Suvyavasthaa

"If they expect me to hand over my guns, I'm waiting outside."

Hurt flashed in Logan's eyes, quickly replaced by her usual indifference. "I don't need you there anyways. You're only coming so you don't get all pissy over Goldilocks being in danger."

They exited onto the docking station at Jyrsa Port. The suns were setting, making the sticky air bearable, and the raucous sounds of a Free Port City filled the streets. From up here, it was easy to see the allure of Jyrsa: crowded markets, glowing neon lights, the promise of adventure- or of a new start. But any good poison was invisible to the eye; whether the gambling or the gangs,  the slave trade or the assassins, the city's excitement came laced with danger. And though it was a lawless city, unchained by the Assembly's laws, her first mate had procured them all Lyrian attire to cover their faces. The flowing fabric reminded Adhira of a home long since gone.

They took the lift down to street level, avoiding the assortment of salespeople populating each corner: they promised goods, protection, a night you wouldn't forget. Logan wove them through the masses, at last pulling them into an alleyway free from the congestion. "The Kennel is down this way. Let me do the talking."

The bouncer patted them down, but didn't ask for their weapons. Whether the city fostered that climate, or the Hounds were just flexing their power, Adhira wasn't sure; she appreciated the weight of the pistol on her hips regardless. Though psiotics made her dangerous on her own, she had carried a piece for more than half her life. It was like the safety of a child’s stuffed bear.

The Kennel lived up to its name: dancers of every species hung in cages above them, and onlookers barked at each other over pulsing synth music. Neon lights kissed the dark corners of the club, casting a reddish glow on all of its varied denizens. Once they joined the sea of bodies on the dance floor, Logan reached back to grab Adhira’s hand. She sought Margaret Grace, noting how smooth and unblemished the Princess’ palm was. She couldn’t remember a time when calluses and scars didn’t decorate every inch of her body. A soldier’s life.

Logan led them through the crowd, much less perturbed at the excessive groping and grinding than Adhira felt. She cringed away at every touch, trying to make herself smaller in between the sweat and scales and grabby claws. They navigated into a dark corridor, a steel door with the warning STAFF ONLY waiting at the end.

Logan rapped twice against it.

A gworra opened the door, motioning them inside. His forked tongue caressed a candy stick. Adhira remembered her brother telling her that gworra’s spit was poisonous to humans. The allergic reaction that had puffed up Imran’s mouth for two weeks won her that information.

The only light in the room came from a desk in the center of the room. “You’re five minutes late.”

Adhira removed her covering, the others following her lead.

At the sight of her face, the thin man stood abruptly. He jabbed a blackened finger at her. “This woman has landed half of my underlings in prison. What made you think I wouldn’t kill her on sight?”

Logan shouldered Adhira, placing her frame between her and the Houndsman. “Because you won’t get what you broke me out of prison for, and I’ll spend the rest of my days planning how to end you.”

“Big words from an elf who was cowering in a cell a month ago.”

Always so many words with these gang leaders. She grabbed the princess and crossed the room to his desk. “Let her do her work so we can get out of here faster, and you can get back to snorting vax.”

Only a slight widening of his eyes let her know she had thrown him off guard. He hid his hands behind his back. “Ambreen, the amulet, please.”

The gworra did as he was bid, laying the artifact upon the desk. It seemed to bend the air around it, like the illusion of water on hot desert sands. Margaret Grace reached out, pale fingers trembling. Her manicured nail tapped the obsidian shell.

The amulet didn’t react to her touch.

The Houndsman brushed the edges of his mustache, gaze trained on the necklace. 

Then the princess’ eyes widened, her eyelids fluttering rapidly. “I— oh—”

Shadows curled around the girl’s arm, shooting up from the amulet like ivy, shimmering like the night sky. She went limp, and Adhira dove to catch her.

When her skin touched Margaret Grace’s, the room dissolved.

On opening her eyes, a white palace greeted her. She tried to focus on anything, everything outside of her body’s reach blurry. The princess, she needed to find the princess--

A warmth filled the room. She paused, her outstretched hand hanging in midair.

“The universe cares little about your desires.” A deep, penetrating voice assaulted their ears. “Existence is about Order. You should know this, halfling.”

Adhira shook her head, pushing away at the familiarity of the voice. “I came out of my mother as a human, like the rest of my people.”

The voice continued, no apparent source in sight. “But what is inside is not the same. I know that you have felt Order’s call. You know that chaotic world you lived in held no purpose for you, and this is why you have ended up here.”

Adhira flushed. She closed her eyes to try and focus.

A soldier's life was one of order. She knew her assignments, her station, how to talk to a superior and a subordinate. She kept to her schedule and it kept her safe.

The skin at the nape of her neck tingled, an invasive warmth spreading through her scalp and spine. “Your brother would be pleased to see you here, Adhira Ahluwalia of Earth. We welcome you.”

They know Rama? The tingling massaged every crevice of her mind. For once, she didn’t feel the slightest hint of a headache. She felt like she could sleep. Like she could truly rest—

She shook her head, a wave of dizziness shooting through her. No. “He is long since gone.”

“His faith in Order is strong. Do not worry, Adhira Ahluwalia. You two shall be reunited soon.”

A blurry shadow shimmered at the far end of the palace. Adhira scrambled towards it, fingers scraping against the hard metal of the floor. “Rama—” she fought against a wave of nausea— “Kripaya—”

Something stopped her crawling, a hand wrapped around her ankle. She looked back to see blood pouring from the princess’ nose, mixing with trails of tears. “This place isn’t for us.”

The warmth disappeared, like a bucket of ice water dousing her.

The ground of the Hound's office pulsed rhythmically around her. The muted bass of the club’s music, awakening her limbs to this horrible city. 

The room buzzed around her, questions and concerns evident in each person’s face. She stood, slowly, and answered them along with the princess.

They crafted a plan to sell the amulet, which she could only barely follow. Back on the street, bar crawlers were heading home in droves, blending them back into the crowds. Warm bodies pressed up against her, and the princess’ hand slipped into her own. All of it felt… empty.

Adhira fingered the cool amulet in her pocket. Neon lights cast a soft haze over the main square, and a welcoming voice murmured in her mind. Order.