Forged in Fire
When the immortal Pietas is marooned on a barren world with no food and few survival tools, he knows it could be worse. He could be alone.
But that's the problem. He's not.
Half a million of his people sleep in cryostasis, trapped in their pods and it's up to Pietas to rescue them. Before he can save his people, he must take back command from a ruthless enemy he's fought for centuries.
His brutal, merciless father.
Immortals may heal, but a wound of the heart lasts forever...
Take from an enemy...
Six slid their canteen off over his head and held it out to Pietas.
Accepting anything from a human, an altered one at that, had violated every instinct at first. To take from an enemy, yes. Always. Let one give you something as if you needed it? Admit a weakness before an enemy?
But this was Six.
Pietas took it.
Ultras could go days without water, but they consumed it when they had it. He wiped one dusty hand across his mouth. The satisfaction of assuaged thirst never failed to please. What simple things in life brought pleasure! In captivity, he'd dreamed of even a drop to cool his tongue. He'd sworn he'd never take water for granted again.
Six had offered it to their companions during the climb, but the entire lot refused anything a mortal's lips had touched. Yes, Six was a quasi-immortal, but to the others, that gave him even less status.
Pietas wavered on few things, but on this? Should he call the man human, mortal, quasi-immortal, or ghost? He'd elected to choose as the mood struck. But one in particular annoyed Six.
"Thanks, ghost." He thrust the canteen against Six's chest.
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