already back on his feet, looking particularly smug with himself as he twirled the stick tauntingly.

“Thank you for the spar,” he sniggered.

Fynn frowned, watching the Young Blood, in a much brighter mood than before, happily set the training stick back onto the weapons wrack, and make his leave. The medic felt a little cheated by that move, but regardless, went back to his room with a satisfied smile and a bloody nose.

. . .

There was a shadow of a figure in the transmission room. T’auyui just barely noticed it on the way to blow off some boredom with a little bit of exercise, his head tilting in curiosity. He stepped forwards towards the door, the mechanical contraption whirring open at his prescence. General Iya’Tah stood in front of the transmission device, having just switched it off as the other Yautja entered the room.

He barely cast a glance over his shoulder as T’auyui approached, the shorter Yautja tilting his head up slighty at the sight before him.

“General Iya’Tah,” he greeted, his voice as neutral as he could fathom. “What business do you have in here?”

Iya lifted his hand from the desk, but he didn’t make a move to turn around and face him while he spoke. The Yautja had an uneasy feeling prickling at the back of his neck, like hairs standing to attention as sharp as knives. The transmission room thrummed with the hum of technology, and T’auyui made note of the door sliding shut behind him, sealing them both in together. Iya straightened his back, standing tall.

“I was just relaying a message to the Matriarch,” he explained coolly, motioning to the monitor with a bit of a sharp gesture. “Is that a problem?”

A breath escaped the Yautja, his mandibles twitching at the response. His eyes scanned the room methodically for a few seconds, as though soaking in the tense silence. It only seemed to cause the air to thicken, the dim lights casting an eerie glow over their unmasked faces. T’auyui hummed, the noise enough to make the general glance over his shoulder.

“The Matriarch had very strict instructions regarding the movement of this ship to Earth,” the pilot explained smoothly, the words coming easy to him. He motioned around the room, as though pretending to take a good look at it. “One of those, was that under no circumstances, are we to send a transmission until we reach our destination.”

T’auyui’s eyes fixated on the back of the general’s head, hardening along with the tone of his voice. “I am well aware she must have told you that too, Iya’Tah. So, who are you sending a transmission to?”

A beat of silence cut through the air.

The general’s shoulders seemed to stiffly rise and fall, as though he had sighed deeply. T’auyui’s fingers twitched by his belt, and it was all the movement that the general needed before he surged forward in a blurry rush. He slammed T’auyui hard against the wall, slashing the sharp edge of a knife straight across his throat. The pilot gurgled in pain, his mandibles stretching as he attempted to wrestle the general off him. He struck hard with his dagger, swinging it around for his head. Iya blocked it with his hand, the knife stabbing straight through the flesh. His face twitched in pain, before slamming T’auyui’s head against the wall once more, and stabbing his knife through the flesh of his already torn neck.

The pilot writhed, his words reduced to nothing but a gurgled wheeze, bucking against him when the knife was twisted harshly through severed flesh. He spluttered a large mouthful of neon green blood, his death a swift one. Iya followed his slumping body to the ground, his hand held tight around the handle of the knife. His mandibles curled, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment.

“I am sorry, T’auyui,” he murmured, before stabbing him through his brain to ensure that he was dead.

. . .

When he went to sleep off his exhaustion from the sparring session with Gi’ja, he was surprised there was no visit from Mahto-Yau. Dra’ak’s presence had always been there to soothe him after each one, and he feared he wouldn’t be able to concentrate as efficiently anymore without his comfort.

But it seemed Mahto-Yau was not visiting his dreams. Probably busy preparing for the war, Fynn thought to himself with a frown as he got changed, not sure if he preferred the alternative or not. He put out the candles at the foot of his bed, inhaling the pleasant, Earthy aroma that reminded him of Prime. He felt a twinge of sadness at the realisation that he had really left his home behind, and might not see it for some time. A horrid sting of homesickness stabbed at him. He gave a deep sigh, fiddling with his necklace to try and push those dangerous thoughts away. Optimistic, remember? He could do that.

As though the world wanted to make a mockery of his thoughts, the whole suddenly ship rocked in a violent motion, as though something had crashed into the side of it. The force was enough to send him flying across his bedroom, his skull thudding against the wall. When his knees crumpled beneath him, the ship was plunged in a sea of red emergency lights.

His eyes darted around, a sharp curse on his tongue. After an unsteady wobble on his feet, Fynn composed himself and darted out of his bedroom. An anxious skip assaulted his heart. It had barely been a week on board, and there was something horribly wrong. He could feel it in his gut, in the way his chest seemed to tighten with anxiety.

His feet were making a break for it, bolting down the corridors in any search of Gi’ja. Another violent bang rocked the ship, forcing him to throw his arms out to catch himself against the wall. A flurry of shadows were cast against the wall opposite him, and Fynn scurried forward to see what was going on.

Figures emerged from the end of the corridor, shadowed by the ominous, dim red lighting that had swallowed the ship whole. Fynn’s eyes caught a glimpse of the first one, clearly Yautja in size and shape. But what he could just make out behind that huge, muscular frame, were limbs made from metal, thrumming an unnatural colour. Mandible bared faces turned his way, and Fynn’s heart sank to his chest. He ducked for cover almost instantly, his heart standing tall in his throat. Bad Bloods.

The medic forced his feet to move, pushing on deeper into the ship. His mind was racing with all sorts of raging thoughts, like how they had found them, how they had got on board, and where the other members of the ship were. Adrenaline kept him from melting down - not when Gi’ja was on board, and not when he had promised Eh’kaad that he would look after him.

The Young Blood in question had emerged from his room, and Fynn grasped his arm with a panicked sense of urgency, tugging him along with him.

“Bad Bloods have infiltrated the ship,” he forced out, the breath punched out of his lungs. Gi’ja followed him, and he could sense the stiffness plaguing his lungs at the statement. His eyes darted frantically around him, desperately attempting to put together some sort of scantily crafted plan in the panic he was feeling. “We know the ship better than they do. Gi’ja, you have to keep going to the escape pods at the rear end of the ship. Get in one now.”

The Young Blood’s mandibles flicked open and closed nervously, his head whipping back over his shoulder. A protest fired on his tongue. “What about you?”

He dragged him aside, between a corridor that sent them down two different paths. “I need to circle back around and find T’auyui and Iya’Tah. Send a message or, or something. I don’t know.”

“You have to get in an escape pod, too.”

“I’ll take another pod,” the human bit out. “I’m not letting them leave with you. I need to find some kind of self destruct, I think. Yeah, okay. Blow them up before they can get anything. I have to find T’auyui. You have to get out of here, Gi’ja. Now.”

“I am not leaving alone.”

“It’s you they want, Gi’ja,” Fynn snapped, feeling a flurry of frustration winding into his throat. His heart was hammering so heavily in his chest, he wasn’t sure if he could even feel himself breathing properly. “Go to the escape pods, now.”

“And you,” the Young Blood whickered shakily.

“I don’t matter.”

“You…” He could barely find the words. “…do.”

Fynn’s eyes momentarily widened, before he placed his hands on the young Yautja’s shoulder, urging him a little closer so he could speak in a hushed, urgent tone. His stomach knotted in anxiety.

“I promised your mother that you would be safe,” he forced out, the words almost punching the air from his lungs. He felt his eyes stinging with a round of tears, forcing them back with the little courage he had left to swallow. “I swore to her. Please, Gi’ja. For Eh’kaad’s sake, get in that escape pod. Get out of here alive. You’ll be too fast for them to follow you. Please, Gi’ja. Go.”

The Young Blood hesitated as he parted from him, his feet shuffling backwards in the direction of the escape pods. His eyes stared intently at Fynn, as though silently beckoning him to follow, the ever so quiet sound of scared whickering vibrating in his chest. The medic sucked in a sharp breath, jerking his head and mouthing another firm ‘go’ at him. The Young Blood steeled his nerves, dreadlocks whipping as he took off down the corridor. His retreating figure was swallowed by the red lights, and only when he was sure he was gone, did Fynn set to work.

Adrenaline stung through his veins, urging him on through the ship. He felt bare without a weapon, but from what he had seen, the Bad Bloods had not been wearing masks, so their vision would be impaired in the dim lights. He and Gi’ja knew the map of the ship a lot better than them from a weeks experience, and so could cover distance a lot faster.

He was smaller. More agile; he squeezed through smaller spaces to cut the time short, and ensure he didn’t run into any of them in the open corridors. With the cockpit in eyeline, Fynn noticed the outline of a familiar figure standing in the room, his determination soaring like a jet.

“General Iya-Tah!” He called out, darting towards him. “General—”

His foot slipped on something slick, forcing his arms to flail widely to catch his balance. His eyes shot down, and even under the lighting, he recognised the pool of neon green blood under his feet. A sickening feeling curled in his gut, following the trail to the door of the transmissions room. It was leaking from under the crack.

Shakily giving the unmoving Iya once last glance, Fynn slowly crept over the second room, the door whirring open ominously. His eyes drank in the horrific sight of the body slumped against the wall, his familiar scales and face frozen in a restless, pained expression. Neon green flesh and blood was twisted unnaturally at his neck, slashed open in a gruesome display.

“T’auyui,” Fynn squeaked, nausea eating at his throat. He pressed a hand to his mouth, backing out of the transmissions room and towards the general. “General, you have to listen. It’s the Bad Bloods, I saw them, they boarded the ship and…” Fynn swallowed, his eyes darting to the neon green blood covering his claws. They twitched as his sentence trailed off. “…and I came to try and see if, if there was—”

His throat tightened inexplicably as the general turned around, splecks of neon green blood splattered on his cheek. His eyes looked haunted, boring into the human with an intensity that made a shudder hurdle down his spine. His heart raced against his ribs.

“The Matriarch never sent you on board,” he whispered, his hands shaking. “Did she?”

The general’s head inclined down, before he reached for something in his belt. It resembled something like a mouth piece, or an oxygen mask, and Fynn started backing up before he could stop himself.

“I was told not to hurt you,” Iya rumbled, his voice rough. There was a clear warning ringing in the air when he spoke. “Do not make this harder than it needs to be.”

