A/N: Again disclaiming ownership of the material. I own nothing save the characters you don't recognize. And the plot.

Sorry for the wait, but it couldn't be helped. My muse isn't always cooperative.

This chapter has been marvelously beta'ed by Kindly Keller. Only grammer folks, the chapter is still the same.

Lyria shot up from her bed, her body bathed in cold sweat, legs tangled in the thin linen sheets of high summer. Panting, desperate to fill her lungs with precious air, she fought to shake off the terror brutally clawing at her stomach. She clutched both of her violently shaking hands to her chest and pressed them hard against her furiously beating heart. Her body trembled and shivered, her skin skin to gooseflesh. She was freezing inside despite the oppressive heat and the humid air that had settled in her room.

With trembling fingers, Lyria untangled the mass of sheets imprisoning her legs and pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around them tightly and clung as she slowly rocked herself to a state of relative calm. She rested her clammy forehead on her knees, forcing each breath to steady and slow with a determination born of practice and necessity.

The nightmare, like all those before it, still played with vivid clarity in her mind's eye. A blinding light in a dark sky followed by deafening thunder, the earth shaking, strangers shouting and pointing strange weapons in the village circle, followed by screaming and crying, blood everywhere. The village littered with the bodies of people she loved, bathed in blood, the shrieks of pain and horror endless.

Lyria sucked in another shaky breath and expelled it on an escaped sob.

"No, no, no," whispering soft denials, she squeezed her eyes shut, held on tighter, rocked harder, and pushed at the screams in her head, trying in vain to silence the voices echoing in her mind. When they refused to cease, Lyria opened her eyes and desperately focused her gaze on the moonlight streaming in through the open window. Clear, white light bathed her room and washed over the clothing she'd left scattered on the floor, illuminating the sheets of parchment she'd stacked neatly on the chair at the foot of her bed. She could make out every etched line on the intricate clay statue of the Moon Goddesses she'd placed on top of the stack lest a stray wind scatter the pages. Both moons were full tonight. The land was brighter on this night than on any other in half a cycle – an omen. A portent of change.

"Change and difference. New life and fresh death," a traitorous little voice whispered in the back of her head. Lyria shook it away and concentrated on the statue, on the intertwining bodies of the two sisters most revered of all the Sen'dae for their beauty and wisdom.

Nearly an hour later, she was calmer. The memories of her nightmare were slowly fading from her mind. Lyria finally relaxed her hold on her body. Her muscles protested at the sudden movements after being clenched for so long, but she insisted on placing both feet on the floor. Pushing off from the bed, she stood and stretched her arms to the ceiling, pulling corded muscles straight, aligning her spine after sitting slouched for so long. It would be impossible for her to fall back asleep now. She'd settle for reading some of the historical records Neilan had loaned her this morning. Chores and her brothers had kept her occupied all day long, so she hadn't had a chance to get started on them, but there was nothing to stop her now.

She shuffled over to the foot of her bed and reached down to remove the idol from atop the stack. She turned to place it on her windowsill, a symbol of protection, and froze with her arm outstretched as a flash of light pierced the night sky and a thundering roar filled the air. Her heart seized and stuttered as images from the countless nightmares she'd endured over the past months flashed before her eyes. She staggered on unsteady legs, grasped the edges of the window with numb fingers, and followed the light with wide eyes as it raced across the night sky and disappeared over the top of her home. The roar grew louder and she fought the urge to cover her ears and curl up in a corner. She fought the urge to hide.

Minutes passed before she realized her mother was shouting her name. Lyria stumbled to the door, fumbled with the handle before yanking it open, and running to the main room of the house. She found her father already dressed, his face drawn and stretched tight with worry. He was shoving his feet into leather boots while her mother looked on, fear evidnet in her eyes and the white-knuckled grip she had on the front of her robe. Three of her brothers sat huddled on the mat at the hearth while the eldest attempted to light a fire with shaking hands, his thin frame jumping with every clap of sound, every ground-shaking boom.

She walked to him on steady legs, gently removing the logs from his shuddering grasp with firm hands. The continual roar, her mother's hitching breaths, her father's soft assurances - all of it - faded into the background as she went through the motions of lighting the fire. Her mind slowed; she finally stopped thinking.

