Page 29 of Bred By Sor'en

He smiles. “It has been a great many orbits we have wondered who the goddesses would send to balance our botanist. Not even the most fantastical amongst us could’ve imagined it would be a human from the stars.”

Shame colors my face as I nod, my eyes falling to my feet.

“Go with balance all. Everyone is eager to host such an event for an outsider. It is seldom that we get to show who wetrulyare, and not who we have been painted to be. You will surely find it welcoming here as your new home.”

I peek up at that oddly performative and grand statement as he turns to walk away, his robes swishing around his tall frame as he approaches another lanky Xyrelith with their arms filled with stuff. I almost think he means to help them but just nods his approval and swishes away. This is the most tranquil eagerness I’ve ever seen. The mostbalanced,I suppose. Which I’m gathering is just at least outwardly suppressing any desire to emote. I search for something cynical in me, something angry and judgmental. Something familiar to cling to, in hopes of burning away the strange, wistful guilt in my chest.

I come up empty.

sixteen

Hue

Everything inside the city center follows the same white, rounded aesthetic as the home that I woke up in, but none more so than the colossal building I’m being led into now. Two winged Xyrelith females are carved into whatever hard, cold material makes up the building. Their nude forms stretched toward each other over the veiled opening. Their large wings flat against their backs. Every detail so perfectly carved, their wings look as soft and yielding as real feathers.

“Those are Pheor'aya and Fam'ora, our goddesses of balance,” the leader of my small group of females offers as the others head inside ahead of us.

“They’re beautiful.” The words leave me in a hushed whisper. So, I repeat them louder. She smiles at that.

“Are you ready?”

Am I?

Am I a horrible person?

I think I might be, whether it's that pungent but familiar realization or my guilty conscience, maybe a bit of both, I answer honestly despite my desire to lie. “No.”

She offers me another smile. “I was nervous during my vigil, too, and I grew up watching them. I cannot imagine how it must feel. Our botanist is a dutiful male. No doubt you’re well prepared.”

I nod, unwilling to say anything against Sor’en. It's not like I’ve been particularly welcoming or open to hearing him. In fact, there was an entire solar every time he’d try to talk, I hummed to myself to drown him out. Something warm whispers over my chilled flesh, although the chill I suspect comes from deep down. Something off aboutme, my wrong intentions reflecting in goosebumps on my skin. Crossing under their goddesses, knowing what I plan to do feels… horrible. So, when the warmth comes again as we pass underneath them, I refuse to let myself enjoy it.

It’s an empty, useless gesture, but it’s all I’ve got for now.

It doesn’t take us long to reach the heart of the grand palace-like temple that stands proudly at the center of their city. A warm beacon in the vast fields of rolling flowers and empty dancing land. Everything within, though, is a natural blend of high tech, shockingly advanced despite their seclusion. So much so that it lands on par with the Kalzaits, if I had to guess. The winged species make up more than half of our galaxy's ruling body. Not because they’re on the board of the Intergalactic Alliance. No,that is saved for each member of every heavily populated species of alien willing to pay to be placed there, but because everyone knows it’s really the Kalzaits that bankroll it. The annual Intergalactic Summit, flying and portaling ruling figures from our galaxy and others across the stars, is entirely paid for by the royal family. Not only do they own the monopoly on our medical trade and advancement, but they also own our governing bodies.

I can’t imagine the shifting tides should the Xyreliths ever decide they’re done hiding. Done being the victims of a system, no doubt, set up to keep them from power.

No sooner than I step into a warm, monotone chamber filled with a vanity much larger than me, a bathing pool of sorts, and a full wardrobe, I’m descended upon by the females. Panic grips me, making me flinch as my dress is gripped gently from the back.

I don’t miss Lyr’ael’s gasp as she quickly removes her hands from me, showing me her dry palms. “I would never harm you, human Hue.”

My chest releases an odd little pang as I stare at her over my shoulder. All the other females are utterly still where there was moments ago a frenzy of activity. Something about this moment feels monumental. Like there are eyes watching outside of this room, like what I do next means something more than us within it. I offer her a smile, so unlike me but genuine all the same. My hand is soft as I grasp hers, placing it on my flushed cheek. “I know. I’m just not used to being touched, is all.”

My words seem to breathe a sigh of relief into the room, the activity picking up almost immediately.

I don’t flinch again as she undoes the clasp on the back of my dress. Where I expect her to let the garment fall to the ground at my feet, she doesn’t. Instead, keeping hold of it and softly, slowly slipping off me, ensuring to gather my hair so it doesn’t pull. Another female gathers it into her arms, folding it withthe utmost care. Something in the movement strikes me dead center, making emotion swell in my chest.

Aside from Sor’en, this past limtic I’ve never been handled… gently. Sure, Mom was soft enough, but Nysharil don’t value gentleness. The education and housing pods were perfunctory. It hurt, while not intentionally, it didn’t change that it did. This… this doesn’t hurt. I keep blinking the tears from my eyes, lost to my own thoughts, when Lyr’ael suddenly undoes the clasp on my necklace.

A strangled sound leaves my throat, the result of too many words jumbling together on their way out. My hand snapping up to grab the tooth. “The necklace stays on.”

I gently tug it free from her hands, redoing the clasp and stepping away from the gaggle of females.

“You must be entirely pure from non-blessed garments for your baptism,” she counters.

I shake my head, clasping my hands around the necklace as if they’ll pry it from me.

“It is a human culture thing then?”