Kastori Restorations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 4)

by Stephen Allan

  Cyrus jokingly threw a small, nibble-sized piece of meat at her, which she easily dodged.

  “Crystil, duh,” he said, leading to Celeste to smile broadly and coo. “Long time coming, too. Six months or so? I’m usually not that patient.”

  “Usually? Try never,” Celeste said laughing. “But that’s great! That’s why I suggested we spend the night.”

  “Oh,” Cyrus said, his face red. “If I had known—”

  “It worked out anyways. So how did it happen?”

  “I finally did what you suggested earlier,” Cyrus said, and Celeste cheered as she clapped twice. “Turns out it’s a lot easier to express how you feel to someone when they haven’t slept for days and they want a shoulder to lean on. I just brought her up to the viewing room, we had some emotional conversations, one thing led to another, and…”

  “Yeah, I can figure out the rest,” Celeste said.

  But she didn’t even need to figure out the rest. She had waited for that moment to happen, and even though it no longer needed to happen to save humanity, it still warmed her heart and gave her much-needed joy.

  “So yeah, that’s us,” Cyrus said. “Just don’t tell anyone. We want people to stay focused.”

  “That’s fine. Just try and be more subtle than you were humming.”

  Cyrus groaned and Celeste laughed. But when the laughter died down, Celeste knew it was time to shift gears into battle mode.

  “We have to get ready to go to Tapuya. But before we do… you need to know something. I talked with Typhos last night. I telepathically communicated with him.”

  Cyrus’ smile faded as he leaned forward on the table, his hands folded.

  “I know we talked about this, but I really need to hammer it home. I don’t think he wants to fight us. I think he feels trapped. I think that he feels like he has to destroy everyone else’s future in order to destroy his past. I’ve tried to talk him out if it, because honestly, I am quite sympathetic to him. Think of what he grew up with, Cyrus. His father dying. His mother abandoning him, he thinking that she died only to realize no, she’s alive and ignoring him. Abandonment at the worst. Jealousy of us. He knows we are half-siblings to him, Cyrus. He knows.”

  Cyrus displayed no reaction, but Celeste ignored it. As long as he’s listening and not blowing me off at this point, it’s OK. It’s good.

  “He says we are constant reminders of the happiness that he never had or has, and frankly, I get it. Erda’s presence was a continuous reminder of the awful life he had, and our presence is a reminder of the good life he could have had, with Dad always being there. But when I asked him why he wanted to kill us, he said it’s because it would bring him peace. I pressed him, though. I asked him what would happen if he didn’t find peace after killing us, and it was like he had never considered the possibility. He seemed very distant at that moment, lost in thought. I was reaching him, Cyrus, I really was. I think it became too much because he left after that, but I was getting through to him. I saw his real side, Cyrus.”

  She took a quick breath, not sure if her hypothesis was correct, but willing to run with it. If I don’t push it, Cyrus is just going to kill him, and we’re going to miss a great opportunity.

  “Typhos is not a psychopath, Cyrus. This notion that he’s just pure evil and wants to watch the world burn was just a description Erda gave him. I don’t know why she did, probably because doing so absolved her of the mistakes she made.”

  Cyrus sighed. Celeste could tell he wanted to take the conversation seriously, but a part of him would not allow him to see Typhos as anything but the enemy.

  “I can’t look beyond the past, Celeste. He captured Pops and tortured him for years. He put everyone in shackles here. He killed you. You’re only here because Erda sacrificed her life for yours. That doesn’t change that he killed you. Those acts were pure evil.”

  “They were,” Celeste admitted. “I never said I would defend the atrocities he’s done. I don’t let him off the hook for destroying Nubia or trying to attack us on Vostoka. But understand where it’s coming from. He’s a Kastori who has experienced a lot of hurt and only knows pain and suffering. He believes if he inflicts it, he can absolve himself of that pain. He also believes he’s trapped in that he can’t give up, because if he does, we’ll use our power to crush him. Anyone who has ever said they loved him has hurt him in some fashion. Cyrus, he’s not looking for just sheer mayhem. He’s looking to get rid of the hurt that inhabits him. It’s no different than you or me, trying to get rid of bad memories, like trying to build a home on Anatolus because we thought Monda was completely destroyed.”