He descended on him before he could make a break for it, his arm barricading him hard enough against the wall to knock the air straight out of his lungs with a strangled gasp. He thrust the mouth piece against his face, big enough to cover his nose and his mouth, thumbing at the small button near the base. Fynn struggled, squealing, assaulted by a gust of air flooding down his throat like cold ice. But something struck Iya hard against the face, causing a roar to erupt from his throat as he launched away from him. The mask clattered to the ground, sending Fynn to his knees with a hard thud.

Iya’s hand pressed over his left eye, green blood trickling from the crevices of his fingers, his shoulders hunched with angry, ragged breaths. “You little—!”

The human’s vision was suddenly swimming, the floor beneath his hands swaying and twirling like he was spinning in circles. He felt hands grab harshly at his shoulders, blinking blearily up at the unexpected face of his saviour, a swirly mirror image of Gi’ja. He hurled him harshly to his feet, dropping the blood soaked knife he’d used to slash Iya’s eye. Once he was standing steady, they took off from the injured Yautja with renewed vigour. From a swift glance, it seemed like the Young Blood was carrying his mothers courting gift on his belt - he must have gone back for it.

Before Fynn could feel angry at the fact that Gi’ja had risked his safety when he had told him to go for the escape pod, another wave of terrible dizziness smacked into him. He didn’t even realise he’d crumbled to the ground with a loud thunk, a low moan escaping his lips at the assaulting haziness in his head.

Gi’ja stuttered to a stop, rushing back to him with a concerned whicker. He went to lift him up again, not deterred by the human’s woozy shaking off his head.

“Go,” he desperately tried to tell him, but his tongue felt like lead in his mouth. A flicker of a shadow behind Gi’ja made his heart lurch into his throat, choking out his name in a harrowing cry. “Gi’ja!”

The Bad Blood grabbed the Young Blood with a rough tug, jerking him into his encircling arms. The smaller creature bucked violently, his mandibles stretched in a roaring growl that rumbled threateningly from his throat. The Bad Blood remained completely unphased by his struggling, his arm squeezing him tight against him, no matter the valiant struggle he put up. Fynn moaned, feeling his head thud against the floor once more.

It was the same Bad Blood he had caught a glimpse of before. His body, impressive in sheer size and muscle, seemed to be intertwined with flesh-like machinery, glowing with an unnatural purple hue. He was one of the biggest Yautja he had ever seen, practically dwarfing the struggling Young Blood in his arms. He reached round to press an identical mouth piece against Gi’ja’s mouth, holding the same button at the base of the mask. Gi’ja flailed, his eyes squeezed shut, but his efforts didn’t even break the Bad Blood out in a sweat. Instead, his eyes flicked up to look at Iya, whose breathing was a little ragged.

“I did not see him,” Iya protested, his mandibles clacking defensively at the Bad Blood’s scrutinising gaze. The knife had cut clean across his left eye, likely rendering it completely blind. Blood trickled down his cheek, pooling under his chin. The general wiped it away with a growl.

Fynn got his shaking arms underneath him, sweat beading across the expanse of his forehead. He didn’t know what he was gassed with, but he knew even just a small mouthful had rendered him as limp as noodles. His throat closed when he glanced at Gi’ja, the Young Blood still trying to fight off the strong wave of drowsiness that hit him. He whickered unsteadily, moulding against the Bad Blood when he finally seemed to slump into unconsciousness.

“He will not need much more,” the Bad Blood grunted, handing the mask to Iya with narrowed, beady eyes. He felt the general turn him over by his shoulder, pressing him hard against the ground. “He will not wake up until we are at Dracehines.”

The human tried to push against him, but Iya easily slotted the mask back over his face. He felt sticky blood smudge against his cheeks, making him groan weakly. The Bad Blood hefted Gi’ja up, turning his broad, scarred back to the general. His dreadlocks were decorated with mottled black cuffs, donned in hard, steel armour. Iya seemed to hesitate, for a fraction of a second, staring at the humans wide, frightened eyes. A deep sigh escaped him, his thumb brushing over the button.

“I am sorry,” he murmured, pressing it in. “For what will happen.”

Cold air flooded into his throat, and Fynn moaned, his hands weakly hitting his chest in protest. It only took a few seconds for a second dose of the sedative to take effect, his eyelids drooping with a delayed flutter. As his mind filled with clouds of cotton, he couldn’t help but feel a final, fleeting sense of dread.

. . .

Dra’ak’s chest arose with soft whickers, his mandibles curling anxiously as he tilted his head back to glance at the dark, open sky. He had a bad feeling.

Chapter Text

The first thing that Fynn registered was the press of something hard against his cheek. He felt a slurred, low moan escaping his lips, barely even able to get his eyes open. Blurry lights seemed to streak across his vision, twinkling clearer with each sluggish blink, until he could just make out the shapes in front of him.

“Waking up?” Mahto-Yau drawled, his tone of voice dripping with a smugness that would have made Fynn scoff. Right now, he found himself not able to do much. He seemed to be laying face down, cheek pressed into the floor, but it was like his body was disconnected from each neuron, leaving him completely paralysed.

His lips moved, sluggish mumbles escaping them.

“Am I…” His eyelids fluttered, a heavy sigh escaping him. He was so disorientated that he couldn’t even fathom the well of panic building in his chest, snuffed out like the budding light of a candle. “Why can’t I move?”

The Yautja hummed, the sound almost deflated. Like the prospect of the reality wasn’t as amusing to him. He seemed to rise taller, out of Fynn’s already spotty view, and he wondered if he had been crouched close to him. Even his voice sounded further away, distorting in his already sluggish mind. “Because you’re not actually awake.”

Fynn’s lips moved around nothing, his tongue too heavy. His head throbbed suddenly, feeling a sudden seize jerk his body. He moaned, fingers twitching in feeble effort.

“Ow,” he slurred, his temple pulsing slightly. “What happened?”

“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, considering you’re so out of it,” Mahto-Yau hummed, his voice mocking as he stared down upon his sluggish state. “I told you that I was going to take you away, Fynn. You and Gi’ja both.”

Blaring alarm. Red lights — he just barely remembered. Mahto-Yau glanced around him briefly as the medic’s mind stirred with blurry memories. He chuckled darkly.

“You’re on your way to Dracehines,” he told him. “You won’t wake until they arrive. You may have the Matriarch’s blood in your system, but you’re still human. The sedative will keep you under.”

Dracehines. Fynn had heard that name just before he passed out, but it was far away in his thoughts. He wondered how long ago that had been, but his sense of time was so fuzzy. It must be a planet, he realised, probably where Mahto-Yau had integrated himself during his exile. He knew it would be bad, but considering Iya’Tah’s deviation from his clan? How did the Bad Bloods convince him to turn his back on his people?

He felt a nudge against his cheek. A rough knuckle.

“Even now, you’re thinking so hard,” the Bad Blood purred. “Just relax. Stop thinking for a little while and enjoy your peace until you awake up.”

Fynn’s eyelids fluttered; he knew there was no point in fighting it. If his consciousness was under a strong sedative, then this was where he would be staying until it cleared. He wished he could feel any kind of panic, or terror, that could snap him out of this. But the medic only felt numb. Blackness crawled across his vision, Mahto-Yau’s dark chuckle fuzzy in his ears.

“All of this will be so easy,” the creature cooed, his voice a blanket over his mind,” if you just submit.”

. . .

Gi’ja jerked on the chains until he felt his joints ache from the sheer force, his mind still foggy and disorientated from the drug. He’d roused from unconsciousness a few times, but had finally gathered the strength to stay awake. Barely.

His mandibles were curled angrily, dreadlocks snapping against his shoulders with each rough tug. The human was lying just out reach, out cold, from what he could determine. They hadn’t even chained him up. He was just lying there and he couldn’t even do anything about it.

The young Yautja growled, a defence mechanism to hide his uneasiness. He wasn’t sure what to do — he was stripped of any and all weapons, and there didn’t seem to be any lingering around. He was trying to force himself to still and think logically, but there was a twinge of emotion that he could feel clouding his judgement.

He stilled, growling harder.

The Bad Bloods hadn’t bothered to check on him, though their lack of frequent patrols would work in his favour. The both of them were small, and if efficient enough, they may very well be able to sneak off into an escape pod.

Not that Gi’ja knew where they were in this new ship, but that mattered little.

Twisting his wrists, he continued to work at a weak spot in the cuffs with valiant effort. When they were unconscious, the Bad Bloods had ran a blade over their palms. The wounds had healed quickly, but the leftover blood had reduced some friction against his skin.

Gi’ja didn’t know what purpose they had slashing their skin while unconscious, but nothing was relevant but escape right now.

Growing increasingly more frustrated, the young creature threw his head back against the wall with a resounding slam. His mandibles flared wide, eyes jerking back to the human.

A stray dreadlock fell over his face, and the Yautja steadied himself. With a soft grunt of effort, he pressed the edge of the cuff hard into the meat at the top of his thumb, twisting and grinding the skin until it pierced. He felt blood pooling amongst the metal, trickling down the crevice of his fingers. His mandibles curled tight, but a determined glint fixed in his eye. He swallowed the pain down easily, even as the gruelling process seemed to stretch on for far too long.

He felt the metal become slick with blood, angling his fingers in a way that made it easier for his hand to slip through. The constricting cuff squeezed his joints uncomfortably, to the point where he felt a jarring pop in his left thumb. He bit back a wince, but his hand popped through the cuff easily enough with the lack of friction now.

Gi’ja made fast work of freeing the other hand, neon green blood coating the metal and shimmering under the dim lights. His stiff legs swiftly righted themselves, climbing to his feet as he gazed at his thumb with narrowed eyes. It didn’t hurt too much, just felt jarringly uncomfortable. But that was okay.

He bent down beside the human, trying to gather his racing thoughts. Although he itched for a fight, he knew he was outnumbered amongst a crew of adult Bad Bloods.

Checking for any injuries, Gi’ja noted that apart from the little wound on his palm, the human was unharmed. The sedative was strong for a human it seemed, as when the young Yautja tossed him around to try and find a suitable way of carrying him, there wasn’t even a stir in his breath.

He turned for the door, just as it whirred open.

