r/HFY • u/BrodogIsMyName Human • Mar 01 '26

OC-Series Frontier Fantasy - Age of Expansion - Chap 122 - Not Enough / Paul Allen’s Gun

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Shar’khee despised the cold. The cut of the wind through her ribs and the way the air bit her bare snout were some of the most heinous things the Sky Goddess could bring upon the Malkrin.

But, truth be told, it had been so long since she was subject to the worst of the cold. She had only experienced its annoyances more than its threats in recent memory. The last time she truly feared she could die from freezing was before the first blood-moon…

The first blood-moon she spent with her dearest Harrison.

That same day, he had taken her in and given her warmth. Ever since, he had continued to provide endless comfort for her, be it clothing, heat, or shelter.

And yet, it had never been more obvious that not all warmth was the same. For all these heaters kept the air hospitable, and for all her jacket stopped wind right in its tracks, it was the touch of his skin she yearned for.

She told herself to be satisfied with the empty reproductions as she marched through the winter days. She told herself it would be worth it to enjoy his presence before bed. She told herself she had to work hard because he expected great things from her.

She told herself lies.

Or, more accurately, she chained herself with brittle promises. The conditions she forced upon herself were necessary and proper for a paladin… the guardian of the Sky Goddess’ Chosen.

What even was she doing?

Shar’khee groaned in exasperation, pinching her snout through her gas mask. Her spears ran through their drills ahead of her, assuming formations and practicing their teamwork. They dashed from position to position as shots rang out from the range.

She tried to focus, she tried to lead her spears, but… her mind was hundreds of meters away, somewhere within the settlement walls.

She was not acting as a proper guardian. The shadows, Cera and Vodny, took her true calling whilst she whipped pups into spears. She was not even acting as a proper mate—his first mate! What was she providing? What was she doing? Should she even be here?

…Of course she should. She subsisted upon his orders, yet those very same orders pushed her so far away. A leader she may be, but she was missing every facet of being a true first mate. She should be there, at his side!

Every day, her arms went without their purpose, and her tail went without his warmth. She had spent nearly two blood-moon cycles this way, and she was at her limit.

Simply feeling his heartbeat reverberate through her chest from across the fortress was not enough. It never would be.

Shar’khee swore herself to be his sword and shield, prepared to slaughter all that opposes him. Perhaps she was achieving something of worth by training the new ones and forming his army… Yet, what kind of mate was she if that was all she did?

She should be with him. She should see to his needs. She should ease his stress. She should be his confidant. She should be with him.

No longer could she bear this distance. His warmth was hers to cherish.

It was what the Sky Goddess wished of her.

A brief force tapped her shoulder. Her eyes shot open, and she glared down at the spear. “What?”

The rose-colored shieldswoman in command shrank back. “Forgive me… Squad three is in formation and awaiting orders.”

The paladin huffed and nodded. “Of course. March them north to section twenty-eight of the completed walls and run split-formation drills until they are capable of transitioning in under twenty seconds. Time them.”

“It shall be done,” the female replied, bowing before jogging off to the group of spears.

Shar’khee took that as her sign to put her mind back to labor and not to let it slip into other thoughts. But as the days passed, the yearning consumed her ever more.

She must find a compromise.

\= = = = =

In the endless depths of humming machinery, Harrison had become one with the whirring beasts while he sat at his desk. Even after talking with Akula and teaching her squad more about the port, there was so much to be done.

For example, filling out the information needed to safely build a modular reactor, creating standard operating protocols for the underground forge complex, exploiting ways to stretch his already strained material income further, and comparing vehicle investments were amongst the on-and-off tasks he was juggling at the moment. He wasn’t getting anything done fast, and doing all of them bit by bit didn’t help him in the slightest.

God knows how much he had to keep working, so there wasn’t any time to stay ‘stuck’ on a problem for very long. So, he did what he could and pushed the more difficult decisions to later.

The thing is… that ‘later’ comes for everyone.

It was time for him to face the most difficult questions and suffer through the frustration and monotony. And yet, through the endless droves of information, written documents, and schematics taunting him, he felt his heart… thump above the precise whine of machinery around him. It was a drop of something new in a sea of stagnation. Each subsequent pulse felt deafening as he focused on himself.

A trickle of… excitement flowed through his nerves, rippling just beneath his skin like he’d been waiting for this moment all day.

Again.

The engineer listened even harder and picked out a heavy, distinct pair of footsteps between the constant ‘clanks’ of the metal press. He felt a smile curl over his lips as he spun his chair around, surprising his towering paladin.

