Novels by Kenita

The transport skiff touched down on the obsidian platform of the Hanging Sky with a soft, magnetic hum that felt almost anticlimactic after weeks of falling through dimensional rifts and dodging high-altitude executions.Eryndor Silvaris climbed out of the cabin, his left boot issuing its signature, waterlogged squawk against the ancient stonework. He paused, looked down at the offending leather, and sighed. "If I ever write a memoir about saving the realm, I'm dedicating the entire third chapter to the existential betrayal of this specific shoe.""Focus, Eryndor," Aelith said, stepping past him with the effortless grace of a high-society predator. Her silver hair caught the golden radiance of the newly stabilized sky above, and her daggers were neatly stowed, though her posture remained coiled and razor-sharp. "Chancellor Vaelen and the entire High Council are waiting inside the stellar ring. Let's try to present ourselves as respectable agents of the crown rather than refugees from

The air inside the Unseen Threshold still tasted of ozone and scorched starlight, but Aelith wasn't looking at the stabilized archway. Her entire world had narrowed down to the idiot standing in front of her, whose right arm was currently cooling from a miniature sun into a dull, subterranean amber."You have a breathtaking talent for bypassing every reasonable protocol in existence, Silvaris," Aelith said, her voice dangerously low as she kept her grip on his scorched lapel. She hadn't let go since hauling him to his feet, and honestly, Eryndor wasn't in any hurry to break the contact either, despite his ribs complaining bitterly about the compression."Oh, come on, that's not fair," Eryndor wheezed, offering a lopsided, exhausted grin while his left boot provided its customary, squawking aquatic background noise against the glass floor. "I followed at least two protocols today. Granted, I accidentally invented a third one involving brute-force trauma and excessive glowing, but resul

The iron door of the convergence spire didn't open with a polite click; it groaned under the weight of centuries of accumulated frost before giving way with a violent, teeth-rattling slam against the interior stone wall.Eryndor Silvaris stumbled over the threshold, his waterlogged left boot offering its signature, indignant squawk that somehow managed to pierce the heavy silence of the chamber."If this is another glorified broom closet containing a ticking dimensional bomb," Eryndor panted, pressing both palms flat against his thighs as he tried to regulate his freezing lungs, "I am officially resigning from the realm-saving business. I don't care if the sky falls. Let it fall. I'll buy a helmet.""Stop complaining and lock the perimeter seal, Eryndor," Aelith snapped, slipping past him with lethal grace. Her boots made barely a whisper against the frost-covered obsidian floor as her silver eyes swept the room. "The Shroud vanguards aren't the only ones tracking this sector. The thr

The transport skiff didn’t land so much as it collided with the wooden decking of the western border outpost, skidding sideways across frosted planks before coming to an abrupt, teeth-rattling halt against a snow-dusted mooring post.Eryndor Silvaris bounced twice against the bulkhead, his right elbow connecting solidly with a brass bracket while his left boot issued a familiar, pathetic squawk."Oh, magnificent," Eryndor groaned, rubbing his elbow and glaring through the frosted windshield at the desolate landscape outside. "Another five-star landing courtesy of the High Council's elite transit division. Do they train these pilots by blindfolding them and rolling dice?""Stop complaining about the transit, Silvaris, and grab your gear," Aelith snapped, already unbuckling her safety harness with fluid, lethal efficiency. She kicked the skiff's side hatch open, letting a brutal gust of sub-zero western wind rip into the cabin, carrying the sharp, metallic scent of ozone and crystalline

The mahogany double doors of the High Council’s primary briefing suite didn't just open; they swung wide with an expensive, oiled protest that signaled absolute bureaucratic intolerance for tardiness.Eryndor Silvaris dragged his left boot across the flawless parquet floor, offering the room his signature, waterlogged squawk before leaning casually against the nearest marble pillar. Across the room, twelve elderly councillors sat in a suffocating semicircle of judgment, their expressions a mix of exhausted panic and unyielding self-importance."Ah, the domestic disaster department has finally arrived," Grand Chancellor Vaelen sneered from the center of the dais, his fingers steepled beneath a chin that looked carved from hardened vinegar. "Do try not to drip swamp water onto the sacred registry, Silvaris. We've had quite enough structural integrity issues this month.""Good morning to you too, Chancellor," Eryndor shot back, flashing a disarming, entirely insincere smile while subtly

The shards of the black-robed stranger’s shattered mask crunched beneath Eryndor Silvaris’s boots like dry leaves under a carriage wheel, though the wet, pathetic squawk of his left boot provided a decidedly less dramatic musical accompaniment."Well, that went from zero to existential crisis remarkably fast," Eryndor panted, leaning heavily against the newly stabilized Meridian Console while his right arm radiated a dull, comforting warmth. He glanced down at the dark, unconscious form of the stranger slumped against the obsidian archway. "Do you think they have an insurance policy for shattered face-masks, or is that strictly out-of-pocket?""Quiet, Eryndor," Aelith snapped, her voice carrying the sharp, crisp edge of a magistrate reading a death warrant as she strode across the glass walkway. Her twin daggers vanished with a soft hum, replaced instantly by a pair of heavy, rune-etched velvet cuffs pulled from the inner lining of her coat. "The local enforcers are three minutes out,