  Cyrus snorted. Celeste realized she was losing the argument the further she went.

  “It’s a little different than you or me, just a tad,” Cyrus said. “And what do you believe this means for us going forward? Let’s say everything you say is true, which I don’t agree with, but I’ll consider. What if it is true? What then?”

  Celeste sighed.

  “Look, he will never be one of us. He will never be forgiven by the people of anyone who knows who he is now. But when we fight him—and I know that is going to happen—we have to spare him. We can send him to a planet where he has no past, where no one knows who he is, and he can blend in there. Or, if he accepts, we put him on trial here but chose not to kill him. The point is, somehow, we give him another chance.”

  “And who would accept that? The Kastori here who lived in fear of him? The humans he enslaved? Crystil, who lost her husband? Pops, who nearly died?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s not impossible.”

  Cyrus nodded, but even Celeste admitted she hadn’t thought that far ahead. Just converting Typhos from his sadistic ways was the first step, and once that was done, they could move forward. It’s a big enough step that we can’t worry about what the other side looks like.

  “And if he fights us to the bitter end?” Cyrus asked.

  Then it’s all a moot point.

  “Then we have to do what is best for our survival and kill him,” Celeste said simply, hoping that the more matter of fact she said it, the easier it would be to digest. “But don’t just go for that so easily. He’s our brother.”

  “Half-brother.”

  “He’s a brother to me,” Celeste said. “He’s got your smart mouth, you know.”

  “Great, now I’m being compared to the universe’s most malicious killer,” Cyrus said, but the smile on his face alleviated any concerns of it being an actual accusation. “You’re going to force me to become boring and staid, and then guess what? Crystil won’t like me anymore. Then I’ll also have to wear an ugly mask, and I won’t be able to kiss her, and—”

  “Hah,” Celeste laughed. “Of all the reasons she likes you… OK, maybe, maybe your mouth is up there, but I would probably put your loyalty and sense of duty a bit higher.”

  “Just a bit?” Cyrus smirked.

  Believe it or not, Cyrus, you have some good traits. Some traits in which you’re better at than me.

  “Uh, yeah,” she said. “Look, back on track, Typhos is my brother. Say what you want about different fathers, but the fathers aren’t that different. His father was former chief on Anatolus, ours is Emperor of Monda. Both of us have fathers in powerful positions. One just had the misfortune of having his dad die young.”

  Celeste could see the gears in his head turning, at least willing to consider things from Typhos’ perspective.

  “Just, if you see him, let me talk to him. He responds most clearly to me, and you have a bit of a brash tendency.”

  “Me??” Cyrus said mockingly but then laughed.

  Suddenly, Celeste felt something. It felt like a flash, like someone… teleporting.

  She could suddenly see the world through the eyes of Typhos as if being brought in by the man himself. She first saw Anatolus from the peak of Mount Ardor, but her vision shut off and came back seconds later to an area full of thick trees, swampland, and creatures of unusual sizes.

>   “Tapuya is mine.”

  He then shut off the communication, and Celeste had her normal vision back.

  “Typhos just went to Tapuya,” Celeste said. “We gotta go.”

  Cyrus immediately stood up, his food uneaten, and dusted himself off.

  “Grab a bite, you haven’t eaten since we got back,” Cyrus said, tossing her the remainder of his food.

  Celeste grabbed it and joined Cyrus in walking toward their armory.

  “Go outside, teleportation will be easiest there.”

  Hope you listened to what I had to say. We’re about to test it.

  27

  Typhos had spent the night in utter confusion after his conversation with Celeste.

  He had started out furious at himself for creating a monster weak enough that Cyrus and Celeste had survived their encounter with it. Needing to go somewhere different, he walked out of the sphere when her voice came.