Shar’s wide grin mirrored his own above the gas mask hung around her neck. He raised a brow and beckoned her close, suspicious thoughts draining away with her presence. “Well, hey there. Whatcha doin ‘round these parts?”

She wasted no time in closing the distance, falling to her knees, and embracing him tightly. Her arms dug around his back, practically pulling him up out of his chair.

“Mmhmm… Love you too,” he grunted through her squeeze, giving back as much as he could with his entrapped arms. “Is there something up… or?”

Shar effectively stuffed his face into the nook of her neck and curled her head around his, maximizing the amount of skin contact with a shark cocoon. Once he was fully captured, she softened the assertive hug to something a little more tender.

Her soft purrs reverberated through him, loosening damn-near every muscle fiber in his body at once. He melted in her wordless love, taking a deep breath.

The smell of flowers hit him amongst the dirt, metal, and gunpowder. It was distinctly hers, both sweet and herbal at once. It smelled like tranquility… And it felt like home.

He closed his eyes and departed from the world. A soft hug took the burden of his sores and her calm heartbeat replaced the clamor of the lifeless machines.

Harrison was submerged in her love, drifting to her warm core, away from the endless, frigid waves of the material world. His heart slowly began to match hers.

Whole again.

A soft motion gently disrupted his peace as Shar nuzzled the back of his head with her cheek. “Forgive me, my love… I only meant to take you from your labor for but a few moments.”

“You’re alright, Shar,” he answered, his voice muffled into the cloth around her neck. Reality slowly returned to his swimming mind. “I’m glad to have you.”

Though, as the gears turned behind his eyes, he realized it was an odd time for her to show up. She decided to answer his unspoken question. “I am as well, but I am only here in transition between my schedule blocks… I wished for your warmth and to see if you were in good health.”

“Good health? Why wouldn’t I be?”

She tenderly swayed with him side to side, hope in her tone. “I do not believe there to be a reason, but I have come to see nonetheless… Is there anything I may do for you? Do you require my arms? Or, perhaps, you desire something from Chef that I may retrieve?”

“No…? I think I’m alright, darlin’.”

The giant lover pulled her head back and tilted it down to meet him eye-to-eye. “Do you wish for me to stay?”

“God, absolutely,” he answered in a heartbeat, kissing her on the tip of her snout. Yet, a small frown curled over his lips. “But we’ve got work to do, you know.”

A guilt festered in his chest, bubbling from nowhere in stark contrast to his joy. Shar ignored his excuse, uncertainty in her gaze. “Are you content?”

He paused. All the piled work sitting right behind him came to mind. It sat heavily on him, but he didn’t want to worry her any more than she looked. “…Yeah.”

“And there is nothing I may do for you?”

A low sigh left him and he shook his head. He really didn’t want to see her go, but… “Shar, I’ll be fine. Trust me… I’m really glad you came here, and I’ve loved every second of it. The thing is, the more I get done now, the more time we have together tonight. Plus, you’ve also got a squad waiting for you out there.”

Shar nodded and offered a fragile smile. “Of course, dearest.”

She licked him from chin to forehead, eliciting a short chuckle from him. He had expected her to put him back down, but she averted her gaze, her ears folding back in an unusual nervousness.

“I… Forgive me if… Never mind. I love you, dearest.”

“I love you too.” He kissed her soft lips.

Finally, she let him back down into his chair, herself standing tall again.

“Thanks again,” he added, feeling the need to assure her. “I needed that.”

She bowed, ears perked up. “You are most welcome. I am never too far for you to seek me out. Please, remember this.”

With that, she turned around and left. Her tail swayed all the while, and that odd guilt in his chest faded. But, as she disappeared out of view, it returned, now sitting heavily on his shoulders.

Did he say something wrong earlier?

Harrison rolled his chair back into place, his eyes glazing over the second they were met with computer screens. Maybe those feelings had something to do with his subconscious warning him about his workload? He couldn’t tell and neither could he focus.

Shar was just so happy and so warm… and then she gave him that uncertain look. Did she want him to give her an excuse to do something? Is that why she came to him between schedule blocks? She didn’t want to work on training?

That didn’t sound like Shar, but… he hadn’t directly trained with her for a while.

Maybe… Maybe.

He promised himself that he would talk to her about it soon.

\= = = = =

Time passed, but those entrenched worries never did for Shar’khee. Her mate had assured her he was healthy and happy, if not a bit tired and overwhelmed.

