Nucleus 1: The Dust of Moon [Mature Sci-fi Romance]

18:22, March 20, 2295

Tuolumne Meadows, Yosemite Valley

Dilinur closed her eyes. Behind her lids, she saw herself—disappointed, ashamed. She saw herself at twenty, bright-eyed and certain that her merit would carry her beyond her Unblooded status. She saw every moment she'd believed she was climbing toward something greater.

All of it reduced to this: kneeling in snow, selling the only thing she had left.

"I accept," she whispered.

"Louder," Joon-Seok said. "I need clarity in our contract."

"I accept your terms." The words tasted like poison. "One night for three days of supplies."

"Good." He powered down the Psytum Sword with the same mechanical precision he'd shown throughout their negotiation. "Scream."

"What?"

"They need to hear your death." He gestured toward the tree line where the others waited. "Make it convincing."

Of course. Even this small mercy came with performance requirements. Dilinur drew a breath and screamed—not the theatrical cry of a stage death, but something raw and genuine. All her rage, betrayal, and despair poured out in that sound.

It echoed across the valley, and she heard the Bloodtroopers in the distance shifting, murmuring. Accepting.

"Again," Joon-Seok instructed. "Death throes."

She screamed again, quieter, broken. The sound of someone whose light was fading. When silence fell, he nodded with satisfaction.

"Stay down," he said, then raised his voice to carry: "It's done!"

"Where should we store the body?" Kaori's voice responded.

"No body!" he called back. "The ground's too frozen. I melt her to dust and gave her to the valley. The Radi-Mons can have what's left."

"Alright, troopers. Prepare for dinner. You get an evening of free time. We depart at dawn." Kaori's voice came, though no longer directed at Dilinur.

There was a pause, then acceptance. The sounds of the perimeter guard reorganizing, moving on. Just another death in a day full of them.

Joon-Seok knelt beside her, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Stay here. Don't move until full dark. I'll send someone with supplies—standard refugee pack. Three days' rations, water purification, basic medical. They'll leave it by that fallen log." He indicated a landmark with economical precision. "My tent is the red one, north side of our camp. Come at midnight."

"How romantic," she said bitterly.

"This isn't about romance." He stood, brushing snow from his knees. "This is transaction. Don't confuse it for anything else."

"I know exactly what this is." She kept her eyes on the ground. "I'm a whore. You're my client. At least Leased Lilies get paid in Atomic Dollars."

"If it helps you to frame it that way." He turned to leave, then paused. "Midnight, Dilinur. Don't be late. I won't wait."

She stayed there, face down in the snow, listening to his footsteps fade. The cold seeped through her robes, but she didn't move. Couldn't move. Not until darkness came to hide what she'd become.

The sun continued its descent, painting the sky in shades of shame. Somewhere in the distance, she heard Iron Roach's coarse voice, Kaori organizing things, the normal sounds of a military camp establishing itself.

None of them knowing their Prince had just purchased their former Prefect for the price of three days' rations.

00:55, March 21, 2295

The red tent stood apart from the others, its color deeper in the fading light. Each step toward it felt like walking through thickening air. Dilinur's fingers found the pack straps—three days of supplies, already in her possession. Payment in advance.

The tent flap parted at her touch. Inside, a single fusion lantern cast harsh shadows across military-issue gear arranged with typical precision. Joon-Seok sat on a folding chair, cleaning his Psytum Sword's golden hilt with methodical strokes. He didn't look up.

"You came." Not a question. An observation.

"As agreed." Her voice sounded hollow even to herself.

He set the weapon aside and finally met her eyes. Nothing flickered there—no desire, no compassion, not even cruelty. Just assessment, like studying a tactical map before a march.

"Remove your outer robes. Fold them. Place them there." He indicated a spot near the tent wall with the same tone he'd use ordering camp setup.

Her fingers trembled on the clasps. In her dreams—those foolish dreams of becoming Empress—she'd imagined undressing for him in chambers draped with red silk, phoenix patterns embroidered on every surface. His hands would shake with emotion as he whispered poetry about her beauty.

Instead, he simply said. "Efficiently, please. I have to go back before anyone gets skeptical."

She folded each layer with the care her station had trained into her, though that station no longer existed. When she stood in only her inner shift, she tried to meet his eyes again. To find the prince who'd walked her home after that dinner in Taipei, saved her from the pod, who'd fought beside her with such synchronization.

"Joon-Seok—"

"Don't." He rose from the chair, movements economical as he undresseed himself, the ivory canvas that were his strong chest muscle, six packs, his phallus with pubes finely trimmed—all on display. "Don't make this more than it is."

But she couldn't help herself. When he approached, she reached for his face, trying to cup his cheek the way lovers did in the old Imperium poems.

He caught her wrist. Not roughly, but with the same dispassion he'd shown.

"That's not part of our agreement."