  But it didn’t come to warn him. It didn’t come to scold him. It didn’t come to challenge him.

  It came to offer him peace that somehow seemed more genuine than anything he’d ever encountered. More authentic than Erda. More authentic than the council members, be it Pagus or Fargus. More authentic than any of my own people. He opened up to her despite his own intentions, spilling his pain and tortured soul to her. He couldn’t believe at one point that he had craved her presence and admitted that to her.

  It became too great, and he severed the connection. But the pain rolled out of him and came in the form of tears. What if she’s right? What if this pain will never end even after killing those who remind me of Adanus and Aida? What if I am cursed to a life of sorrow and agony, no matter who I defeat?

  The more he thought about it, the more he began to fear she was right. It became such a heavy burden that he even began to consider surrendering, on the condition that only Celeste could take him in. The isolation on Mount Ardor had begun to wear on him. Even having his guardians, whom he knew could betray him at any moment, gave him a sense of support that he no longer had. No amount of created monsters could give him that company.

  But now, he truly had no one. No Pagus. No Hanna. No guardians. No white magic Kastori. Only Celeste reached out to him, and she did so sincerely.

  When night fell, he told himself to sleep on it. He would make a decision in the morning, and whatever decision came, he would commit to it and would not waver.

  Sleep did not come for several hours as he played out the consequences and possibilities of both fighting and surrendering in his mind. When he finally did drift off, he dreamed of the moment when he had stabbed his sister through the chest, all but sealing her to death. But then he had gotten struck by bullets, and her brother had come and destroyed his mask, the mask he had worn for several years to disturb his enemies.

  He wished that Celeste had perished right there—I wouldn’t have to deal with her now, and my decision could be much easier.

  But he also wished that he had perished at the blade of Cyrus or the rifle of the humans—I wouldn’t ever have to deal with the pain I feel.

  The dawn came, and the sun crested over the peak of Mount Ardor.

  Typhos knew what he would do the minute his eyes fluttered open.

  He could not surrender.

  To do so was to admit defeat, not just in his battle with his siblings but in everything he had put his life around. He could no longer call himself the most powerful being in the universe. He would finally, completely, and totally give up his pursuit of the title “savior.” He would admit to not being the strongest of Aida’s offspring.

  Perhaps it is a death wish to continue. That may, in fact, be a good thing. But I would rather die trying to become the Kastori I am supposed to be—and bring down Celeste and Cyrus in the process—than admit failure.

  He let himself sit on the thoughts for an hour, wanting to make sure he had come to the right choice. He knew that even if he surrendered, he would still go for Tapuya. He could not surrender his role as the most powerful being in the universe.

  And if he did that, there could be no surrender. No one would accept him alive. They would kill him.

  He went to the peak. Wanting to bring things to a possible end, he invited Celeste to view the world through his eyes, and he teleported to Tapuya.

  “Tapuya is mine,” he messaged her, and he meant it.

  He thought of all the hateful, terrible things that had occurred in his life. Adanus. Aida. The council. Monda. My Kastori. The guardians. Gaius. Hanna. All have betrayed me. All have fueled my anger. My anger fuels me. I will take Tapuya. I will take the world!

  With his anger having fully taken over his mind, Typhos advanced toward the source of the power, making sure to go at a pace that would allow the Orthrans to catch him before he reached his goal.

  28

  Crystil carried another hunk of metal toward the ship, but even with another night of little sleep, she did so without wobbly legs or blurry eyes. She had a grin she could not get rid of and thoughts that she enjoyed repeating in her mind. I’ve lost my mind, haven’t I? And if I have, how great it is. That moment when I thought we’d ended it, and he called me over and said I was relieved of my duties…

  That was awesome. I needed that. I wanted that. I’m so glad we actually got there.