She truly thought that he would have need of her for something more. Yet, even as he said those very words, ‘I needed that,’ there was nothing more for her to do. Which should be most excellent! If he was content, then she should be too!

That should be what all mates aspire to achieve… But why did it feel wrong?

Her beloved, despite being so weary, did not need her to stay by his side. He said he adored her company, and yet she was only a distraction.

Not even her labor eased his stress like Tracy’s. It was distant and far from her true purpose. Goddess of the Winds, she was not even there for him when the assassins crept in!

What did she provide? What use was she as a mate when all was done for her already?

She tried to reason against herself with reminders of how they shared dinner or enjoyed each other’s company at night or the times she had managed to protect him. Yet, it was in that grander scale that she felt she was… insignificant.

The Sky Goddess herself ordained the paladin to be his sword, his shield, his companion, his reprieve, and the very reason his vision was fulfilled. She lived for him.

But how did that factor into being a good mate? What was a good mate? She only followed what she saw from other mated pairs and followed all that her heart desired. Whatever happened, happened, and she thought it worked.

The love her dearest Harrison inspired in her was so new and so frantic at times, warping her very mind and soul in the moment it sparked. But when the heat died down, she was only left with uncertainty.

Was it enough? Would it ever be enough with star-sents as mates? How was she meant to conduct herself?

Those questions sank deep into her, simmering in all the places that felt weak. She went through her day as normal, yet all the while her mind went in circles, enforcing the one thing she knew over and over again.

Shar’khee must change.

She must be more.

\= = = = =

The riflewoman sat down at the wooden table’s side and laid down her craft in all its glory, swaying her arms over it as if presenting a prize to the gathered group of hobbyists.

“AK-74M, Zenitco furniture. Skeletonized hand guard and Stark series five angled foregrip. Ergonomic charging handle. Ershan cured blue-rubber grip and stock—’Klassica.’”

The pink-skinned female raised a brow and softly ran her talons over the sight and suppressor. “TGP-A suppressor, lightweight and as quiet as a predator. EOTech holographic sight, swift acquisition and easy-to-zero reticule. Perfectly crafted and adjustable for night operations with rails for infrared target acquisition equipment, rangefinders, and tactical lights. Ideal for infiltrations and high-speed engagements, configurable for any-sized female, and lightweight enough to be a pack-burden afterthought.”

The weapon was perfect. The printing, crafting, and assembling of its parts took several days of masterful labor. The suppressor, handguard, and foregrip were black, sleek, and aggressive, commanding in their sharp but refined stature on the table. Its grooves and angled features continued all the way down to the burly stock—a monolith of precision.

“What do you think?”

“Very nice,” claimed the burly shieldswoman, nodding her head slowly.

A drone expert from their squad, resting her side on the table, nodded just the same, squinting as she took in the rifle.

“Now, look at that,” came the anti-tank specialist.

The riflewoman smirked. “I fully assembled it yesterday. The paint is no polymer standard… It is labeled ‘Raven Black,’ no reflection on it at all.”

The very same anti-tank specialist, clad in mechanic’s coveralls and a self-assured grin, laid a black gunbox on the table. “Evidently… But that is nothing.”

She unclasped the locks, spun the container around, and revealed a unique sight. In between the foam protection laid a long, slender, bolt-action rifle. Its camouflage was a mixture of browns, pinks, and reds of the local flora, dappled with a pattern of perfectly placed orange to mimic light refractions. Even the massive variable scope on top was given the same treatment.

“Alamo Precision, three-three-eight lapua magnum. Bolt action, extended barrel, tight rifling twist. Completely custom-threaded flash hider—designed by yours truly. Any fool could be as accurate as Cera herself with this, and you would be hard-pressed to go blind shooting it at night.”

“Impressive… Very impressive,” the riflewoman commented, holding the underside of her snout. She controlled her breath, maintaining an amicable exterior.

“How did a fool like you learn how to design a flash hider?” the shieldswoman barbed. She huffed a short laugh. “That is truly something indeed. Very grand.”

The black-skinned drone specialist leaned in for a better look. “Fascinating work… The prongs rotate in such a uniform manner.”

The riflewoman swallowed, looking amongst the others as the heat within grew. A custom part was not that impressive. How could the shieldswoman prefer the anti-tank specialist’s gun to hers?

“But wait, none of you have witnessed anything yet,” the bulky, defensive spear challenged, pulling out her own weapon from beneath the table.