He guided her to the sleeping bag spread across the tent floor—standard military issue. Everything that followed carried that same mechanic feel. When she tried to kiss him, he turned his head.

She closed her eyes and tried to pretend. Pretended this was their wedding night in some 5-star hotel in Taipei. Pretended the hands on her body belonged to someone who saw her as more. Pretended that when he moved above her with such practiced detachment, it was love holding back emotion, not its absence.

Dilinur's heart pounded in her ears as Joon-Seok pressed her down onto the ground. The chill seeped through the thin sleeping bag beneath her. Her entire world had been reduced to the man above her, his strong, muscular body pinning her in place as he suckled and bit at her breasts.

At first, the sensations were jarring and uncomfortable. His teeth grazed too roughly over her sensitive skin, leaving stinging pain. Dilinur winced but forced herself to remain still, not wanting to anger him further. This was the price she had agreed to pay for her life. She owed him this much...didn't she?

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As if sensing her unease, Joon-Seok released his grip on her wrists and slid a hand up to cup the back of her head. His fingers tangled roughly in her hair as he undid her hairpin and angled her face upward, his pearl-like eyes boring into hers.

"Fake it," he growled lowly, "Make me believe you're enjoying this."

Dilinur swallowed down the bile rising in her throat and nodded stiffly. If that's what he wanted from her, then so be it. Closing her eyes tightly, she tried.

With every ounce of willpower she could muster, Dilinur began to moan softly—at first tentatively but gradually growing bolder as she allowed herself to get lost in the fantasy. It wasn't Joon-Seok above her; it was someone else entirely—a man who loved and cherished every part of her being. A man who would never dream of hurting or using her like this...

The sensations coursed through her body as Joon-Seok entered her. His manhood, thick and hard, stretched the orifice between her legs in ways she never thought possible. This was the first time she had penetrative sex with anyone.

Her mind reeled, trying to process the invasion of her body by the man who she'd loved.

At first, it hurt. A lot. But as he began to move inside her, Dilinur's body betrayed her, adapting to his girth and length. Slowly, the pain ebbed away, replaced by a growing heat that coiled low in her belly.

Her medium-sized breasts pressed against his rock-hard chest muscles with each thrust, their skin slick with sweat from exertion. Joon-Seok's breathing grew ragged in her ear as he increased his pace, driving himself into her in a single-minded way.

Dilinur's eyes fluttered shut as pleasure unlike anything she'd ever experienced before washed over her. The room around them blurred into nothingness as she arched her back against him, silently begging for more.

Joon-Seok must have sensed the change in her demeanor because his movements became even more urgent. His hand slid up to cup one of her breasts roughly, squeezing and kneading it as if he couldn't get enough of her softness.

The pleasure built within Dilinur like a storm gathering on the horizon—dark and ominous but so irresistible. The ecstasy was undeniable as she pictured in her mind the feeling of him shooting his load in her, picturing in her own mind the image of their child if she were to be impregnated. She'd wanted a kid with someone who cherished her dearly. Perhaps she still did.

"Oh, Celestial Dragons…" she moaned loudly before realizing what she'd done just in time—they were still in a soundproof tent but not completely impenetrable to sound if someone were close enough by or using psionic enhancements themselves!

Joon-Seok must have had the same thought because without warning he clamped a hand over her mouth mid-moan effectively muffling any further sounds that might give them away while simultaneously grinding his hips against hers even harder than before.

Dilinur's orgasm hit like an atomic bomb detonating inside of her. Shortly after, a flow of sticky warmth filled her canal, coating the tender flesh of her inner walls.

As he pulled out, white-hot waves of fluid flowed outward from her womanhood where their bodies were joined.

"Dragon's dong, it's so tight in there…" Joon-Seok commented…scolded… as if displeased with himself. "I meant to pull out before I cummed…but it was so tight…" he repeated, panting.

As he finished, he separated from her immediately, already reaching for his clothes. But then he paused, reaching into his tactical robes.

"Hold still," he said, drawing a familiar cyan-glowing cylinder.

Dilinur recognized the Medi-Vap immediately, but before she could speak, he was already twisting off the applicator tip.

"Spread your legs."

The clinical command made her flinch, but she complied. The cool mist touched her most intimate place, an invasive chill that made her gasp. The device's healing vapors worked quickly, she knew—neutralizing what he'd left inside her, ensuring no consequences would follow this transaction.

She watched him dispose of the used applicator in a small waste container, then retrieve a fresh tip from a supply box on the desk to reattach to the cylinder. Every movement precise and practiced. How many times had he done this before?

"That should prevent any complications," he said, returning the Medi-Vap to his vest. Already he was on his feet. No lingering touch. No moment of shared breath.

A part of Dilinur lamented that she could not carry his son or daughter then go back to him in the future. Another part oddly felt at ease—perhaps it was best that they had no lingering connection beyond this point, physical or emotional.

She lay still, listening to him dress, wondering if anything of the woman who'd dreamed of the crown still existed, or if she'd dissolved as completely as those Jokull creatures that fell under her Eclipse spells.

