Neron Skies: A Space Fantasy Romance (The Neron Rising Saga Book 2)

by Keary Taylor

  “I was born on the planet Starvis,” he says. “It’s a desert hole with only two hundred thousand people on it. There’s little food, the sun only sets in the winter, but the temperatures don’t change with the season; you always feel like you’re dying.”

  He looks back out the window, but I know it’s not the black sky of space that he’s seeing.

  “There is no Neron on Starvis,” he says. “There is little food, and little water. There’s no economy and no commerce. Starvis is a planet of savages.”

  I’ve heard as much. I can’t even imagine it, how brutal the planet itself must be. And I’ve heard the people there are even more ruthless.

  “There are essentially four family tribes on the planet,” he continues to tell me the story of his formation. “One lives on the south side of the planet, where the sun never sets. They’ve found a way to survive, and they keep to themselves. But the other three are constantly at war with each other, fighting for the night and the water.”

  I look back out at space. I try to remember where Starvis is. The L sector, maybe?

  “We never had an actual home,” Valen says. “We constantly moved to wherever there was water. We were camped at the base of a mountain, my parents planned to stay for a few nights, to rest. We’d been outrunning one of the other tribes for a week, and we finally lost them.”

  I let my eyes slide closed, because I think I know where this is going.

  “It was late, and me and my friends should have turned in for the night. But we were playing some game in the sand. Then we heard the screaming. The sounds of slaughter.”

  I shake my head just a little.

  “There were twelve of us children off playing on our own,” Valen says. He says it so evenly, so calmly, like he isn’t telling a story about the end of his family. “Every one of our parents were killed by the other tribe. We waited for them to leave, to move on, and then we all had to bury our parents in the sand.”

  “How old were you?” I dare ask. I hug myself tight, my heart breaking for that little boy. I can just imagine him digging in the sand with his bare hands, hauling his parents’ bodies to it, and then having to cover them up and leave them there.

  “Seven,” he says.

  Emotions spring into my eyes again.

  “Dominion arrived two days later,” he says. “They were re-scanning our sector and made it to Starvis. Our planet didn’t have a trace of Neron. In fact, the natural Neron on Starvis is the lowest in the entire galaxy.”

  Incredible. The Nero traditionally come from planets rich in Neron, natural—the kind in the air or the natural resources, but also with solid deposits. The kind you can mine. The kind Dominion likes to steal.

  “But they found us, a dozen kids with no parents and who would have died within a few days. Cyrillius was there, himself. He offered us food. In exchange for working for him, he would feed us for the rest of our lives and give us as much water as we could ever want. And he would get us off that void planet.”

  Those kids had no idea. To them, Cyrillius was offering heaven.

  “Dominion’s army is massive and the most well trained in the galaxy,” Valen says. He looks over at me, capturing me with his eyes. And I see just how dark his past is. I see the darkness in them. “Because they start their soldiers young. They make them numb to everything.”

  “Valen,” I breathe. I take one step forward and reach out, grabbing his hand.

  I feel like I’m falling. I fall and fall, deep down, and all around me, I feel Valen. I feel the past.

  “They beat us with every shot we missed,” I hear Valen’s voice, even though I don’t see him. There’s this…impression, like shadows dancing in the dark on the edge of my vision.

  I see a boy knocked to his knees, struck across the face by a much older man.

  “They beat us every time we were too tired to spar for one more hour,” Valen continues.

  I see a little boy collapse onto a mat.

  “They beat us for every minute we slept too long.”

  I see a figure dragging a little boy out of his bed, lifting him by the front of his tunic, his feet dangling a foot above the ground. I see him tossed across the room and then slapped.

  “But they fed us, as they promised,” Valen continues and the vision shifts, to a dozen children huddled around a table, eating as quickly as they could. “They gave us as much water as we wanted. They took us far, far away from Starvis.”

  I see the outline of a familiar shape—The Dominion, floating out among the stars.