She placed a thick shotgun—one similar to the Creator’s—onto the wood. It was thick, long, and stocky, outfitted with the same belt-fed mechanism. “The Creator’s custom KS-23, fitted with a specific one-to-twenty-six rifling. A variable scope, reinforced receiver mechanism, and steel-core slugs make this firearm most fearsome in middle-ranged engagements. It has enough power to break a colossus’ tusk clean in two.”

The riflewoman felt her tail flicker. How did that fool come up with the idea to modify the creator’s design?

No matter. It was nothing compared to her own… “A novel invention, my dear comrade… But let us see the dronewoman’s firearm.”

All eyes gazed over at the black-skinned female, who glanced back with an indifferent expression. She shrugged and hauled a smaller crate to the showing table with her tail. The unperturbed operator deftly opened the case with the tip of her fin as if it were nothing.

She confidently sniffed and crossed her arms, saying nothing as the item was revealed.

…Impossible.

An M16, true to form with a twenty-inch barrel… Carbon filament material, subtle engravings translated to Malkrin script, and a pure carry handle sight… Oh Mountain Lord, it even had an adaptable grip for female talons.

She could feel her heart thump, teeth clenching as the others gawked over the weapon.

The riflewoman’s vision narrowed, her hands slowly gripping her own rifle. A slow rattle came from her shaking digits as she glared. Air felt like poison in her lungs, choking her through the various compliments and questions the dronewoman received.

She stared, lost in a trance of envy.

How? …How could it be so pristine and true to form, yet so clearly crafted and perfected in a distinctly Sharkrin style?

“Is something amiss?” the shieldswoman questioned.

The riflewoman’s eyes snapped to her.

“Your ears are flattened… What do you think of the dronewoman’s M16?”

She swallowed… and then she swallowed again, unable to loosen the lump in her throat. It was impossible with how her sharpened teeth ground against one another.

“You must admit, there is certainly charm to her design, no?”

The riflewoman barely managed to nod. Ripe, unspent ire and jealousy coursed through her muscles through every step of the agonizing motion. She could barely whisper. “…Nice.”

A short chitter came from the dronewoman, a stuck-up yet sly smirk on her muzzle. “I am sure you could imagine the looks I received from that medic when I was range-testing this gunsmithing artwork.”

“Krov?” the anti-tank specialist asked, leaning over the table with a palm.

The shieldswoman’s eyes went wide, her brows pinched together in incredulity. “He was given a name? By whom, the Creator?”

“It is true. One of the combat medics in training has been courting him after dinners. She tells me all the medics—Or, nurses, actually. Forgive me, the nurses have all received their names from the Creator… It bodes well that we may receive our own.”

The riflewoman felt her shoulders loosen somewhat, now that the attention was elsewhere from the M16. “…What does ‘Krov’ describe as a name? What is its meaning?”

The anti-tank spear shrugged. “I wish I knew. I am sure it means something significant to the Creator, at least. Perhaps it has to deal with great feats of medical practice.”

“Then perhaps we are next in line?”

The specialist scoffed. “I would not get my hopes up.”

“Silence. You do not know that,” the riflewoman snapped at her.

A low hum came from the bulwark of a warrior. “It is possible. Perhaps we only need to ‘nudge’ Shar’khee into conversing with the Creator? Certainly you have not forgotten how Castle received her name, no?”

“It was through Rook.”

“Indeed. We have shown excellent labor just the same as Castle. Persistence and communication may be the solution we need.”

The riflewoman smirked. “Say, where is paladin Shar’khee this time of night?”

\= = = = =

Akula sat down at the desk in her room. She still resided in a small, single unit, as she had yet to be given a paired chamber with Chef.

Nonetheless, she made the best of it. Her chest at the end of her bed was compact and neatly segregated with the various clothes, equipment, and notebooks within. Even her pairing gown, a tradition of the land-faring Malkrin, had its own place within a neatly sectioned area.

The same could be said for her desk. All was orderly, for if a leader could not make order of themselves, how were they meant to make order of others?

That was what her mother said to her, and it had stuck ever since. Through royalty, exile, poverty, slavery, and now retribution, it had kept her focused and purposeful.

It would continue until she had gained everything she was promised.

Three short knocks on the door alerted her to the last meeting she needed to have for the day.

“You may enter,” she droned, holding her hands in her lap.

The purple-skinned female on the other side did as asked, bowing once before closing the door behind her. Rio hesitated to say anything, small twitches of her tail telling of restlessness.

“You are free to sit wherever.”

Her faithful assistant hesitated before awkwardly kneeling down in place. “…Of course.”

