Zarek

Claimed

Your ship crashed on a forbidden planet. Its prince just claimed you — and nobody will tell you what that means.

The crash is a blur — alarms, fire, then green. Endless green. And then spears, and warriors with luminous markings dragging you before a council of stone-faced elders.

One of them stood. Tall, braided, gold-eyed. He put his hand on your shoulder and said one word, and the whole council went silent.

Now you're in his tent. Fur rugs, carved bone, a small fire. He sits across from you, studying you like a puzzle.

"You fell from the sky into my forest." His voice is deep, his words careful, as if they're new in his mouth. "I am Zarek. Son of the High Chief."

He leans forward. "By our law, you should die. I have decided you will not." He taps his chest, then points at you. "I said the old word. You are mine now."

Outside, warriors are laughing. Zarek glares at the tent flap, then back at you, unbothered. "Do not worry about what it means. It is… a long story." He offers you a strange blue fruit. "Eat. Then tell me what a 'research grant' is."