  “For four solars, my life was training and beatings and eating as much food as I could. I might have left the planet, but I never felt like I wasn’t starving.”

  I imagine the little boy who lived the first seven solars of his life, knowing there was not enough food on the planet to sustain the population, even if it was small. I imagine the gift that food must have felt like to such a child.

  “But when I was eleven,” Valen continues his story and the shadow vision I’m seeing begins to shift. “I was ill. Nothing life-threatening, but enough I needed rest. My commanding officer ripped me out of bed, and when I protested, tried to tell him I was too sick to stand, he beat me. He split my lip. He fractured my eye socket.”

  I see it, the outline of a man beating a boy. I see him fall to his knees. And the older man raising his fists again for a crushing blow.

  “I didn’t know what happened at first,” Valen says quietly. Suddenly, through the shadowy vision, there is a bright blue light. I see Neron gathering around Valen’s small form. I see it swirl and build.

  And then it explodes.

  But in a focused, forceful way.

  The shadow that was Valen’s commanding officer splatters all over, pieces flying in every direction.

  “The man was suddenly scattered across the bunkroom,” Valen says, his voice quiet and rough. “And there was this swirling blue energy everywhere. And when I looked down at my hands, because they felt warm and . . . good, there was Neron swirling around them.”

  Eleven. Valen was eleven when he discovered he was a Nero—one of the most powerful beings in the galaxy.

  “All the other children saw what I did,” Valen says, and my vision of the scene expands, showing me dozens of shadowy heads, all watching in terror. Watching the boy who, until then, was one of them. “There were other commanding officers present, as well. They all saw me kill my CO.”

  I watch as, hesitantly, the other COs tell Valen to leave the bunkroom. Stunned, horrified, Valen obeyed. They led him through The Dominion. Through corridors, through passages. Up they rose, until they walked out into a big room with big windows.

  “They took me to Cyrillius,” Valen says. I see a faceless, shadowy figure turn, and the boy Valen stiffened in terror, bowing his head before the man who owned him. “He told me I was special. That I was his most valuable soldier. That he would make sure I knew just how unique and powerful I was.” The shadow of Cyrillius steps forward, placing his hands on Valen’s shoulders.

  Even though this is not my story, and I know this is not the real scene, I shiver, wanting to rip Cyrillius’ hands off of the boy.

  “I was his special project after that,” Valen continues. “He did treat me special. He gave me my own quarters. He brought me special trainers. I had all the best food. But I felt it even then, even at eleven solars old, twelve, thirteen: he was using me.”

  The vision goes black, a wash of black mist rolling through, erasing the story.

  I open my eyes, and see Valen still looking out at space.

  I wonder if he knew he was showing me. That I could see his story.

  “I rebelled. I refused to do whatever he told me. I would lock myself in my quarters for weeks on end. I refused to let him control me.” Valen says the words to space, and they’re just as empty and hollow.

  “I told him I’d rather go back to Starvis than keep doing his bidding. I wanted to go home, even if it was to a hell hole.”

  O
nce more, my eyes slide closed, and I see the shadow of The Dominion again.

  “Cyrillius agreed,” Valen says, and I hear his surprise. “When I was fourteen, he took me back. He refused to release the other children from Starvis, but he took me back to my home planet and dumped me out in the middle of the desert.”

  I see a lone figure standing in the middle of endless sand.

  He isn’t as tall as he is now, but his shoulders are starting to broaden. His chin is held high. His stance is determined. And in the distance, I see the shape of The Dominion retreating.

  “I nearly starved to death in the first five days,” Valen says and I see a shadow of him endlessly walking through the desert. “I was dehydrated and delirious by the time I spotted the tribe off in the distance. I walked into one of their tents in the middle of the day. I couldn’t even think straight to wait until night and be covert. I was lucky they were out. I took every bit of their food and every ounce of their water.”