Gi’ja bared his mandibles, grip tightening on the limp human over his shoulder. Iya’Tah’s form lingered in the doorway, his eye fixing on the Young Blood with an unreadable expression. He can’t discern what he’s thinking; there was something over his eye, the one he’d slashed, and he feels a flicker of pride at that.

Traitor.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

Iya’s murmur is low, and dangerous. A clear unspoken command: behave. The Young Blood did not have the upper hand like before, a very clear lack of weaponry and an unconscious human over his shoulder. Outnumbered and outmatched, Gi’ja understood his situation well. His mother, however, had not taught him to back down from a fight.

But as he lunged ferociously, Iya utilised the weight of the human against him, tipping him to the side enough to gain an effortless upper hand. In an attempt to soften the human’s fall, Iya slithered between the protective opening, wrapping an arm around Gi’ja’s neck and trapping him against his chest. The medic hit the ground with a thunk, head first, a quiet moan of pain slipping past his unconscious lips.

Gi’ja’s mandibles flailed, a rumble of rude curses flying from his lips as he clawed at Iya’s arm, thrashing in an attempt to gain a futile upper hand. Iya boxed the Young Blood back into the room, who’s feet purposely dragged along the floor, trying to find any purchase to attack. Iya’s eyes were cold, his voice a damning reflection on the situation they were in.

“Do not make this harder for yourself,” he hissed, and Gi’ja choked on a squawk as his arm tightened around his neck. His protests persisted. “You do not understand.”

The door gave a loud whir once more, drawing Iya’s attention away from the thrashing Gi’ja, meeting the gaze of a disapproving Bad Blood. They tilted their head at the scene, mandibles twisting into something cruel, before hefting the human by the back of his collar. Gi’ja growled.

“Is he proving too much for you,” the Bad Blood taunted. “Again?”

His eye twitched. A coil of annoyance festered in his gut, because he shoved it down with a sharp whicker. The Bad Blood merely regarded him with a look of mockery, before he removed the human’s unconscious form from the room.

Gi’ja’s eyes followed him intently before he was out of sight. He gave another sharp tug, before Iya let out another frustrated growl, and pinched the back of his neck with his claws, shoving him forward to the door rougher than he had intended.

“I will kill you,” Gi’ja hissed, his mandibles wrinkled and his eyes blazing with untouched fury. “I will take more than your eye next time.”

“I would hold your tongue,” Iya warned. “Mahto-Yau may not cut it out, but he will make you live to regret it.”

The Young Blood sent him a piercing glare. “You think I am scared of him?”

“You should be.”

The ships lights dimmed to a soft glow as it made it’s descent to the planet Dracehines, that familiar hum that vibrated through the ships walls filling the air. As said, Fynn found himself rousing from unconsciousness minutes before they touched down onto the planet, first overwhelmed by the sharp pain in his temple.

He shifted, his limbs like jelly as his fingers gently ghosted over a light bruise on his temple. He winced as he squinted against the lights, trying to form a coherent thought in the disorientation. It hit him quite suddenly; that was right.

Everything that happened on the ship, the Bad Bloods, Gi’ya. The dream with Mahto-Yau faded into the back of his mind, as his hazy eyes darted to the figure slumped beside him. A rush of protectiveness flushed through his core, as his gaze met a worried Gi’ja. Wrists bound tightly in front of him. It was obvious he had not been wrestled here without a fight.

“Gi’ja?” He croaked, the inside of his mouth uncomfortably dried out. It ached to swallow, a hand flying up to the base of his throat. He was unrestrained, unlike Gi’ja. Clearly, they did not find there was a reason to like the Young Blood. “You okay?”

The Yautja barely managed a nod. Fynn’s lips curved, feeling the ship touch down onto the ground with a small shudder through their feet. The interior of the doorway began to slowly rise, a low setting sun flooding them with a golden hue. Fynn winced and turned away, his eyes tracking the movement of two Yautja’s approaching them from the opposite side. Iya went for Gi’ja first, lifting him up abruptly by his cuffs.

The human felt a flurry of anger rush through him.

“Don’t touch him,” came hissing from his mouth before he could stop himself, staggering to his feet with the help of the wall before the second figure’s hand engulfed his shoulder with a rough shove. Fynn barely caught his balance, tossing a glance over his shoulder.

He recognised this Yautja — his size was unlike anything he had seen, and all of that machinery entwined with flesh? A cold feeling spread through his stomach as the Bad Blood shadowed him, Fynn’s steps falling beside Gi’ja. He caught the glance of a huge building looming above them, it’s architecture and sheer size completely abnormal to him, before they were escorted inside.

The weight of the situation seemed to now suffocate him.

This place was grand, something fit for a king.

Mahto-Yau seemed to think of himself as a God, and the medic felt the crushing implication on his shoulders. Bile clogging in his throat, reminding him of all of those nightmares, his visions, everything that Mahto-Yau had done to torture the people that he cared about. In his brewing panic, he only just noticed Iya beginning to lead Gi’ja down an adjacent corridor, different to where the Bad Blood was taking him.

He immedietly opened his mouth in protest. “Gi’ja!”

The Young Blood fought against Iya’s grip on his cuffs for a second, just as the Bad Blood steeled a brutal hand against his shoulder and roughly forced the medic to keep moving. He craned his neck round, panic clawing at his throat.

“Hey!” He shouted, panic layered under anger. “Where are you taking him? Hey!”

His questions were left unmistakably unanswered, his heart beginning to hammer swifter in his chest. The weight of the claws pressing into his shoulder grounded a harsh reality he struggled to swallow; with Gi’ja out of sight, he needed to be careful. He couldn’t protect him the way he wanted to, so if he acted up in any way these Bad Bloods didn’t like, it would be easy for them to lay a hand on him as a consequence.

Not that Gi’ja couldn’t protect himself.

But Fynn had made a promise to his mother. He was unwilling to break it so easily.

The medic’s feet felt as heavy as lead as he was marched down the length of the hall, passing through an arched doorway and into a large opening harbouring him. His breath stuttered in his throat. Seeing Mahto-Yau in his dreams felt vivid enough, but it could have never prepared him for how all consuming his presence was in real life.

Spread languidly against his throne, Mahto-Yau’s head was tilted towards something else preoccupying his attention, which as Fynn stepped closer, he realised was a someone. A girl, human.

Fynn wanted the carpet to swallow him whole. She was perched on the twisted armrest, her legs draped across his own much larger ones. An immodest gown clung to her olive skin, black hair cascading down her shoulders while some of it was pinned up at the middle of her skull with a pretty pin. She smiled at Mahto-Yau; it didn’t reach her eyes.

Something in his gut twisted.

It was naive of the Fynn to believe that he was the only human ever taken from Earth, but the idea that some poor soul had ended in the Bad Bloods hands? It made him shiver. Who was to say that she was the only one?

A silence hushed over the hall as the Bad Blood escorting him shoved him harshly just beyond the steps leading up to the throne. His knees thunked to the ground and he held back a huff of pain, his fingers curling instinctively against the floor.

He might have thrown him a glare, if he even had the strength. He was paralysed by an old feeling of panic.

“Come now,” Mahto-Yau coaxed, his head tilting towards him in some sort of lazy interest. “We’re well acquainted by now. There’s no need to be shy.”

Fynn swallowed the acrid lump in his throat. Then, he steeled his shoulders, lifting his eyeline just enough for him to see the mirth lingering there. The Yautja shifted in amusement.

“Where was Gi’ja taken?” He demanded, his voice quiet, but firm. Mahto-Yau curled a lazy arm around the girl’s waist, his claws resting subtly on the curve of her thigh.

“He’s perfectly safe,” he answered smoothly, waving his free hand. “In his room. I want my nephew to be comfortable before I meet him, after all.”

“He has nothing to do with this,” the medic swallowed.

Mahto-Yau twitched. “He has everything to do with this.” The words were sharp, like a knife to his gut. “Let’s not rehash a conversation we’ve had so many times before. You’re here because I want you here. Gi’ja is here because I want him here. Because we’re family.”

“You turned your back on your family,” Fynn snapped, not ignoring the way Mahto-Yau’s gaze seemed to linger on the Bad Blood behind him, inclining his head in a silent command to hold still. For now. “Did you forget?”

“You’ve become so bold, Fynn.” His words were measured, a lack of emotion lacing them. The very sound made tingles reverabte down his spine, and he caught the way, for the first time, the girl on the Yautja’s lap turned her head to look at him with pitiful eyes. “It’s…unsightly.”

The mask shimmered under the glamorous lights.

“You don’t understand your place, but that’s okay. I have centuries to pick you apart and put you back together. Your mind is a sweet little thing, but I know how to make you sweeter.”

Fynn’s gut twisted. Mahto-Yau’s pressing tone seemed to relax, and he waved a hand around them, as though showing off his grand home.

“This place is a luxury. You won’t have to want, or go hungry, or cold,” the honeyed words slipped right from his tongue like even he believed his own words. “You’ll learn to love it. Appreciate what you’ve been given. Once the war is over, you’ll be grateful I was so eager to have you on the winning side.”

Fynn released a shuddering exhale. “I should be grateful? For what? For locking me in a gilded cage? For destroying my home and my people?”

“Well,” Mahto-Yau laughed airily. “You know what they say about birds and cages. You remain here long enough, and you’ll be too helpless to leave. Even when the cage door is opened.”

The human’s expression flashed with a crack of mirth, fracturing across the glint in his eyes like lightening. Mahto-Yau seemed to revel in the image, as though he was only imagining all the ways he could snuff that look in his eyes beneath his thumb.

“I can also make you and Gi’ja’s stay here a lot more unpleasant.” There was an implication in his voice that made Fynn’s jaw tick. “Treat you like the prisoners of war you so wish to be. But I can see you’re tired, and a bit worked up.” His voice took on a mocking edge that grated under the medic’s skin. “Let’s not be rash.”

The Bad Blood suddenly turned to the girl, still gazing gently at Fynn. His claws gripped her jaw hard, wrenching her head round to face him abruptly. She seized up, her attention focused solely on him.

“Yasmin,” he drawled, his voice drawn out into a gentle, almost loving tone. “Why don’t you show him around? Let him get familiar?”

The girl winced as his claws pricked her skin, but nodded eagerly regardless. His arm uncurled from her waist as he nudged her off the throne, her bare feet padding along the floor. Little pieces of jewellery gently jingled as she gracefully moved down the steps, and Fynn tensed as she gently held his arm to her chest.