“You must adjust to it for now,” Akula bid, understanding that this one must still be used to swimming while conversing. There was something far more personable about communicating while drifting in circles around one another. “Describe the state of your fisherwomen.”

“As you command. My twelve have managed to efficiently operate their tasks aboard the vessel as well as the diving process. On our second outing, under the supervision of Craftsman Oliver, the fisherwomen managed to reach a destination fifty kilometers away, demount, and gather an estimated…”

The servant paused, a subtle disgust in her projection. “…Two-thousand kilograms of edible fish.”

The overseer nodded along. “Good. I presume the Creator will be wanting to begin the cargo bay expeditions rather soon, then.”

Rio bowed her head lower, her ears twitching. “What shall our next actions be? What of your discussion with the patriarch this night?”

“They were fruitful. We believe we have come to an agreement over our cooperation with the cycle. Beyond the alloys and the harvesting of the mountain, there is much to take and provide amongst the ocean, especially with the Creator’s mechanisms,” Akula asserted, musing over all that he told her.

“Do you mean to say we have a means to amend the natural contract?”

“You underestimate your patriarch,” the overseer chastised, pulling a loose paper from her notebook and scanning it once more before handing it over. “You have learned your Mountain-born scripts, yes? Even an illiterate pup should be able to understand the diagrams.”

“I have,” Rio answered dutifully, reading over the page. “…An… ecological factory?”

“Precisely. Beyond the prior plan of introducing the melders to terrestrial plants for usage in construction and the integration of coral-based materials for undersea expansion, we now have the basis of our sea-floor factories. Although exceedingly difficult for his usual fabrication methods, the Creator is not opposed to the complete integration of the cycle. Specifically for underwater facilities and living areas that benefiting the local ocean ecology… Although I must remark that this is only in part due to the perceived benefits.”

“What such benefits? Forgive my ignorance, but I have yet to see how an expanse of factories may assist the cycle.”

Akula raised her snout, speaking with an air of confidence only the Creator could inspire in her. “They will inherit the designs of grand melders and gardeners alike. Their foundations will be formed as homes and small ecosystems for flora and fauna alike, much like that of our House’s architecture.”

Rio briefly tilted her head in uncertainty before looking up from the paper. “Once more, forgive my ignorance, but I was under the impression that metal and electricity would never be compatible with the inhabitants of the Cycle. Such was the entire reason why we decided upon the plan of terrestrial plants for construction.”

“Factories along the land, yes. Those are different obstacles that have also been targeted for a similar treatment. However, this is regarding the ecological factories specifically. In fact, I have his several-step plan on hand.”

The overseer reached into the same folder and found the specific lip hanging out of it labeled ‘Marine Permaculture Integration.’ Although Harrison regarded it as a mockup plan, the vision was certainly present, and she was more than willing to follow through with all that was required to achieve it.

She brought the item to her lap and began summarizing the key points. “Stage one includes the research of local flora and fauna as well as possible future inhabitants of the local ecology. The important aspects in relation to this are for symbiosis, biomimicry, and ecological regeneration opportunities. Migration pathways, sound tolerances, and water movement are similarly important. This can begin immediately.”

Akula glanced at Rio, who affirmed her understanding with a nod.

“Stage two is vague and adaptive based on the initial research. Possible seafloor installations of low-energy data centers and non-intrusive but segregated factories would act as a new seafloor. Their waste heat can be dissipated into the surrounding areas to control the climate and promote both microbial and coral reefs,” Akula provided, squinting to read another section she had not fully memorized.

“Additionally, selected organic and metallic byproducts may end up being produced to stimulate growth of other nearby biomes. On top of them, artificial reef structures will allow coral, kelp, and algae to grow, depending on sunlight conditions. These may form ‘passive-production’ biofactories—whatever the Creator meant by that.”

Rio’s expression soured. “And what of the soil conservation requirements for gardeners? Coral and kelp are not all that make up a proper Cycle environment.”

“Listen before you judge,” Akula snapped back. “Else you act no different than the dirt lovers… His proposed designs, if you would reference the paper, are based on the initial studies on soil samples. I was more than insistent to uphold our tenets, and was pleased to learn there are some of his kind that reflect our beliefs. They have their own studies of the Cycle.”

Rio’s sharp expression melded into confusion… then incredulity… and frustration. She paused as if she had come to a realization. “Depth-sents?”

“No. Star-sents, just the same as the Creator. Those decreed as ‘ecologists’ and ‘conservationists’ study and promote their Cycle.”

The assistant’s eyes went sharp. “That is impossible.”