  He kneels on the sandy floor, devouring everything as quickly as he can, only it’s too fast, and he vomits on the sand after five bites. He slows after that, taking small bites and nibbles.

  “I was just finishing when they returned,” Valen says. I see his figure startle to his feet when the shape of a man and a woman enter the tent.

  And then they raise a weapon, about to strike him down.

  But the air grows blue, small swirls circling his hands. He holds them out to defend himself.

  Only the figures strike him, and the tent explodes with Neron energy.

  “They tried to kill me for stealing from them, as was the way on Starvis,” he says, just a matter of fact. “I defended myself. I didn’t mean to kill them and destroy half the tribe with the Neron.”

  I see him, standing there with debris flapping in the wind. Dozens of figures stand around him. Watching, witnessing.

  And then they run toward him, rudimentary weapons in their hands.

  Valen runs.

  “I ran from them for lunars,” Valen says. “Through the endless deserts, I fled. I nearly starved to death, every single day. But the tribe was ruthless. I had accidentally killed so many of their family members. I had never had a teacher, had never been taught by another Nero how to control my powers. It had been an accident. But they didn’t care. The only justice was for me to pay with my life for theirs.”

  I see Valen’s shadow, running and running. I see him stumble in the sand. I see him collapse. I see him get up again, and keep running.

  “Why didn’t you defend yourself?” I ask. “You were just a kid. You should have used your powers to keep yourself safe.”

  I feel Valen shake his head, even though my eyes are still closed.

  “I didn’t want any more of my people’s blood on my hands. It was my own tribe that I’d killed.”

  My emotions surge. My throat tightens. I feel this weight on my shoulders.

  “And I’d managed to defend myself that once, but Starvis is a planet with very little natural Neron.”

  He couldn’t summon enough to keep himself safe.

  “My tribe hunted me down, chased me ruthlessly through the desert,” he continues his history. “They caught me once, cut me open, tried to pull the Nero out of me like it was a separate being. I escaped. I passed out for two days from dehydration, yet somehow I’d found a cave and they didn’t find me.”

  I see him, curled up on his side, dying in the dark.

  “For a solar, I thought I would die, every day. For a solar, I fought for my survival, and I knew I was going to fail eventually.”

  I never should have complained about Korpillion. It was overcrowded and it smelled and it was boring.

  But I was always safe there.

  I always had water. I always had food.

  “And one day, as I walked across the desert, realizing that I couldn’t keep running forever, the sky darkened.”

  I see it, the shadow of a great ship casting the desert planet in darkness. I see the shadow of Valen looking up at the sky, and then the shape of a small ship easing out of it.

  “Cyrillius returned,” Valen says. “I was so relieved to see him, I cried for the first time since the first time his officers beat me. He offered me a deal.”

  I see two figures standing out in the sand, but in my chest, I feel only darkness.

  “Cyrillius would take me back, take me away from Starvis once more, if I would work for him without complaint. But he promised me things would be better.”

  The shadow vision zooms out, out, and out. Until I see a sphere, glassy and peaceful.

  “Cyrillius promised me my own planet,” Valen says, and there’s reverence in his voice. “I would work for Cyrillius, but he would give me my own planet, where I could go and be safe and be myself. No one would use me there, no one would hunt me. I could be alone and free there.”

  I have a hard time imagining it, that it would be enough to make Valen go back to Cyrillius. That Valen would want to be that alone, that his own planet was appealing.

  But maybe after a solar of being hunted, I wouldn’t want to see another living being again, either.

  “I realized then that there is no better or good,” Valen says, and the black mist rolls in once more and I open my eyes. “There is only survival. We all have our ways of holding on to it. And I could survive on a desert planet, starving, or I could survive on a massive, Class 1 ship and have food and water and a bed.”

  He looks over at me. And it chills me that his eyes are so hard and so empty.

  “We’re all just a galaxy of survivors, right, Nova?”

  I shake my head, but the words don’t form.