“Let’s have a proper talk over dinner tomorrow,” Mahto-Yau purred, a promise that made his skin shiver. Yasmin gently tugged him along, past the looming Bad Blood and through a lone corridor. The two of them both seemed to deflate without the pressure of looming eyes. Finally focusing his gaze on the girl, there was a moment of silence as they silently ghosted through the hallway, stopping by a large, curved set of stairs.

Yasmin let go of his arm, clasping her hands together in front of her gently. She didn’t seem to know what to say, so Fynn broke the ice for her. He sucked in a slow breath.

“How long have you been here?”

The question seemed to catch her off guard, and for a second, he was sure he saw a cheeky smile tug at the corner of her lips.

“That’s the first thing you ask?” She teased. The medic blushed in embarrassment, not really sure where to look when she had a distinct lack of proper clothes on. He cleared his throat shyly.

“Sorry,” he sighed tightly. “I just—this is all a bit—I mean, I’m just—”

Her expression softened. “I know.”

Yasmin tucked a small curl behind her ear, her eyes darting around the empty staircase like someone might be listening.

“If you want answers, let’s go to the medical wing,” she offered, holding her hand out for him to take. Her eyes suddenly saddened. “My, um, friend is in bad shape. I would like to go and see her.”

Fynn hesitated, and then took her hand. She instantly interlocked their fingers, gently guiding him through a home that seemed to hauntingly familiar to her. He glanced at her in thought, before opening his mouth to speak at the realisation of what she had just said.

“Your friend?” He pressed. “Another human?”

She nodded. “Yes. There’s three of us. Olive, she…” Yasmin hesitated, her fingers softly squeezing his for reassurance. He squeezed back. “She was hurt badly, and it’s a slow recovery. We only had each other for a while before he came.”

The medic listened intently.

“They pulled him from some wreckage. He was a mess, and already dead. Almost burned to a cinder. But the medic here, he’s very good,” Yasmin praised, her cheeks flushing a light pink. “He couldn’t completely heal the scarring, or his vocal chords, but he saved his life.” Suddenly, her voice wilted. “Though, I wonder, sometimes, if that was truly a miracle or not.”

As they reached the medical wing, the door slid open with a soft whoosh, revealing the room inside. Perched in a bed was a small girl, with short mousy brown curls, a bandage wrapped securely around her head and under her jaw. Her face was twisted in pain, tears tumbling down her cheeks and her eyes welling with sorrow.

Just from a few moments of observation, Fynn could conclude she had likely broken her jaw.

Yasmin let out a soft sound as she saw Olive, another human figure perched by the bed with his back to them. He seemed to be cradling Olive’s hand in comfort. She turned to the lingering Yautja in the room, the Bad Blood symbol branded clear as day on his forehead. A wall of weariness built up around Fynn, keeping his eyes focused on him. Yasmin turned to the Yautja with a hushed voice.

“Haven’t you given her any painkillers?”

The Yautja’s whickers curled with regret. “I can’t give her more doses until tomorrow morning.”

Yasmin’s eyes filled with sadness, turning to Fynn with a pitiful expression. She forced a smile, squeezing his hand assuringly, before letting go and joining the male human by the side of the bed. She placed a hand on his shoulder, exchanging a nod, and they promptly switched seats.

The medic watched the exchange softly, his eyes drifting to the male as he finally turned to face him.

Fynn’s hands flew to his mouth. All of the air punched out of his gut in a single second, his wide eyes roaming over a familiar face with bone chilling shock. Because it was him, beneath those burn scars across his face, pained brown eyes just as shocked at the sight of Fynn, too. And Yasmin’s story, pulled from a wreckage, almost burned to a cinder, echoed in his mind.

His voice was a choked out whisper.

“Pink...”

Chapter Text

“Pink?”

Even the name that escaped his lips felt like an scorching burn on his tongue, an unfamiliar twist of his lips. The marine stared at him with equal parts shock and disbelief, his expression frozen. Fynn opened his mouth to say something else, but his throat had quickly closed up.

Distantly, the room hushed, and Yasmin turned to look at them with surprise lingering in her eyes. Pink slowly closed the distance first, his hand hovering near Fynn’s shoulder for a moment, before his arms gently wrapped around him. The medic returned the hug with a scoff, his fingers pressing hard into his back, as if to try and come to terms with the fact that he was really there.

“You two know each other?” Yasmin blinked in gentle surprise, exchanging a look with the Bad Blood before fixating on Pink’s face. The marine stiffly leaned back, a warm hand present on his shoulder as he took the opportunity to look him up and down.

Fynn blinked, trying to untwist his tongue.

“Yes,” he breathed, staring at Pink’s face. There was very obvious scarring, though not enough to disfigure. Regardless of how much damage the explosion had done, whoever had treated him had done a near-impossible job at a recovery. With what Fynn knows now, Pink must have been infused with Yautja blood, too. He swallowed.

Even the memories felt distant. He’d long buried what had happened back then. “We were on the same drop back on Earth. I was there when he…” His mouth went dry. “When…”

Heat prickled at the back of his neck that resembled fire, the reflection of the flames warring in his eyes for a moment before he steadied himself. He glanced at him again, a well of emotion flooding his chest.

“How are you alive?” He choked.

Yasmin perched on the end of the hospital bed, Olive’s hand resting between hers for a slither of comfort. She gave a small smile.

“They said they pulled Nathan from a burned wreckage, that he had died in a fire,” she explained again, and then nudged her head in the direction of the watching Bad Blood in the room. “Ma’thi was the medic who revived him.”

Even as his stomach churned with phantom memories, the sheer idea still felt somewhat impossible to him. He had remembered Pink’s death, the thundering explosion that had engulfed the ship in flames with the marine inside. Pink tilted his head, and gave a little shrug. Pointed to Fynn, and then signed a question.

The medic’s lips parted. “Oh.”

“I couldn’t save his voice,” Ma’thi piped up, his eyes still lingering on Fynn. “But he is a capable communicator.”

“My sign language is rusty,” he admitted softly, earning a quiet laugh from Yasmin.

“He’s teaching us, too,” she giggled, lifting her hands to make some clumsy, and rather shabby signs. “We are not good.”

Despite it all, the medic couldn’t help but smile, and Pink took the opportunity to repeat his sign a little slower, and more simplified.

“What happened after?” He signed, something hardening in his eyes as he stilled for a second, before committing to his sentence. “With the Y-A-U-T-J-A?”

He couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up in his throat. He pressed a hand over his mouth, before shaking his head with a heavy sigh. A long story would be an understatement to catch Pink up on everything that had happened in his life since their paths had taken drastically different turns.

“A lot,” Fynn breathed.

“Well, we are always open to new stories,” Yasmin beamed, tucking that stray piece of hair behind her ear again when it fell in front of her face. “No one bothers us in here. And, we’re here a lot.” Her eyes saddened, and she squeezed Olive’s hand. The girl looked utterly miserable, fresh tears still dripping from her chin and her eyes glazed over in pain. “For one reason or the other…”

The medic’s lips curved in sympathy. “How did you and Olive get here?”

Yasmin’s eyes darted away for a moment, as though she was mulling the answer over. She turned to Olive, her eyes softening with a gentleness that was handling delicate glass. “Olive?” She prompted. The girl miserably shrugged her shoulders, hardly listening to their conversation.

Yasmin’s lips curved sadly, before forcing a smile. “Olive was part of a cult.”

Fynn blinked in surprise.

“From about fourteen, or fifteen, I think. She never spoke too much about it, and we didn’t want to pry. From what we gathered, she doesn’t have a clear memory of her life before the cult. They had some pretty traditional customs, but they also worshipped the stars, and often took people off the streets to sacrifice them to any aliens that might come.”

“When she turned eighteen, they served Olive up as a sacrifice, too. To a Yautja. Like she was some hunting trophy for them to do what they pleased with. She was taken here shortly before I arrived,” Yasmin explained, and it looked like she needed a moment to swallow the bile down in her throat. Her thumb traced the delicate ridges of the girls knuckles, like she was remembering how much smaller they used to be when they had first met.

“As for me,” she steeled. “I was hiking with my friends when we accidentally crossed paths with them. They just so happened to prefer me alive. I was taken on their ship and brought here. I met Olive, Ma’thi, Nathan, and now you.”

Fynn noted how she didn’t seem to mention what happened to her friends, or even really go into immense details. He respected her decision, filling in the gaps for himself with a bit of a nauseating feeling pooling into his gut. Bad Bloods were littered with criminals who had committed the most vile atrocities, not only within their clans, but across the galaxy, too. There was a possibility she would confide in him with more details later.

Against the odds, Yasmin smiled at the medic. “So? Your turn.”

A breath escaped his lips, chewing on the start of his story like he wasn’t quite sure where to start.

“Well, on the rescue mission that I was on with Pink, after he…” His eyes flickered over to him, glistening with pain at the thought. “The Yautja who hunted us on the island took me back to his ship instead of killing me, too. We’re mates, actually.”

Yasmin made a little noise, and Pink inclined his head with the barest hint of a grin. He had this look on his face like the news wasn’t surprising to him. Fynn squinted at him.

“You knew?”

Pink raised a brow. “Remember when I pointed the gun at your head?” He made the motion, and the medic’s lips parted in recognition. “Knew it wasn’t targeting you the same way it targeted us. That confirmed it.”

“Wait,” Fynn scoffed in disbelief. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

The marine folded his arms across his chest, and gave a lackluster shrug. He had been eager to kill the creature from the very beginning, catching on very quickly the type of monster that had been lurking in the shadows. He continued with his story.

“When I got to Yautja Prime, they made me fight for a place against one of their own in my own ritual. I didn’t come out unscathed,” he murmured, his fingers instinctively tracing the scars on his belly. “But I had family, and people that cared about me. Since I recovered, I was taken on as an apprentice and became one of their doctors. Me and my mate were happy, and everything was fine until…”

He sighed.

“My mate is Mahto-Yau’s brother.”

That earned a few hard eyes darting his way, Yasmin’s lips parting in shock. “You mean, Dra’ak?”