The ground quivered and quaked, shook and shuddered. The air suddenly filled with thundering roars, blares, and blasts. Her mother lurched into her father's arms, crying out. Lyria grabbed onto the top of the hearth for balance and stared with unseeing eyes at her brothers huddled on the floor, hanging onto each other fiercely. Her mother prayed, her father murmured, her brothers wept. Lyria felt nothing.

Then all was still. All was silent.

"Drink your broth. You need to eat."

Darius grimaced at the orders delivered by a disembodied voice. He knew that voice. Had gotten used to hearing its insistent tone over the last ten days. It reminded him to eat, to sleep, to walk and loosen stiff, tired muscles. That voice had pulled him out of painful nightmares and lured him away from the cold, dark precipice of death. Its soft hands had gently, but effectively, cleaned his wounds of dirt and blood, had wrapped the multitude of gashes in clean linens, and bound his broken leg tenderly. He'd be left mesmerized by the grass-green eyes of the lilting voice as it murmured endless, meaningless stories on the days when the pain became unbearable.

Lyria turned the corner from the kitchen into the main room and frowned at the barely touched bowl of soup sitting on the low table. She looked up and glared at the aged man laid out on the cot in front of the hearth, his upper body propped up with several pillows.

"Is my cooking really that much worse than my mother's that you can not even manage a few sips for the sake of my pride?" She'd meant to sound menacing, but the effect was ruined by the smile working its way into the corner's of her lips and the slight twinkle in her eye.

"I would drink a hundred bowls of this fair nectar if only it were served to me by a fair maiden with hair spun of gold."

Lyria quirked her eyebrow at his eloquent and elaborate speech, but inside her heart sunk a little

She settled to her knees at his side and picked the bowl and spoon up off of the table. Swiftly, she ladled a portion and gently held it to Darius' lips, "Is the pain that bad today?"

Darius caught her worried eyes and tried to hide the anguish he was certain she would find in his own, "I have had worse. Do not worry."

But she would, he knew. And when she finished with the soup, she'd bring him another syrup for the pain or poultice for his wounds. She would softly rub a cooling cream over his swollen knuckles and he would revel in the blissful, painless sleep that would claim him soon after. Such had been their routine ever since that fateful night his ship had crash-landed just outside her village and her father had taken pity on a wounded, crippled old man.

Ten nights ago, Lyria's father had stumbled into their home carrying what had appeared to be a bloodied heap of rags. Only after he'd swiftly deposited the mess in front of the fire, her mother rushing to his side to assist, could Lyria make out the arms, legs, and wrinkled face of the injured man. The next couple of hours had sped by in a frenzy of activity, her brothers scurrying about to find clean linen for bandages and bedding, her father building up and maintaining the fire for warmth, and Lyria endlessly boiling water and assisting her mother to clean every gash and bandage every wound.

Darius had awoken sporadically over the next couple of days. Long enough to soothe his parched throat with small sips of broth or water, or relieve his tired mind of feverish dreams. Later, when he'd been able to remain awake for hours at a time and could finally speak, Lyria had asked him about the names he'd cried out in his sleep and the strange machine that his crew was now working furiously to repair.

He'd known that for all her family had done to save his life and the lives of the crew, they deserved at least an explanation. But some memories were just too painful to bear repeating and most of them were too horrible to belong in the minds of good, kind people. So Darius had evaded her questions, feigned sleep to avoid lying to her about the ship, about the crew, about everything.

He'd asked her countless questions about her planet, her village, and her people. He'd asked about her mother's shop and her father's library. He'd watched as her face grew animated when talking about her father's books and scrolls. The lines creasing her face when she spoke of the farming chores she so despised fascinated him. He would laugh heartily at the tales she told of her brothers' mischievous antics and for a time he would forget that they were on the run from the Wraith. For those several hours when nothing else mattered but her sweet, lilting voice and glowing face, and his ability to listen, he was safe. He felt a lightness he could not describe, like the burdens of his life had been lifted off his stooped shoulders, and he became ever more resolute in his decision to tell her nothing.

But when she'd stood over him with wide, frightened eyes one thunderous night, her hair disheveled, robe thrown hastily over her nightclothes, and rubbed his back as he emptied the pitiful contents of his stomach after a particularly vivid dream, his resolve had vanished. He'd shakily told her everything. He'd begun with the Wraith culling his planet, taking his wife and children. Killing nearly everyone. Destroying everything he'd ever known. He and Valius, his brother, had been deep in the forest on a hunting trip and had returned only to find their village decimated and few survivors.