  He turns, startling me. He walks across the command deck and heads for the door that opens beyond it. Not sure what to do with myself, I follow him.

  He enters the kitchen and digs through a basket of fruit. He selects two, and hands one to me.

  The skin of it is purple and slightly bumpy. I squeeze it just a little. It feels soft and juicy underneath.

  “They’re from my planet,” Valen says. He takes a bite of it, the juice sliding down his chin before he wipes it away. “I’ve never found them anywhere else in the galaxy.”

  Hesitantly, I take a bite. My teeth sink into the soft flesh and juice explodes into my mouth. It’s sweet, tangy, and probably one of the best things I’ve ever tasted in my life.

  “Oh, wow,” the words slip past my lips as I wipe a thumb at the juice rolling down my chin. “That’s . . . this is incredible.”

  My heart stops.

  For real, I freeze. My blood stops pumping through my body. I actually feel cold.

  Because Valen smiles.

  I come from a planet with twenty-eight point one billion people. I’ve seen a lot of faces and a lot of smiles.

  But never, ever one as beautiful as Valen’s.

  His teeth are nearly perfectly straight, and snow white. It’s wide, and I swear, I can almost see all of his teeth. He gets these little creases around his mouth.

  But his whole countenance, it changes.

  Even the air feels lighter. I swear, the whole galaxy shifted just a little brighter with Valen’s smile.

  “Are you alright?” he suddenly asks, and that smile disappears, replaced with a look of concern.

  I nod. And for the first time in six days, I find myself smiling, too. It grows, and I blink once, willing that worried look on his face away. I smile.

  I take another bite of the amazing fruit.

  And finally, a small bit of that smile creeps back onto his face.

  We stand there for several long moments, just looking at each other. And I add another marvel to the list that is becoming my life.

  I had Valen in my head for lunars. I spoke to him multiple times a week. I gained a confidante. A friend.

  And here he is.

  I see him.

  I could touch him.

  “How is it possible?” I finally ask, my voice quiet and reflective. “I don’t even und
erstand how it works, this . . . link we have. What does Neron or being a Nero have to do with it?”

  Valen takes his last bite of the fruit and deposits the core into the recycler. He nods his head toward the hallway that leads further into the ship. I toss the rest of my core into the recycler and follow him.

  There are multiple doors that split off the hallway. A washroom. A bunkroom. What I’m sure is the mechanical room.

  But at the end of the hall, there is a room labeled “Captain’s Quarters.” Valen pushes the door open, and I hesitate for a few moments on the threshold.

  It’s a bedroom. Medium in size. There’s a bed, just big enough for two, on the wall to the left. There’s a dresser and a desk, on the wall to the right.

  Straight ahead, there’s a massive window that spans the back of most of the ship. And before it, there are two chairs.

  Valen crosses the room, not as much of a prude as I feel like right now. I internally scold myself for feeling so scandalized. It’s not like I’ve never been in a bedroom with a man before.

  But being here with Valen, it feels so intimate. Even if this isn’t his ship.

  I step through the doorway and cross to the window.

  “People have asked me questions over the past decade,” Valen says. He stands next to one of the chairs, but he doesn’t sit down. He looks out to space. He’s always looking out to space. “The mythology of the Nero has fascinated people over the centuries. And since it’s been so long since any of them have been discovered, they ask me. Questions about how it works, about the deeper details that have been rumored about.”

  I look over at him, and he looks up at me at the same time.

  “Everything I know about the Nero and Neron I have learned by trial and error,” he admits. “It isn’t like I’ve ever had a teacher or a mentor who could show me how to do things or tell me about things I haven’t discovered yet.”

  He looks at me with those blue eyes, and I know I’m in trouble.

  “I don’t know how our link works, Nova,” he confesses. “I don’t understand it, either. It doesn’t make any sense to me, why we can talk to each other when we’re sectors away from each other. I don’t know why I can get these . . . impressions, about where you are or what you’re doing, or how you’re feeling.”