The mention of his mate made something horrible twist in his gut. Oh, how he wished Dra’ak was here right now. He didn’t want to imagine how long it might take him to reunite with his mate, not when he was in the centre of enemy territory, and not when war was going rage on Yautja Prime.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Mahto-Yau wants him back. He took his sister’s son, Gi’ja, alongside me.”

“Gi’ja,” Yasmin echoed, testing the name on her tongue. “You mentioned him earlier, too.”

He grimly nodded. “They separated us. He told you to tour me round, yes? Does that mean you could take me to Gi’ja’s room?”

“He’ll be in one of the ensuite’s,” she sighed, a look of regret passing over her face. “Me and Olive are only allowed up there if we’re with…” She trailed off, and didn’t seem too keen to finish her sentence. Desperately, he glanced at Pink. The marine shook his head.

“I need to see him.”

“You might not feel like it, but you’re still a prisoner,” the Bad Blood piped up from the corner of the room again, and the medic couldn’t help but narrow his eyes slightly at him for the interruption. “If you start acting rash, Mahto-Yau will stop going easy on you.”

“You can’t just expect me to wait around until he’s ready to let me see Gi’ja, do you?” The medic challenged. Ma’thi tilted his head, slightly offended by his tone.

“I’m trying to help you here,” he warned, though his voice remained impassive and kind. “Give it some time.”

“Ma’thi’s right,” Yasmin quickly interjected, staving the tension that was building up between the two of them before it festered into something worse. Her eyes darted between the two of them, softening as they landed on the Bad Blood. The two seemed to exchange a silent conversation, until she fought back a light blush and continued. “Knowing Mahto-Yau, he’s likely done this on purpose to test you. The fact that he is being so easy on the both of you makes me uneasy.”

Her face turned desperate. “Promise you’ll be careful?”

The tension in Fynn’s shoulders eased for a moment, until a stab of shame hit his chest. He didn’t have a habit of greeting people with hostility, remembering what it was that Yasmin had told him. Ma’thi was the doctor who had brought Pink back from the dead. His eyes slid over to him, glancing at all of the scars. The work was impressive; the burns had been kept to a minimum as much as possible, and the only notable change was his vocal chords.

Considering the three of them felt comfortable enough with a Bad Blood, who also seemed to tend to their injuries frequently enough, Fynn swallowed guilt and reflected on his attitude.

“Okay,” he nodded. He didn’t promise, but he would try. Yasmin seemed pleased, and the Bad Blood simply inclined his head. She settled back down into her chair and began to whisper softly to Olive, a hushed conversation that Ma’thi joined and Fynn kept his distance from.

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair as he stepped away from them, his thoughts on an anxious rampage. Although he had a feeling that Mahto-Yau would not physically harm Gi’ja, the thought of them being alone together made his hairs prickle on edge. The Bad Blood had proved that he didn’t need strength to make people submit. He knew how strong willed Gi’ja could be, but he wouldn’t deny the trouble the Young Blood had stirred back home, and his resentments he buried deep within himself.

Did Mahto-Yau see something in him? A way to rectify where he went wrong with Dra’ak?

A presence shifted him from his thoughts, and his eyes shifted up to see Pink leaning into his space, propped up against the counter with something gleaming in his eyes. The medic narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“What?” He frowned. Pink signed small, their conversation private.

“You have changed.”

Fynn tilted his head in curiosity.

“You are not the inexperienced field medic I was on that rescue mission with,” he explained. “You are confident. Experienced and wiser. Going with him was good for you?”

He experienced an unexpected rush at the compliments, and at the raw sincerity in Pink’s expression. He remembered the man being cut off, stoic, but against everything, he had believed Fynn back then. He’d helped him, and gave up his life for him. In some way, it frustrated him.

“It was good for me,” he admitted, pressing his lips into a thin line. “But that doesn’t make it any better that you died. In my dreams, I’d remember your face when he…”

The memories flashed like white hot agony, and he sucked in a shuddering breath to calm himself. Pink seemed to watch him with those hard eyes, before he paused momentarily to consider his next words. His hands moved slowly and deliberately.

“I’ve lived in war my whole life,” Pink signed, making sure that the medic was looking at him directly before he continued. “Dying on a battlefield was expected. My only regret, was that in my final moments, my death served little purpose for you. I couldn’t do anything as I watched him carry you away.”

He noticed the tragic look on Fynn’s face, before shaking his head. “Does not mean I regret it. I’m alive now, aren’t I?”

“Most people don’t get the luxury of coming back from the dead.”

“Did anyone else survive?”

“I saw Char for myself after the explosion. We don’t know what happened to Harper, and Silver had already disappeared. I don’t know if they made it off the island, but…”

“They were capable,” Pink signed, a grim expression on his face as though he wasn’t too keen on the news. “I’m sure they found a way back.” He tilted his head. “I don’t resent your mate for what he did.”

“Sometimes I feel like I should,” he admitted. “But I’ve come to appreciate that our cultures are vastly different. Dra’ak didn’t know any better, and neither did I when I went to Yautja Prime. We suffered and we learned together, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He rubbed his arm, the same feeling of homesickness crashing over him. His heart ached at the life he’d led before this war, before he had been plagued with visions that set these events into motion. So fast, and Fynn was alone again. It was difficult not to get swept up into his emotions when there was a Young Blood he vowed to protect. Pink noticed his expression, and nudged his shoulder to get his attention.

“You have assimilated well.” He motioned to his clothes, and the array of necklaces and anklets against his darker skin. “You dress like them.”

Fynn smiled awkwardly. “I had to get used to it.”

The marine hesitated for just a moment, before the barest hint of a smile played across his lips. He lifted his hand and gently ruffled the top of his hair. The medic couldn’t help but laugh, fussing.

“For losing your voice, you certainly seem more talkative,” he teased. Pink steeled his expression on purpose, folding his arms across his chest. The sight made him giggle, fixing his hair absentmindedly as he hummed in thought. There was so much he wanted to ask Pink, so many conversations he wanted to have, but with his lack of knowledge on where Gi’ja was or what was happening with him, it was difficult to truly sit down and talk for a lengthy time.

“Why did they save you?” He asked, his voice lowering slightly. “I doubt it was for a good reason.”

Pink thought about the answer for a moment. “I don’t know. Not truly.”

“Was it on Mahto-Yau’s orders?”

The marine shrugged. “They make me fight for entertainment. I replaced the last one they had, according to the girls. Why they chose a corpse, I do not know.”

“Fight?”

“They put me up against other Y-A-U-T-J-A. Make bets and calls. It’s their idea of fun.”

“Sick,” he swallowed grimly, shaking his head in frustration. “How badly do you get hurt?”

The marine stared at him for a long while, before he simply crossed his arms over his chest and fixed him with a hard gaze. The medic’s brows furrowed into a soft frown, and he was about to argue about how difficult he was being, before rubbing the back of his neck in defeat.

“I’m just…” His throat closed with emotion. “I’m really glad that you’re…” His voice broke off, and with a need to be embraced again, shifted closer to Pink. The marine caught on quickly, and wrapped his arms tight around him. Fynn didn’t realise how much he needed this right now. He fought off tears prickling the edges of his vision. He was warm, sinking into his bones like a nostalgic weight.

When they pulled away, Pink’s hand traced down the length of his arm with the barest of touches, fingers shifting to twine them together. He didn’t, his eyes fixated like he was thinking about it, before he pulled away completely. Fynn stared, his eyes crinkling, and a note of understanding passed between them as Pink nodded his head in understanding.

“I’ll get to see you, right?” Fynn spoke up, after he needed a second to clear the lump in his throat.

“If you ever have a free moment,” Yasmin perked up, her bare feet quieting her footsteps as she approached them both with her hands clasped behind her back. “You can come here. One of us is usually here, for one reason or the other. It’s our little spot.”

Her gaze then softened, and she turned to Pink, placing a hand on his bicep. “Olive isn’t doing well. We should give her some space, but I think you should stay with her.”

Pink’s eyes darted to Fynn, before he patted Yasmin’s hand, and nodded his head in agreement. The medic watched him go with sad eyes, before he let an exhale escape him. It wasn’t the last time they’d see each other, so Fynn needed to keep himself in check. By the time he redirected his attention back to the girl, Yasmin was already staring at him.

“Do you still want that tour?” She offered sweetly. “I can’t take you to your room directly after, but I can hover by the third floor stairs.”

He considered with interest. “Please.” He smiled, her lingering sweetness always infectious. If she hadn’t been here to make him feel so at ease with her personality and her smiles, Fynn wasn’t sure he would feel as calm as he did right now. “I’d like to get familiar with the layout as soon as I can.”

“Alright,” Yasmin beamed, and she leaned forward to intertwine their fingers together before he had a chance to think otherwise. Her hands were soft, skin a pleasant coolness against his own. She actually stopped to admire his hand, her lip curving into a teasing smile.

“Your hands are cute,” she purred, and Fynn’s cheeks lit up with a surprised blush as she led him to the door.

“Oh,” he stammered. “Thank you.”

As they disappeared behind the whooshing door, the sharp eyes of the Bad Blood followed them until the last moment. He shifted as a frustrated whicker rumbled in his chest.

Chapter Text

“Eh’kaad?”

The warrior did not look up from her position in the trophy room, her fingers meticulously fiddling with her mask with effortless precision. Her mate lingered by the doorway, mandibles drooped and something telling in his eyes. She considered remaining silent, her thoughts occupied with far too many nagging things. But even now, she could sense something of great importance was weighing on Zu’s clipped tone.

“Speak,” she commanded. A long, meticulous week of prepping her weapons and her armour had taken up her time. That, and sparring with Zu or any other strong male and stronger female she could find. It was the only thing able to take her mind off the sense of unease she felt about Gi’ja and O’tui, and redirect her focus to the oncoming war that would plague her home.

Zu remained where he was, which prompted Eh’kaad to cast her gaze over to him instead. Only then, did he speak again, as asked.

“Commander Bo’kath asked for the both us,” he informed her. Her ministrations paused, and a sharp whicker rose in her throat.

“Why?”

“I am unsure,” Zu answered, his answers clipped and his whole body weighed down by something invisible. Eh’kaad knew when her mate was struggling, having almost buckled once under the pressure and emotions he’d been a victim to when they courted. The female warrior felt a heavy ache in her heart, rising to her feet.