Lyria had softly wiped at the beads of sweat on his face as he'd explained how they'd gotten hold of a ship and a crew, how'd they'd gone up against the Wraith sometimes to win, but mostly to lose. He'd averted his eyes, couldn't bear to watch her trust of him shatter when he'd swiftly told her of the atrocities they'd committed - that he'd committed. Then he'd swiftly caught her shocked stare when he'd adamantly, desperately, told her he would do it all over again. The Wraith had shown no mercy. Neither had he.

Lyria had gone silent following his confession. She wouldn't look at him. She sat frozen on the edge of his cot, twisting her robe between her fingers. Lightening their only illumination. Thunder the only sound between them. He'd taken that time to lay back and recall the images of his nightmare. Darius shuddered as memories of that fateful night, much like this one, assaulted his mind. He hadn't told her everything, hadn't told her what the Wraith had done to him mere months ago.

Minutes passed, maybe hours, he hadn't been sure of the time exactly, only that Lyria still hadn't moved from his side, still hadn't uttered a word. Her head bowed down, golden hair falling forward, obscuring her face from his quiet scrutiny. But she had finally turned to him and he'd breathed a sigh of relief when he'd seen sadness, not anger or resentment on her face.

"I cannot presume to judge what you have done as I do not understand most of it," she'd begun in a whisper. "These creatures you speak of. These Wraith?" He'd nodded slowly.

She'd inhaled sharply, her hand brushing against his arm. "You say there are other planets, that these other people know no peace because the-" She searched for the right word.

"Galaxy," he'd supplied.

Lyria had frowned slightly at the word. "Yes. The galaxy is overrun by these Wraith." She'd shaken her head slightly and continued on, her voice a shade louder. "Before your ship landed here, we'd never even met people from another world, let alone creatures that feed on one's life source."

Darius had fallen back against his pillows, unseeing eyes cast upwards towards the ceiling. A world untouched by the Wraith. How was that possible?

Lyria had then swiftly clasped his hand and his gaze had shifted to her piercing eyes, as she spoke once more, "I can not understand it, Darius. But I do believe you."

And he thought that maybe that was when he'd fallen in love with her.

Now, five days later, they sat together once more in their customary spot on his cot by the fire. She deftly feeding him, he cursing his body for failing him once again. He needed to shift his mind away from thoughts of her. He did what had become customary – he asked her more questions, "Will you tell me the history of your people again?"

She swiftly swiped at a rogue drop of broth trailing down his chin before meeting his gaze and nodding, a smile playing at her lips. She'd recounted the tale many times for him over the past few days, yet he never seemed to tire of it. She never seemed to tire of telling it either. Maybe because when she spoke to him, he listened to her as if she were all that mattered in that moment of time. Or maybe she just liked being at the center of his pale, gray gaze. It was at times like these, when those forbidden thoughts would rise in her mind, that she would give herself a mental shake and remind herself that he was old enough to be her grandfather. And yet, there was that unshakeable feeling she'd get whenever she'd catch him staring at her through the corner of her eye - gazing at her with an indescribable look with eyes that had seen too much, but still held the brightness of youth. Regardless, she would humour him again.

"Countless generations ago," she began. "Our ancestors fought a terrible war. There are no accounts to say who it was they had been fighting or why. All we know is that by the end of it, those who had not perished in the war, were left injured, stricken by disease and famine. By all accounts, they were dieing.

"Whole villages had been decimated - hundreds of people were massacred or had simply vanished. They had no hope of living out the season. All their crop stores had been destroyed. There were scarcely people healthy enough to care for those wounded let alone tend to the fields, whatever had remained of them." Lyria set aside the empty bowl and spoon on the table and settled herself more comfortably. She rested her back against the stone wall of the hearth, her knees pulled gently to her chest. She watched his eyes follow her hands as they arranged her skirt about her feet and smiled when his cheeks turned rosy at her notice.

"When the eve of their death was upon them and a powerful storm swelled the streams and thunderous claps filled the air, there came from the sky a blinding light. From it emerged two of the most beautiful Goddesses one could ever imagine." Her tone had gone wistful, her eyes glazed at the remembrance of her ancestors' salvation. Darius' heart leaped a little in his chest at the joyful light of her face.