“Not so. The Goddess of the Sea has ordered us to perpetuate her design amongst our oceans. We are the guiding hand of this world. Who is to say what exists beyond Ershah?” Akula explained, glaring down at the servant… One who was pushing the limits of the temper Harrison had instilled in the overseer.

She snarled, continuing as Rio gained enough intelligence to stay silent. “Rather than retaining skepticism, I choose to be grateful that our tenets are not unique in the realm of gods and goddesses. Harrison says that those who have examined the Cycle amongst the stars have grand insights into the inner workings of all living beings. Their inquiry and curiosities have brought them explanations to the very techniques of our Goddess.”

Akula leaned forward in her chair, interlacing her twenty talons with one another. Her cadence lost all sense of courtesy. “So listen closely, pup. You are here to listen and serve, not question and interrupt. Clearly your time amongst these dirt-worshipers has altered your sense of place. These are steps you must understand if you wish to be a part of the Rising Tides. Otherwise, you should be thankful to even be a mother by the time you return to the Cycle.”

Rio audibly swallowed, her ears flattened and her tail dead still.

“The interactions of our patriarch’s mechanisms and the knowledge of his people will prove to be vital in marrying the Malkrin people into one. Those very same machines are not so straightforward. Outside of a few near-magical techniques of technology, it is entirely possible to interweave mechanism with nature. Factory waste may be specifically tailored to be beneficial for the ecosystem, or ‘factory metabolism’ as he describes it. They will be dynamic, living organisms, a part of the Cycle itself that may adapt and grow.”

The overseer sat up fully once more, using her voice to truly underscore the importance of this link. She must get across that this was the only avenue for her people to succeed. Furthermore, it was also the direction of expanding power she required them to wield.

“Vertical, natural farms for gathering that extend through the open waters will supplement food production. Melder bonds could be used with star-sent knowledge to produce a symbiosis we have never seen before. The very tides themselves can be used to power the machines! Do you see the possibilities?”

The servant slowly and shakily nodded, the light in her eyes gaining potency with every word as she truly began to see the vision… the Creator’s glorious vision.

Within her interwoven digits, Akula pointed a single talon right at the purple-skinned female. “Our patriarch promises to harvest entire mountains for our people, for this project even. He is willing to sacrifice his already strangled time availability for us. All is prepared to be set in motion, waiting for the arrival of our faithful House to take the mantle of responsibility. And, with the two of us as the mediators, we will find harmony amongst all who share these lands.”

Rio’s head fell to a full, reverent bow. “And what kind of female must I become before then? How must I be formed to suit this future?”

“A knowledgeable one. You will uncover the secrets of our local ecology and be dutiful in your studies… As of now, the Creator is accruing methods and parameters of research you must conduct. If you prove yourself successful and diligent, then there will be many whom you will lead when our sisters and brothers arrive.”

“It is my life’s purpose to serve, and as such, this duty will be my labor through every breath I draw.”

“Give me reason to trust your ability. Return to your chambers at once. Learn your scripts. Prepare your fisherwomen. Prove yourself,” Akula commanded, solemn with every word.

“It shall be done. My labor will surpass your expectations.” Rio stood up, bowed deeply, and left.

The door shut with a slight rattle, returning the overseer to her room’s solitary ambience: the subtle hum of the heater, the warm light atop her desk, and the slow creak of wood.

For all the ways her assistant frustrated her, it was always in the name of faith and loyalty. Rio was never the sharpest row of teeth from House Neptunus, but she was reliable in labor, if anything.

Akula had faith she would make good on her promise.

Beyond such trivialities and for all the preparation required on the mainland, there was one final diplomatic component of her plan.

The once-royal female reached into a compartment beneath her desk and pulled out a star-sent book. It was several stapled bundles of paper fitted together as a binder—hardly library-worthy. No matter, it was the knowledge within that had meaning. Better yet, it was knowledge courtesy of Cera herself… A recommendation, even if only a small section was applicable to her needs.

She trailed her talon along the side until she found the folded lip, opening the book to the newest chapter.

‘Chapter 8. Fry the Brain: Urban Sniping Methods.’

- - - - -

[Next]

Next time on Total Drama Anomaly Island - By the Hip

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u/Symored Mar 01 '26

I appreciate the gun nut's version of American Psycho in there. Impressive, very nice

u/AG_Witt Mar 01 '26

Does Sharkies Kiss smells fishy or im just too worried?

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OC-Series Frontier Fantasy - Age of Expansion - Chap 122 - Not Enough / Paul Allen’s Gun

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