Zu did not look at her as she came, his eyes averted in shame. She was having no such thing, cupping the side of his face and tilting it so she could catch his eyes with her own sharp ones. He relented almost instantly, light trills sounding in his throat.

“I fear,” he admitted, his mandibles twitching as Eh’kaad adjusted his dreadlocks against his shoulder. A shiver ran down his spine,” for our sons. For the ooman.”

“That fear will not aid us in battle,” Eh’kaad warned him, her voice low. “And that fear will not keep them safe.”

“I am not like you. I am not a perfect hunter.” There was a thickness to his voice, a slight hint of resignation disguised as worry. Eh’kaad wanted to hear none of this talk, the potential delusions Zu might have that he was weak. Their courting had proved that Zu was the strongest person she knew. “I want to stay in their lives.”

Eh’kaad’s fingers dug into his shoulders, and she gave him a harsh shake.

“Do not speak like this is the end for you,” she hissed, her voice a harsh growl. The male warrior trilled at her rough handling, his mind preoccupied with painful scenarios, but her touches seemed to ignite a fire. His hands landed on her hips. “This, right here.”

She jabbed at his chest where his heart would be.

“This,” she growled,” is the only drive you need to live. This which holds our family is a stronger force than any hunter on this planet could hope to possess, and any Bad Blood that may come. Do you understand?”

His eyes flickered up to meet hers, feeling her resistance as he tried to tug her closer. It only seemed to resonate further with him, anchoring his hands against her hips as he had to forcefully push her back against the wall. Eh’kaad reacted instinctively.

She easily overpowered him as her hand clamped around his throat, spinning them back around until she slammed Zu’s back hard against the wall. The impact thudded in the now-too-empty space around them, where a scampering pup and brooding teenager should have been. The male’s mandibles relaxed, though his body was thick was tension now. Eh’kaad kept him thoroughly pinned, even despite his fussing, and he clicked with appreciative trills as she pressed herself close to him.

Their mandibles flickered against each other, testing, before pressing their foreheads together with loving purrs. Her mate brushed his mandibles against the curve of her jaw, her fingers releasing his neck to trace down the length of his dreadlocks instead. Eh’kaad quickly detached them both from the wall, the two of them playfully wrestling each other onto the ground.

As expected, Eh’kaad finished straddling his hips, her hand locked tight around Zu’s wrists. Her hips gave a hard roll into him, and the Yautja let out a tense trill.

“You did not answer,” Eh’kaad demanded, and Zu managed to slip an arm free as she pushed aside their loin cloths. His claws dug into her hips, trailing sharp claws down the flesh of her muscular thigh. It left jagged, little red marks as it went, which only made the pleasure as she sank down onto him all the more amplified.

Zu purred, his mandibles curling as Eh’kaad roughly snatched his wrists and slammed them back down into the floor by his head. She leaned her weight forward onto his wrists to keep him there, as her hips rocked hard and fast in a rhythm that had them both purring and trilling.

“I understand,” he punched out, his claws flexing instinctively with the need to continue a rough fight. Perhaps if they weren’t so desperate for any semblance of last relief before war, they would have spent many hours fighting the other into the submission as Eh’kaad took him over and over. Zu felt his belly burn with an intense need, the sight of his mate something he simply cherished.

He came quickly enough, and Eh’kaad followed not shortly afterwards, her claws digging hard enough into his flesh to leave welts. He gave an appreciative trill at the sting of pain, as their rough coupling transformed into a moment of gentle nuzzling and soft kisses. When she released him, Zu’s hands roamed her figure like she was something divine, admiring every rigid scar and bump like it was a map he had familiarised himself with for centuries.

He gently rolled her onto her back, slowly easing back inside of her with a sigh. Usually, the only time that Eh’kaad would allow him to mount her would be after she was happily sated and lazy, when the two of them considered it to be less than sex, and more like a loving connection of their bodies. He rocked into her with little haste, Eh’kaad’s mandibles kissing his face instead.

Most Yautja didn’t mate outside of the mating season, as there was little risk of pregnancy and sex to breed was simply the norm.

But like this, just the two of them, intimately closer than they could ever be, was enough for them.

“You are my life,” Eh’kaad murmured. “My soul, my love. I fear for our children too. We will fight for them, and that is why we will be strong enough to face this war.” Her eyes closed. “Do not tell me you think you will die.” Her voice, devastatingly, broke. Only for him. Only, ever, for him. “I refuse to live if not with you.”

. . .

Commander Bo’kath, having been kept waiting near the base of the Clan Leader’s perch, was thoroughly unimpressed by the mating musk that permeated off of them as they arrived. Her sharp eyes roamed over the two of them, and she had little interest in hiding her disdain.

Eh’kaad tilted her chin up a little higher, just to spite her judgement. “What business did you have with the two of us, Commander Bo’kath?”

The female straightened her back, and she motioned for the two of them to follow her around the building.

“In preparing to take on Clan Mother Ua’jall’s ships from the Odeanll tribe, we intercepted one of our own vessels returning from the north,” she explained carefully, her voice laced with a tension that made something in Eh’kaad’s gut tighten. Her eyes remained scanning the area carefully, even when Zu bumped the back of her hand with his own to soothe her growing rigidness. “The Matriarch deemed it necessary to let you know.”

“What are you speaking of?” Eh’kaad snapped. “Inform us quickly.”

Bo’kath signalled to the ship with a wave of her hand, fingers tapping at her gauntlet to open the rear doors.

“Nobody is on board,” she told them. Her voice tightened. “The ship was coordinated on auto pilot to return back from it’s trajectory to Earth.”

Zu’s whole body stilled. “Trajectory from…”

He didn’t have the strength to finish his sentence, as Ba’kath led them no further than a corridors length into the ship, where sitting directly in the middle of the ground, was a skull. It wasn’t the skull of a Yautja, or a human, but a sharp toothed creature that Eh’kaad had fought and gutted as a courting trophy. The meticulous patterns she had carved for hours to impress her mate were tainted with neon green and crimson blood. Worked into the grooves with sadistic pleasure.

Eh’kaad’s claws dug into her palms hard enough to draw blood.

“Where is my son?” She growled, the venom in her voice enough to make even Zu whicker softly. A tightness stabbed her chest hard enough to disrupt her own air flow; both of their reckless worries hadn’t been for nothing. The bad feelings were not a farce.

“The Matriarch is confident they are alive,” Bo’kath explained calmly, despite the fact that Eh’kaad was poised to strike with a deadly force. Her claws, just in case, settled against the weapon strapped to her belt. The Commander had much more pressing matters than to handle a seething Yautja mother to a kidnapped son. “The ooman’s mate and mentor were informed earlier. You are advised to continue as you were. But the Matriarch wanted you informed.”

Her head whipped towards her ruined courting gift, stained savagely with the blood of her son and her brother’s mate like a taunt. Anger simmered like magma in her gut, only slightly eased when her mate embraced her, blocking her view of her gift. Zu was trilling frantically, and just like that, Eh’kaad’s clouded mind realised that her mate was in just as much distress as she was.

Ba’kath looked upon the scene, and inclined her head. She left to give them some privacy.

“Zu—” She tried to say, and the male just held her tighter.

“I know,” he swallowed. A horrible, hollow ache swallowed his chest whole. “I know.”

In her restlessness, Eh’kaad wanted to fight the embrace. She wanted to scream, and tear her claws through something warm and living. Anything to get her son back, and anything just for the knowledge that he was okay. She had spent her childhood growing up beside a monster; she didn’t need Gi’ja to be exposed to him too. Her claws dug into Zu’s back, inexplicably grounding the both of them.

Growls tore through her throat.

“I will kill him,” she promised, even just the premise of him on her tongue like acid she couldn’t bear. “By the stars, I will kill him slowly.”

Zu nuzzled her forehead in a shaky attempt to soothe his mate.

“We both will,” he promised her.

. . .

The tour around his guilded cage was momentous. Although he had attempted to be meticulous and make a detailed mental note of his surroundings, the vast home was far too big for him to keep him up. What made it a harder blow was that Yasmin had been unable to take him to certain sections, either because they weren’t allowed, or because Bad Bloods might be there.

He didn’t fault her desire to stay away from them when she could, not when they’d passed a gaggle of them and overheard their conversation.

“…took her throat so hard he broke her jaw.”

Yasmin went red with anger, but they had simply quickened their footsteps and fled before they could have been noticed. He didn’t pry the sore spot for her, clearly overprotective and embarrassed on behalf of her friend.

“I wish I was stronger,” she muttered, her hands balling into fists. Her voice was a hiss. “I would kill them.”

The medic walked into step beside her, his lips curved with empathy. Even when A’stuialb had treated him the way he did, and he’d endured countless humiliating rituals from the Yautja, he still hadn’t been able to quite grasp the idea of taking a life. Despite everything, it hadn’t come easy to him.

“You are strong, Yasmin,” he tried to say, but the girl was having none of it. Her frustrations were boiling over, what must of been years of abuse weighing her down like a bog. She made an annoyed gesture, the pretty bracelets jangling.

“I endure,” she corrected. “I just…sit, or lie there, or do whatever Mahto-Yau wants me to do.”

“That doesn’t make you a coward, or weak,” Fynn frowned, and he gently squeezed her hand for some comfort. She took well to the gesture, her eyes finally flickering up to meet his own. They stopped by the staircase to the third floor. “Yasmin, believe me when I say that the people back on Prime, my home, will not bend to him so easily.”

Her nose wrinkled.

“I promise,” he swallowed, the words heavy on his tongue,” that you will not have to endure this forever.”

It sparked little hope, but Yasmin was past the point of clinging onto fantasies. The shift with this war was going to be a major tell for their future, but she did not want to live with the regret of getting her hopes up. She untangled their hands, but tilted her head down to peck his cheek.

“You really know how to serenade a girl,” she lightly joked, finally letting a small smile spread across her lips. She glanced at the stairs, giving him room to leave. “Please, remember my advice?”

Don’t go giving Mahto-Yau any reason to stop ‘going easy on him’. He remembered it well, as much as he itched at the thought that Gi’ja was somewhere up there, alone. Fynn nodded.