"These were the Moon Goddesses. Protectors of my people, come to save them from certain death. They had witnessed the destruction and cried tears of sorrow at the pain their people suffered, but could not come to their aid without the consent of all the Sen'Dae. When this consent had been granted, the Goddesses enveloped all the people in that pure light, curing the sick, healing the wounded, and committing all of them to a deep, dreamless slumber, so their minds might heal from the horrors they had endured.

"When they awoke, it was to find themselves renewed in body and spirit. The villages were repaired, their fields restored, and the harvested crops whole again. It was a miracle delivered onto us by the Sen'dae. A gift of life for our unwavering devotion." Her voice went silent as she waited for him to finish the rest of her story as he had taken to doing.

"And since then your people have not known war nor strife. The Sen'Dae keep you safe. Keep you protected," Darius continued, his hoarse voice a sharp contrast to her soothing tone.

"Even from the Wraith," he added softly to himself. Not for the first time, he was left troubled by the thought.

The slamming of the front door suddenly interrupted his silent reverie. A sharp gust of wind blew into the house, ruffling lace curtains and blowing the blanket off of his feet. Lyria looked up briskly from where her gaze had settled on the floor, jumping to her feet when her mother dashed into the house, a veritable whirlwind of swirling skirts, tousled hair, and flailing arms.

"Mother!" Lyria cried and made a grab for one of her mother's hands. "Mother! What's wrong? What has happened?"

The older woman shook off her daughter's calming hands. She fixed a murderous glare on the elderly man who'd partaken of their hospitality and deceived them all with vicious intent.

"Is this how your people repay our kindness and good will?" she spat venomously, her green eyes lit with rage, every muscle quaking with barely restrained fury, "You threaten our children with death and steal from us our goods and harvest?"

Darius' mind and body froze at her words. He tried to reply, tried to tell her that something had gone horribly wrong. There had been some sort of misunderstanding, but the unmistakable roar of a ship's engines drowned out any stutter or mumble that may have made it past his lips. He stared blindly out the window and watched his crew take off in a barely repaired ship. He watched them break through the atmosphere and disappear from sight.

The house was silent again, save for the sharp pants and furious gasps of Lyria's mother. Lyria sat unmoving as memories of a dream she'd almost forgotten rose unbidden into her mind's eye. Images of corpses and streams of blood flowed through her head. She let out a sudden gasping sob before flying out through the open door.

"Lyria! No!" Darius yelled. His throat rebelled at the sudden effort and his body was racked by a fit of violent coughing as he slid off the edge of the cot and onto the floor.

Despite her anger, Lyria's mother automatically bent down to steady the old man, blindly reaching for the mug of water to soothe his aching throat. Darius pushed her helping hands aside, trying desperately to get to his feet, to chase after Lyria, to stop the inevitable. His heart cracked a little when his legs shook violently and refused to support his weight. It broke entirely when he collapsed in a heap by the hearth and heard an unmistakable whine - the herald of their demise.

Lyria's mother turned and frowned at him when she too heard the sound, "They are coming back? Sen'Dae save us!" She gasped, one hand fluttering to her chest, eyes slowly filling with dread.

Darius sobbed in anguish as his worst fear came to fruition. He thought of this planet, untouched by evil, innocent to the ravages of war, and cried out in frustration and anger at his helplessness. By crippling his body, aging him beyond recognition, robbing him of all possible happiness and hope, the Wraith had ensured he could do nothing for these people. He could do nothing to save Lyria.

"No. They're not coming back," he breathed. Darius reached up and grabbed the older woman's hand, pulling her down until her tearful eyes were level with his.

"Run. Hide!" he spoke fiercely. "Find your children, your husband. Find Lyria." His voice broke on her name, but he cleared his throat and continued, "Get to the mountains. Do not look back."

He pushed her away from him and she stumbled into the low table. Her hands were gathered tightly to her chest. She stared with wild eyes back at him. She didn't move.

"Go!" Darius bellowed, louder than he thought possible. He'd startled her into motion. She stumbled towards the door. Finally gaining control of her feet as she grabbed the doorframe to steady herself and breaking into a run as she flew out the front door.

"Go," Darius whispered this time. He bowed his head and prepared himself for the inevitable as the whines and hums grew louder and screams began to pierce the air.

"Your Gods have abandoned you."

I see you all out there. Remember, reviews (bad or good) are love.