Khalid’s consciousness snapped back into his physical form. He was drenched; his skin was slick with a cold, heavy sweat, and his hair clung to his forehead in damp strands. He hated the feeling of being unclean. As his eyes opened, the drone of the scriptures stopped abruptly. The three hundred priests fell into a deafening silence, their gazes fixed on him in terror and awe.

  "You did it!" Usman’s voice boomed through the hall, thick with relief and triumph. "This is a gift from the heavens! You have done the impossible, Khalid!"

  Khalid looked at his uncle, but the world looked different now. His vision was sharper, edged with a predatory clarity. His irises had ignited into a vibrant, glowing crimson—the undeniable signature of a True Human.

  "Uncle," Khalid said, his voice raspy but cold. "I want to take a bath."

  Usman laughed, though his hands shook as he placed them on Khalid’s shoulders. "Of course, of course! But first, the ritual. The camel must be sacrificed."

  "You are the eldest in this house," Khalid replied, his tone dismissive. "You do it."

  "Come now," Usman urged, pulling him toward the exit. "You are a grown man, a Prince awakened. Do not be lazy. Your mother is fasting on Eremos, waiting for the meat to break her hunger. Do not keep her waiting."

  Khalid stood, his new strength making the movement effortless. "Fine. Where is the beast?"

  He slaughtered the camel with a surgical, dispassionate efficiency. He ordered his soldiers to pack the meat into a high-security stasis box and dispatch it via a high-speed courier to Eremos immediately. Once the blood was spilled and the duty done, Khalid turned to a servant. "Take me to my quarters. I am tired."

  The Price of Devotion

  Khalid awoke the next morning with a slight, rhythmic throb in his skull—the weight of the black hole still settling in his mind. He sat up, shirtless, the muscles of his torso lean and hardened from his months of training.

  Across the room, a young woman was meticulously changing the flowers in a crystal vase. She turned to look at him, and Khalid saw the immediate shift in her expression. It wasn't just the reverence one showed a Human; it was a hungry, desperate lust. She was a sub-human from Arak, beautiful with sun-kissed skin and a curvaceous, lithe frame.

  Khalid’s mind, sharp and cynical, knew exactly what she wanted. A Human’s concubine lived in more luxury than a sub-human queen.

  Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

  "How is it that such a beauty is serving me?" Khalid asked, his voice low.

  The girl blushed, her eyes dropping to his chest. "I am only a servant, my Lord."

  "Come here," he commanded.

  As she approached, Khalid felt no hesitation. He reached out, his hand sliding firmly around the small of her back, pulling her against him. "I want to embrace a beauty such as you."

  He didn't wait for a verbal answer. He saw the redness in her cheeks and the way her breath hitched. Khalid was not gentle. He moved with a rough, dominant energy, his lips crashing against hers. She didn't shrink away; she met his intensity with a slutty desperation, her tongue seeking his, her hands clutching at the back of his head as if she feared he might stop.

  For the next hour, Khalid used her to vent the mounting pressure in his mind. He was forceful, pinning her to the silken sheets as he reclaimed the primal pleasures of the flesh. She was vocal and eager, her body arching under his roughness, playing the part of the perfect, seduced plaything in hopes of securing her future.

  When it was over, she climbed on top of him, her heavy breasts pressing against his chest. "My Lord," she whispered breathlessly, "please... take me with you."

  Khalid ran his fingers through her tangled hair, his expression unreadable. "My planet is in chaos right now. When the dust settles, I will come for you." It was a politician's lie, smooth and convincing.

  As Khalid walked toward the temple’s main gates to depart, Usman caught up to him. Khalid didn't stop, his stride long and purposeful.

  "Your news has already reached the capital," Usman called out. "And Eremos. They are already comparing you to Ali Ghazzawi."

  "I am nothing like him," Khalid replied without looking back. "I am simply going home."

  "Sex in the temple is prohibited, Khalid," Usman added, his voice dropping to a stern whisper.

  Khalid rolled his eyes. "Come now, Uncle. Do not bore me with such trifles."

  Usman sighed. "You have changed. Since Bilal’s death... you are a different man."

  Khalid stopped. He turned his head slightly, the crimson glow of his eyes catching the light. "I am heading out, Uncle. But thank you. For everything. And do not worry—I will protect Bilal’s son with my life." He paused. "Did she decide on a name?"

  "Jalaluddin," Usman said softly.

  "Jalaluddin Ghazzawi," Khalid tasted the name. "It is a strong name. I will invite you to the naming ceremony. And Uncle... give that girl a gift. Something huge."

  He walked to the landing pad where his ship waited. His soldiers and staff were lounging, some smoking. When they heard his footsteps and turned, they didn't see the soft prince. They saw a man with a thick, dark beard, hair waving in the wind, and eyes that burned like dying stars. They dropped to their knees instantly.

  "Prepare for departure," Khalid barked. "We are leaving."

  The ship touched down on Eremos under the cover of night. A sea of media drones and cameras swarmed the pad, their lights flickering against the dusky orange haze of the atmosphere. Standing at the center of the crowd was Amirah.

  Khalid stepped out. He looked lethal. He wore a crisp white thobe beneath a flowing black bisht, his fingers adorned with three heavy rings—one on his thumb, one on his ring finger, and one on his pinky. His crimson eyes pierced through the darkness.

  He walked straight to his mother, ignoring the flashing cameras. "Did you eat the meat I sent?"

  Amirah looked at him, tears of joy streaming down her face. Her own eyes, a matching awakened red, met his. "Yes," she choked out. "Your eyes... you look exactly like your father."

  "Mother, I am tired," Khalid said, his voice flat.

  "Of course," she said, reaching out to touch his arm. "Go to your room. We will speak tomorrow."

  Khalid walked past the cameras and the cheering crowds.