“Pinky swear.”

Yasmin giggled. “See you soon, okay?” Her voice softened. “And, whatever you see. Please don’t think less of me.”

His footsteps faltered halfway up the stairs, casting a gaze down to her. She looked smaller from this angle, her arms tucked into herself as if she wished to make herself as small as she could. The medic’s expression softened. I can’t imagine how long they’ve been here like this, he thought sadly.

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve even spoken to another human?” He laughed humourlessly, the thought making him realise how little interaction he’s had with any other creature since Dra’ak took him to Yautja Prime. He felt a swell of instinctive protectiveness in his chest. For all of them - Yasmin, Olive, and Pink. He knew what it was like first hand to be treated this way simply because they were humans. “I’m not going to think less of you.”

Yasmin beamed at that, and waved him off as he disappeared onto the third floor for his bedroom. After a long, quite few seconds, the smile on her face faded, and her hand dropped. The silence she felt in her mind was harrowing; the guilt was worse. She waited a few moments, casting a subtle glance around her, before she ascended up the stairs.

Her bare feet made her footsteps barely audible, and it was relatively easy to pin her bracelets to make them soundless. She crept silently to the eastern wing, where Gi’ja’s room remained unopened and quiet. She let out a breath of relief. Thank you for being sensible, she thought, and swiftly made her way to Mahto-Yau’s room.

The door recognised her presence and whooshed open, her lithe form making her entrance. Mahto-Yau was nursing a glass of something strong, his sharp claw tapping absentmindedly against the side of the carved glass as she scampered inside. His eyes, now uncovered by the mask, admired the darkening sky and the four moons that hung beautifully among the stars. He hummed, an appreciative noise, as he caught a whiff of her scent.

He set the glass down and prowled towards her, his head nuzzling into her neck and mandibles scraping experimentally across the skin.

“You stink of arousal,” he murmured, causing her eyes to widen and her cheeks to flame. He sniffed her scent deliberately. The rough scars on his face scratched at her skin, making her teeth press into her bottom lip to stifle a small noise. “Tell me, are you fond of my brother’s mate?”

Yasmin struggled to spit out a response. “No, I—”

“Do you want to fuck him?”

Mahto-Yau slowly dragged his claws across her waist, feeling every wonderful groove and curve as his mandibles curled in satisfaction against her skin. One hand gently moved her hair from her shoulder, as his pointed eyes took in every little micro expression on her pretty face. The smell of her arousal was growing, his throat picking up with smug trills.

“No,” she shook her head, straining on her toes as he easily pushed aside her skimpy dress and palmed lazily at her breast. He let her answer hang precariously in the air, just to feel her squirm against him.

“No matter,” he hummed, pulling away from her and lounging on his bed. Not without an encouraging pat on her bum to follow. “It’d be up to my brother, anyway.”

Yasmin struggled to set her breathing straight, her legs wobbling a little as she followed him. Clambering up to his lounged form, she noted he didn’t seem in a rush to take her tonight, and so simply settled in the curve of his side, curling closer into his body heat. Her hand rested on his exposed stomach, fingers instinctively tracing the defined lines of muscle there, as she always did. Mahto-Yau’s gaze remained fixated on the view through the massive window.

“And how was Gi’ja?”

The words made Yasmin’s fingers still. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Undisturbed. Fynn went straight to his room. He didn’t try to find Gi’ja.”

The revelation seemingly frustrated Mahto-Yau, though it simmered down quickly enough with a wave of his hand near her head, instead settling on her thigh. His fingers slipped under the fabric, thin and easily parted, as it was meant to be.

“Shame,” he simply replied. “Oh, well.”

Yasmin stewed in the silence, her heart pounding. She considered keeping her mouth shut, but it was worming her way into her skin and she couldn’t shake it off. Her lips parted, her voice small and quiet.

“I overheard some Bad Bloods,” she whispered softly. “Olive’s broken jaw was because they were too rough with her. Please, could you convince them to be more careful?” The sight of the girl so miserable made her heart ache. “She’s so delicate. One day, they’ll kill her.”

Mahto-Yau let the silence sit in the air; probably because he could sense how fast her heart was banging against her ribs. He shifted his hips, his claws raking through her hair with little comfort. His mandibles curved into a smug smile.

“Ride me,” he ordered. “And I’ll think about it.”

Yasmin swallowed her pride, slowly untucking herself from his side and instead perching on his hips. He didn’t bother to get her out of her dress, or even remove his clothes, leaving her to do the work while his gaze remained fixated on the nearly night sky. Riding him in the way he liked, Yasmin choked on a soft gasp as his fingers dug into her jaw, yanking her to face him properly. Her thighs were already burning, and Mahto-Yau’s voice was steady, barely affected.

“You’re my special girl, aren’t you?” He purred, feeling the way the praise made her tighten up around him. He trilled in satisfaction, her lips parting and her eyes glossed over.

“Yes,” she moaned, more of a plea than an admission. His hands dwarfed her waist, guiding her with lazy, unbothered movements. The Bad Blood didn’t bother to tell her that she was such a stupid thing to think he would consider her offer.

Special, but dimwitted. She was lucky he thought that was cute. 

Chapter Text

Stirring from her slumber, Yasmin didn’t remember when she had fallen asleep.

Mahto-Yau hadn’t even worked her that hard, letting her drive her own pace while he sat languidly with his mind elsewhere. Why doesn’t he even look at me anymore, she’d thought hopelessly, drawing two orgasms from herself before she was waking up in his arms.

Groggily, she nuzzled a little into his chest and felt his hand anchoring her to him, pressed against the slope of her bare back. His skin was always so warm, enough to make her feel mushy when her thoughts had yet to catch up with what she was doing.

For now, this was fine. Just for now.

Yasmin blinked when Mahto-Yau said something, too fuzzy for her ears to pick up. She continued to blink sleep from her hazy eyes. Mahto-Yau’s head tilted to face her, his eyes cold. His mandibles curved smugly, though. He rubbed her cheek, drawing an involuntary sigh.

“Nothing you should concern yourself with,” he hummed, and she slid off his body when he sat up, rising from the bed with purpose. Yasmin remained tangled in the furs and the sheets, propping herself up on her elbows.

“You’ll talk to them then?” She whispered. “Right?”

Mahto-Yau regarded her with a dismissive look.

“About Olive,” she pressed, her throat bobbing at the thought of him having forgotten already. “She’s not going to last much longer if they keep being so rough with her.”

“If she breaks, it’s not my concern.”

Yasmin went red in the face. But she knew letting anger clip into her voice would earn her a long few weeks with the other Bad Bloods, and she shuddered to imagine that again. “Please, she was so young when On’touat brought her on board. Ma’thi can only put the pieces back together for so long.”

Mahto-Yau’s voice turned icy, his claws clenching his mask tightly. Cold eyes pierced straight through her, enough to make a shiver hurdle down her spine. She huddled her limbs closer.

“Do you think he’s losing his edge?” The Bad Bloods voice turned dark. “If that’s the case, I have Fynn. I have no need for him.”

“No!” Yasmin blurted, far too fast for her own liking. Her heart began to rise into her throat, blood hammering in her ears. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. It doesn’t have anything to do with Ma’thi, I only meant—”

Her tongue went heavy when the Bad Blood silenced her. Tension bled into her chest as she watched him fix the mask onto his face, sealing away his expression below. Thoughts rampaged through her mind, the lead weight of responsibility for her friends lives heavy on her lungs. She silently stared at the furs, her fingers picking anxiously at it. The Yautja fixed his clothes, the sound of rustling fabric and footsteps echoing in the room.

“Consider this,” Mahto-Yau finally spoke, his voice softer than moments ago. “You continue to keep an eye on my brother’s mate, and I’ll let them stay.”

Yasmin shrank in on herself. She’d felt guilty enough that she’d tried to nudge Fynn in the right direction, and she was more than relieved he had left Gi’ja alone that night. But if she kept it up, Mahto-Yau would quickly catch on; he wasn’t stupid. She didn’t know what to do.

Fingers grasped her jaw, pressing into her soft cheeks. He lifted her head up to look at him, towering over her.

“Do I need to remind you why you’re here in the first place?” He warned, his voice low. “That you chose this?”

Yasmin’s bottom lip wobbled. She couldn’t find anything to say, her tongue heavy and her mind rampaged with burning thoughts. Emotions that haunted her, situations she wished she could rewrite. But she wasn’t strong enough. Never strong enough to handle the possibilities. Mahto-Yau tilted his head at her silence. His free hand slipped between her thighs, and Yasmin flinched at the rough pad of his thumb against her clit.

Her expression instantly melted, the thoughts turning foggy. He encroached into her space, tilting her head to make way for where his mandibles would be, thumb rubbing tight circles.

“Yeah,” Mahto-Yau murmured, his voice low and rough against the skin of her neck. Her hand scrambled against his arm, nails biting into the hard flesh. “If I were them, I wouldn’t trust you either.”

. . .

The rooms weren’t so much bedrooms, but they more so resembled some sort of open, communal area. Fynn’s eyes flickered around, rubbing his healing palm with a soft touch. The door had responded to his handprint, but from how high the pad had been, Fynn had an inkling that this room didn’t belong to him exactly.

He also found, regrettably, that the door did not respond to his handprint on the inside. It wasn’t his room, and he could roam freely inside, but needed someone else to open the door to let him out. He cursed under his breath, fingers uselessly digging into the seam of the door. He slammed his fist into the metal in frustration.

He was stuck in here until someone came to let him out, it seemed. He should have known he wouldn’t so easily be given free roam of this place.

Fynn wandered through the massive space, spotting a huge fur padded bed on the right side, large enough for two people.

This is supposed to be Dra’ak’s room, he realised, his brows furrowing. He was just sharing it, in Mahto-Yau’s eyes. The thought made his blood boil, but he simmered down. There was no use fighting the inevitable while he was sealed away for, what, the night? It didn’t matter. Mahto-Yau likely wanted him out of the way until the dinner he’d mentioned.

Exploring the room, he discovered it was ensuite. The bathroom was a conjoining room, with a huge square space for the shower, glass walls and doors surrounding it. Fynn blushed. If only they had something like this back home. Not the time, he scolded. 