  As she placed the hunk of metal down, she briefly commanded a Kastori to weld the material together with another piece of metal. Once she had spoken, her mind shifted once more to Cyrus. In some ways, he seemed like an unusual pick. He was younger, not exactly the paradigm of discipline, and was prone to being too carefree. But he also had an incredible streak of loyalty and focus when he needed it, traits which Crystil knew would serve him well. At the critical moments—the battles with Calypsius and Typhos, the rescue of his sister—the joking Cyrus disappeared in favor of the single-minded Cyrus. Such a switch, as needed, would come in handy in their relationship.

  Thinking about that already, aren’t you. Relationship. Hah. You’re crazy. You’ve had one night with him.

  And yet, it’s kind of fun. It’s a pleasure to be thinking of him in this way. Given the alternative is to focus on war… maybe it’s a good thing to let the mind run wild a bit. Once battle comes, I’ll have someone I can fight for with even more energy.

  Just… when you go to Tapuya, you’d better come back. Won’t be as safe as Vostoka. I’ll fight a lot harder knowing you’re waiting for me when the battle is done.

  She grabbed more metal, bringing it back to the ship. She saw an older couple speaking, their bodies exhausted, covered in black dirt and soot, but their eyes loving for each other. Crystil smiled as she walked by, the sight of them reminding her of what her future with Cyrus might be.

  It’s nice to think this way. Ever since…

  Dyson.

  Remembering the pain she’d felt at his loss—pain which she had never fully expressed to anyone—reminded her to slow down. It was also a reminder that she had a long, intense, difficult road ahead of her if she and Cyrus were to become anything. She and the oldest Orthran had simply consummated a fiery lust for each other in a single passionate night. She and Dyson had forged an indestructible relationship over years of commitment, honesty, and trust before they finally became one in marriage. The bond of lusting friendship—which is what we are, be real—differed greatly from the bond of romantic love. One brought mostly exciting, intense, and fleeting moments of ecstasy with the occasional hopeful or frustrating moment. The other could make or break Crystil’s entire emotional state with a single conversation.

  Just take it slow. Smile. Keep doing what you did, because that was too much fun not to do again. But remember how much you invested in Dyson. And now he’s gone. You can commit further when the war ends.

  If you aren’t committed too far already with the previous half-year under your belt.

  She dropped the metal at the ship and nodded to the Kastori.

  “Go ahead and place this on top of the wing,” she said. �
�I can…”

  Her voice trailed off when she saw Celeste and Cyrus walking outside quickly, barely glancing back at the warehouse. She gulped and felt a pit in her stomach. She knew if she waited, they would disappear, and her last encounter with Cyrus would’ve been her ignoring him in the kitchen on the naive hope Celeste wouldn’t notice anything. But if she went—

  “I’ll be back,” she said, unwilling to live with herself if she didn’t say anything. “Just build the right wing. Give me five minutes.”

  She sprinted through the warehouse, weaving through humans and Kastori alike meandering to their construction sites. Cyrus and Celeste disappeared from view, and she picked up her speed. She broke through the entrance and saw them holding hands at the bottom of the hill, about to teleport together.

  “Wait!” she cried out. “Cyrus! Celeste!”

  Cyrus released his hand and turned back, a smile slowly creeping on his focused face. Celeste turned as well, and a knowing smile came to her. So, she knows. We didn’t have to do that back in the kitchen.

  Crystil slowed her sprint down as she came to the two siblings. She nodded, took two seconds to slow her breathing, and placed her hand on both of them.

  “You can’t leave for a new world without saying goodbye,” she said.

  “Typhos already teleported there,” Celeste said.

  Then they have to go. You can’t prolong their stay.

  Crystil paused half a beat to look into each of their eyes. Celeste’s eyes, though ready for battle, still maintained that warm understanding from seeing Crystil chase after them. She somehow melded compassion with fiery determination into her gaze. She also had that same slightly green aura to them from Vostoka.

  Cyrus’ eyes looked so focused that she felt she had never reached that level. She knew what the gaze meant—I will not fail. I will return. For you.

  I don’t have time to tell them strategy. They don’t need it. They know everything I could possibly want them to know.