The maintenance elevator wasn’t a sleek lift of polished chrome; it was a cage of rusted chains and groaning iron, vibrating with the rhythmic, subterranean heartbeat of the dungeon’s foundation. Maya held the lantern high, its amber glow dancing over the slick, moss-covered walls of the shaft."Are you sure about this?" Maya asked, her voice tight, echoing off the damp stone. "The map says this leads to the surface docks, but it also says it hasn’t been operational since the Second Collapse."Kirill stood at the controls, his fingers dancing over the corroded buttons of the pedestal. His right hand—the one that still bore the faint, violet webbing of his transformation—wasn't just pressing buttons; he was bleeding his will into them."I don't need a motor, Maya," Kirill grunted, his eyes fixed on the internal gears visible through a breach in the paneling. "I just need the gate to open.""Kirill, don't," Maya warned, stepping back as the air around his arm began to ripple with heat.

The silence of the cavern didn't just feel heavy; it felt hungry. Kirill stared at the two pulsing, blood-red embers floating in the dark, and for the first time in days, his own internal core went dead quiet. It was like a predator realizing it had wandered into a larger beast's den."Kirill," Maya whispered, her voice a sharp, jagged needle in the stillness. "Don't move. Whatever that is, it isn't a construct.""I know," Kirill murmured back, his fingers twitching toward the shard of steel tucked into his waistband. "Constructs make noise. They grind. They hiss. This thing... it’s breathing."A low, wet sound echoed through the tunnel—a rhythmic, guttural inhalation that seemed to draw the very warmth out of the air. The red eyes blinked, the eyelids closing and reopening like shutters on a furnace."If we run, it catches us," Kirill said, his gaze fixed on the creature. "If we fight, we’re probably going to be a snack. What’s the play, Maya?""The shaft," she said, not looking away

The smell of burnt flesh and ozone clung to the cavern walls like a second skin. Kirill stared down at his hands, the skin of his right palm shimmering with an unstable, ghostly violet residue. Every breath felt like inhaling crushed glass, scraping against his lungs with a raw, agonizing friction.Maya dropped to her knees beside him, her hands hovering over his ruined forearm as if she wanted to help but was terrified of touching him."You shouldn't have done that," Maya whispered, her voice trembling. "That was too much. The feedback alone could have fried your nervous system.""What choice did I have?" Kirill rasped, gritting his teeth as a spasm of pain shot up his shoulder. He curled his fingers into a fist, watching the strange light pulse beneath his skin. "We would've bled out on that stone floor while those bastards watched.""There's always another choice," she shot back, her tone sharp, though it lacked its usual defensive bite. She reached out, her fingers catching his wr

The heavy iron portcullis shivered, flakes of centuries-old rust raining down onto Kirill’s shoulders like black snow. Behind them, the labyrinth of stone tunnels swallowed the frantic, sputtering torchlight of the guide who had promised them a shortcut to the upper tiers."Something's wrong," Maya whispered, her hand dropping instinctively to the hilt of her blade as the damp air grew sudden and heavy with the metallic tang of fresh ozone. "That bastard didn't lead us to an exit. He led us straight into a dead drop."Kirill didn't answer right away. He stared at the narrow, twelve-foot-wide stone chasm stretching out before them, its far wall lined with jagged, protruding iron spikes that gleamed evilly in the dark."No," Kirill said, his jaw tightening as the distant sound of heavy, multi-legged skittering echoed from the tunnel behind them—hundreds of chitinous claws clicking against the rock in a rhythmic, ravenous chorus. "It’s not a dead drop. It’s a kill zone.""Well, brilliant

"You're out of your mind," Maya hissed, pressing her back harder against the jagged obsidian wall as another volley of kinetic spikes ricocheted off the floor. "He's not just a warlord, Kirill. He's a walking catastrophe with a private army.""And I'm a guy who wants a ticket out of this hellhole," Kirill shot back, ducking low as a stray bolt shaved a chunk of rock right off his shoulder. "If he knows a secret path to the surface, we listen. Simple as that.""Simple?" Maya’s laugh was sharp, dry, and entirely devoid of humor. "The Scavenger King doesn't trade information for gold, Kirill. He trades in blood and tech. He wants your shiny little toy.""My weapon?" Kirill looked down at the plasma rifle he had scavenged from the previous sector—a sleek, lethal piece of engineering that hummed with volatile energy. "He wants Maya's weaponry, you mean.""My rifle," Maya corrected, her voice dropping an octave as she leveled her own sidearm at the darkness of the tunnel. "Which isn't up fo

The air inside the rusted train car felt suddenly heavier, thick with the metallic tang of ozone and rising dread. Kirill stared at the scratched steel wall as the rhythmic pounding from the outside stopped. The silence that followed was worse than the noise."They found us," Maya whispered, her grip tightening on the hilt of her blade until her knuckles turned ivory. "How? We wiped our signatures back at the junction.""They didn't track our signatures," Kirill muttered, rising slowly to his feet. His knees popped, and the violet light radiating from his right arm cast eerie, dancing shadows against the cramped metal ceiling. "They tracked me. The core is evolving, Maya. Every time I use it, every time I pull energy from the rubble, my biological signature gets denser. I'm becoming a beacon.""That's suicide," she hissed, scrambling up to stand beside him, her back pressed against the opposite wall. "If they know where you are the second you use your power, you're fighting with a tar