Untouched weapons lay in racks along a wall in the main space, a clear area for blowing off some steam with training and sparring. Fynn’s fingers ghosted over the impressive variety of weaponry; clearly, Mahto-Yau did not think leaving such dangerous equipment in Fynn’s reach was a risk. He was a little offended. But let him underestimate him. Fynn had discovered being underestimated was a strength.

But it was the bed that calling him, really.

As soon as Fynn flopped down onto the furs, his exhausted limbs seemed to melt into the comfortable seams. His thoughts turned to liquid, eyes fluttering closed for a long while. He didn’t quite sleep, still feeling consciousness prick at his mind whenever he dozed off.

The medic shook himself out of sleep far too many times, rolling onto his side lazily. Tucking his arm under his head, he let the silence consume him. A long, quiet sigh escaped his lips. He missed Dra’ak; the ache was far more palpabale when he had nothing but the silence to accompany him, pressing a hand firmly over his heart.

“Can you feel this?” He muttered, like Dra’ak could hear him from another planet. “Do you feel like this too?”

His heart squeezed, and Fynn curled up a little tighter. He had dealt with situations without Dra’ak, alone, but it never made it any easier. He’d had it so good during all those seasons where everything was fine, where he was getting better. Where he would wait for Dra’ak to come back from his hunts, where they would spend their days bathing in each others company. Trading sweet nothings and kisses until he felt like he would simply burst.

It hadn’t been effortless, but it had been earned. Hadn’t he earned a life with Dra’ak? Without any of this?

His mind drifted to the others. Pink was here; alive. How many hours had Fynn spent agonising over everything on that island, wondering how things might have gone if the situation had turned out differently.

The medic spent a long time just thinking, his mind too loud to fall into the sweet embrace of sleep. Gi’ja’s life was a constant on his mind, and so were the rest of them. He highly doubted he could end this war before it began, but…

His gaze wandering to the weapons, his fingers twitching. If it would be easy to kill Mahto-Yau, he might have jumped at the opportunity. He knew he couldn’t; not right now, and trying so would be foolish when he had no apparent way off this planet. Or even a way to steal and coordinate a ship back to Yautja Prime, since piloting wasn’t something he’d been apprenticed on.

That didn’t stop him, against all odds, from tucking a dagger into the back of his bottom wear by the time someone came to get him.

“Good,” Mahto-Yau hummed, his form breaching into the privacy of his room with all the arrogance of a king. Fynn stood tall, his jaw set and his eyes sharp. “You’re awake.”

“I didn’t sleep much,” the medic admitted, his voice laced with indifference. The Bad Blood stepped further into the room, his head tilting as he took in the space like it probably hadn’t seen it enough time before.

“I’m sure once my baby brother is here, the place will feel more homely,” he assured, like it was supposed to make him feel better. He gestured to the empty trophy case close to the training area, shelves that could contain hundreds of fresh kills across the expanse of the wall. “I had prepared this room for him many years ago, hoping he would have joined my side by now. This might have been filled with his most precious trophies. His mate to service him in his own bed. Content and free, as he should have always been.”

Fynn’s eyes turned icy. “I don’t service him.”

“Whatever else would you do, dear?” The Bad Blood croons. “You’re a pitifully inferior creature, created for him.”

“You said that before. That I was made for him. What do you mean by that?”

“Don’t your ears work?”

Fynn bristled. “If you think Dra’ak will ever consider me inferior to him, then you don’t know him as well as you think you do.”

“Oh,” Mahto-Yau’s laugh was bitter in his throat. “You’re cute.”

“I’m not,” the medic snapped, feeling frustration bubble in his throat. His fingers itched for the memory of the dagger clutched in his hand, burning against his back. He ignored it. “I don’t have to explain anything to you.”

“No, you don’t,” he scoffed, motioning to himself with a flick of his wrist before heading for the door once more. Fynn’s feet stayed stubbornly rooted into the ground. “Because your words mean nothing. Once my brother arrives and this war is won, actions will speak far louder.”

The human hesitated, the moisture in his mouth drying out. “What do you mean?”

Mahto-Yau motioned for him to follow. They had a dinner to attend to, after all, Fynn thought bitterly to himself, exhaling the grimness in his lungs. And I highly doubt I have a choice.

He was sure the Yautja purposefully let silence stew just to keep him on his toes, and as he guided him through the home, Fynn was a bit more unnerved by the rowdiness coming from the hall. There was chanting, yelling, cheering, and the rhythmic thud and clank of sparring and weapons. Sweat beaded in the creases of his palm, swallowing the uneasiness in his voice.

“You’re familiar with your so called General, Iya’Tah, no?”

Fynn’s nostrils flared. “Unfortunately.”

Mahto-Yau seemed all too smug at that response. “Before he joined you on your journey, he was instructed to leave a little something for my baby brother.”

The medic stared at the ground.

“A little, nudge, you could say, on where his precious mate had been taken.” His blood ran cold. “The usual spiel. Come alone, untraceable, yada yada. He’ll get what he came looking for, and so will I.”

Even though his heart began to race in his chest, Fynn steeled his nerves. Forced his emotions to settle, his instinctive swell of protectiveness failing to cloud his judgement. He took a deep breath, nails biting into his palms.

“He isn’t stupid enough to do that,” he assured him. Dra’ak might sometimes act irrational, but even he knew what a catastrophic risk that was. That it wasn’t worth it. Mahto-Yau seemed to incline his head, like he found the notion hilarious.

“Isn’t he? After all, didn’t you say he sees you as an equal?” The tone dug into his skin like sharp, boney claws. “Doesn’t he love you?”

The conversation, thankfully, was wrapped up as they entered the hall, and Fynn was able to garner exactly what all of the fuss was about. Mahto-Yau placed a grounding hand on his shoulder, and the medic suddenly felt like the ground was swallowing his ankles. He swallowed.

“Some entertainment before dinner,” the Bad Blood hummed. Fynn could hear the knowing glimmer in his tone. “Naturally.”

He hadn’t known exactly what to fully expect from Pink’s words hours ago, that he was the entertainment for these Bad Bloods. But on an elevated platform he lay, wearing only some bloodied pants and a barely intact wooden sparring stick. His arms trembled from underneath him, back heaving with laboured breaths in an attempt to push himself onto his knees.

He saw the pool of blood dripping from his lips, a freshly purpled bruise forming on his temple. The Bad Blood that joined him on the platform was yelling, gearing up the crowd before he lay a few more devastating blows. Through his dishevelled hair, glassy eyes just managed to catch Fynn’s own.

Pink stared at him, and he couldn’t do anything but stare back.

“I found him on an Earth island,” Mahto-Yau hummed, his hands clasped behind his back casually. He tried to tell him, desperately, please stop, but his eyes only seemed to spur Pink further on. The man spat a glob of blood, struggling with pained effort to his feet. He swayed, his eyes narrowed and full of fire, still, slowly raising his fists to continue the fight. The sparring Bad Blood’s mandibles contracted, his eyes hardening in glee.

“I’d been tracking Dra’ak, actually. Got a tech savvy friend to sabotage his ship, and that Earth island was where he landed,” Mahto-Yau rolled his shoulders lazily. Fynn’s teeth dug hard into the inside of his cheek. The sparring quickly commenced, as Pink remained in a defensive position, manoeuvring a flurry of attacks with impressive precision, especially for how injured he seemed. He’d had intense military training, after all. “Of course, when I got there, he had already fixed the ship and was nowhere to be found. But there he was.”

Pink took a hard jab to his shoulder, concealing the pain with a grunt. Mahto-Yau suddenly turned to face him.

“You know him, don’t you?”

The words made his throat tighten, and he could barely punch out the words as the Bad Blood delivered relentless blow after blow. He wrapped a claw around his neck, slamming him so hard into the ground it looked as though Pink saw stars.

“I’ve never seen him in my life,” he whispered weakly. He could still feel Mahto-Yau’s gaze behind that mask, burning into the side of his face like he was picking apart every micro-expression he failed to hide. Like he was dissecting his very brain apart with a look.

“I wonder,” the Bad Blood drawled. “How, where, my brother came to find you.”

The Bad Bloods were slamming their fists onto the elevated platform now, as the sparring Yautja delivered a kick hard enough to send Pink rolling roughly. Blood sprayed from his mouth, trembling fingers struggling to find purchase.

“Still,” Mahto-Yau drawled, the fire easing once he turned his gaze back to Pink. Pink, who was struggling just to stand up, Pink, who was still pushing his exhausted body to it’s limits. Pink, who just wouldn’t stay down. “He’s stubborn. Best sparring entertainment they’ve had in months. And like a fucking moron of a creature—”

Red cracked along the edges of Fynn’s vision.

“—he’s too thick to know when to stay down.”

One sharp inhale, and the medic struck. Never had he felt so much rage in his veins until that moment, until everything festering within him violently shattered to pieces. His fist met Mahto-Yau’s palm, the force splitting the skin across two of his knuckles. His free hand instantly went for the dagger. Before his fingers could grasp the handle, Mahto-Yau’s claws closed around his fist. He jerked him forward, and snapped Fynn’s wrist back.

The sickening snap of bone popped in the medic’s ears before he even registered the pain, knees slamming into the floor below. He hadn’t even realised he’d been screaming until the ringing in his ears ceased.

His breaths stuttered out of his lungs, agony radiating so far up the length of his wrist, that it was crippling. Mahto-Yau reached behind him with his free hand, casually sliding the dagger he’d hidden from the seams of his clothes.

Fynn was too busy hyperventilating. Streaks of tears fell down his cheeks, choking hoarsly on a sorry excuse of a sob.

“Shh, shh,” Mahto-Yau cooed, his hand closing hard enough around his bent hand that he could feel the bones in his fingers start to splinter. Fynn screamed so hard he could hear nothing else. “I’m sorry, baby. You think I wouldn’t notice a missing dagger in a room I’ve made sure is perfect for years?”

Mahto-Yau released him, and the medic crumbled. The blurry haze that had become his vision only focused on the mangled state of his hand. Fingers bent unnaturally, his wrist, oh god, his wrist, wrists weren’t supposed to look like that—

“Well, with the entertainment wrapped up,” Mahto-Yau sighed, clapping his hands together. “Now we can start with dinner.”