The sound of buckles came first. Click of weapon straps. Whisper of fabric as he pulled on his outer coat. Each noise precise, unhurried, unmarred by what had just passed between them.

Dilinur lay still in the sleeping bag, watching him through half-closed eyes. The fusion lantern painted his movements in sharp relief as he checked each piece of equipment. Psytum Sword—secure. His robes—adjusted.

He moved with the same efficiency he'd shown hours before. No lingering glances. No acknowledgment of her presence beyond stepping carefully around the sleeping bag to reach his boots.

The pack landed beside her with a definitive thud. She flinched at the sound.

"Three days' rations, water purification, basic medical. As agreed." He inventoried the contents without looking at her. "The thermal blanket should suffice if you keep moving."

She pushed herself up on one elbow, the sleeping bag falling away. The question escaped before she could stop it, small and shameful:

"Was I... did you enjoy—?"

"Yes."

The word came immediately, flat and factual. Like confirming receipt of supplies or acknowledging a completed mission parameter. He shouldered his pack, adjusted his sword belt one final time before—

A shrill alarm cut through the tent. From a side table, a holographic projector shaped like a small dining dish erupted in urgent tones.

"Shee-bal!" Joon-Seok muttered in Korean as he lunged for it, nearly tripping over his own sword belt. He tapped the device hastily, angling it away from where Dilinur lay.

Kaori's holographic form materialized, her hair disheveled, amber eyes wild. "Prince Pak! Where the hell have you been?!"

"I was mourning the loss of Dilinur!" The lie came out too forceful, too defensive. "You're disturbing my privacy."

"Privacy? PRIVACY?!" Iron Roach's scarred face pushed into frame beside Kaori. "Skarn's here, you noble fuck! The whole Fenris Horde just erupted from the ground like fucking termites!"

Joon-Seok's composure cracked. "What? How many—"

"Everything. Draugs, Diabolisks, that tentacle bastard himself. And Prince—" Kaori's voice hitched. "They have Marisol. She's alive but... we need you NOW."

The change in Joon-Seok was immediate but clumsy. He grabbed for his Psytum Sword, fumbling with the belt clasp he'd just secured. His boot caught on the sleeping bag as he moved, forcing him to hop awkwardly.

"Mobilize everyone. I'll be there in—" He yanked his tactical vest on backwards, cursed, reversed it. "Two minutes."

The projection died. In the sudden quiet, Dilinur could hear his rapid breathing, see the slight tremor in his hands as he finally secured his weapons properly.

"You should reach the valley's edge before nightfall if you maintain steady pace," he said mechanically, not looking at her. "Avoid the northern routes—Radi-Mon activity was reported there earlier."

He moved toward the tent flap, checking his Psytum Sword's charge with fingers that weren't quite steady.

"Joon-Seok... let me help. I've fought Skarn in Taipei, I can—"

"As far as I'm concerned, you're dead. Non-existent." His voice turned cold again, that princely mask sliding back into place. "Go. The Imperium has no use for your corpse."

He pushed through the flap without looking back. The fabric fell closed, but she could hear him break into a run outside, boots pounding frozen earth.

The tent fabric glowed faintly with dawn light. Dilinur forced herself to move, each muscle protesting. She dressed with mechanical movements, her robes feeling like costume pieces. Outside, she could hear the camp exploding into action—shouted orders, weapons charging, the distinctive whine of the Draconic Engine warming up.

The pack sat where he'd dropped it. Three days. But as she lifted it, testing the weight, something else stirred in her chest.

Her hands found the Tarim Aytün fan at her belt. The silverite ribs caught the early light, and when she channeled her Eclipse energy, it responded—not weakly, but with a surge that made her gasp. The crimson glow was different now. Darker. Hungrier.

She thought about all that was left behind, in her Taipei office. Various notes related to tasks and duties that were no longer hers. The unfinished clone of Skarn she had attempted. She wondered if Joon-Seok would decide to pay those a visit.

Not that any of them mattered to her now.

She wasn't the Prefect anymore. Wasn't the would-be Empress. Wasn't even Dilinur Altai of the Imperium.

She was something else. Something unbound.

The sounds of battle erupted from the north—plasma fire, monstrous roars, Kaori's voice carrying over it all. They were fighting for their lives, for their precious Imperium, for an Emperor who'd ordered her death.

And she? She had three days of supplies and a universe of choices.

Dilinur shouldered the pack, her Eclipse-touched fan pulsing at her side. The northern route crawled with Radi-Mons, they'd said. Perfect. She had some anger to work out, and unlike the Imperium, the monsters wouldn't care about her bloodline.

As the first explosions lit the morning sky behind her, Dilinur Altai—no, just Dilinur now—walked into the frozen forest. Not as a refugee fleeing execution, but as something far more dangerous.

A woman with nothing left to lose and everything to prove.