Kastori Restorations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 4) by Stephen Allan
Authors: Stephen Allan
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“That took a lot out of me,” she said. “If we take Tapuya, I would prefer to not have to fight someone immediately after.”
“Consider it done,” Cyrus said.
He offered Celeste his hand, but she remained on the ground, so exhausted she could not even lift herself up.
“Lazy,” Cyrus said with a chuckle.
“Wait until I recover,” Celeste said.
Cyrus turned back to the door and tried to open it, but to no avail. Did Novus just let the door lock behind him? He’s truly crazy. He walked around until he found a window and broke it open with his sword. He climbed in, went to the front and opened the door. He took Celeste in her arms and carried her to one of the rooms. He gently laid her on a small bed, barely large enough to support her, and grabbed blankets from several other rooms. Just to make sure, he took her pulse and breathed a sigh of relief when it beat at normal levels.
“I owe you my life after that one,” Cyrus said as he gently kissed her on the forehead. He left the room and quickly circulated through the complex, making sure no more surprises awaited he or Celeste.
Once he confirmed it was safe, he passed out in the main meeting room on a comfortable, well-worn chair within minutes of sitting down.
17
Two days had passed on Monda since Crystil’s rousing unification speech. The humans and Kastori had miraculously combined to not just finish her personal fighter, Phoenix , but had also pushed another ship out. As the second night drew to a close, they had begun work on the third ship, and based on production alone, Crystil believed they might get two ships out every three days.
The unbelievable uptick motivated her back, as she slept only four hours a night and ate as she worked, accepting food delivered to her by other humans. She transported materials and held things in place for the others to weld, and she pushed herself to the physical limit, beyond even her time in battle.
But Crystil had developed too much of Celeste’s intuition for reading people. She knew the warehouse did not function based solely on the production of ships, but on morale, and on that ground, she saw slippage. Many people collapsed while working, and some openly questioned whether or not Typhos would even return.
“We beat him back, he’s humiliated, he won’t return.”
“We’ve fought war long enough. One man can’t possibly be worth this entire production.”
“If we have other magicologists on our side, why do we need to prepare?”
The words infuriated Crystil, who remembered what had happened on Anatolus a mere few weeks ago when the people got lazy. Annihilated. Only Cyrus and Celeste remain from that outpost. Only the Kastori here remain of the pure Kastori. Not including Typhos.
Whenever she heard people saying such things, she tried to encourage them, imploring them to push through one last battle. She tried to encourage those who collapsed to get some rest and come back stronger. But without meaningful motivation or sight of the target, she knew her words only supplied a short-term boost that would not work. Even she hated the uncertainty of when, exactly, they would go after Typhos, and if he would even retaliate against Monda. He’s got to want to. Knowing him. But if we get to him first…
You have to be prepared. You know the danger of not being prepared. Better to build dozens of fighters and not ever use them than to get lazy now and executed later.
Sensing the need for a push, she summoned for Emperor Orthran to meet her in a private room. He joined her on that second night, shutting the door behind her, as the two convened near a window overlooking the entire warehouse.
“The people’s morale is fading,” she said as the Emperor shut the door. “The people need to be pushed by someone besides a soldier. They need a leader, or better yet, a savior type. You can be that figure, the person who was seen as dead and is now back from the dead to save his
“That took a lot out of me,” she said. “If we take Tapuya, I would prefer to not have to fight someone immediately after.”
“Consider it done,” Cyrus said.
He offered Celeste his hand, but she remained on the ground, so exhausted she could not even lift herself up.
“Lazy,” Cyrus said with a chuckle.
“Wait until I recover,” Celeste said.
Cyrus turned back to the door and tried to open it, but to no avail. Did Novus just let the door lock behind him? He’s truly crazy. He walked around until he found a window and broke it open with his sword. He climbed in, went to the front and opened the door. He took Celeste in her arms and carried her to one of the rooms. He gently laid her on a small bed, barely large enough to support her, and grabbed blankets from several other rooms. Just to make sure, he took her pulse and breathed a sigh of relief when it beat at normal levels.
“I owe you my life after that one,” Cyrus said as he gently kissed her on the forehead. He left the room and quickly circulated through the complex, making sure no more surprises awaited he or Celeste.
Once he confirmed it was safe, he passed out in the main meeting room on a comfortable, well-worn chair within minutes of sitting down.
17
Two days had passed on Monda since Crystil’s rousing unification speech. The humans and Kastori had miraculously combined to not just finish her personal fighter, Phoenix , but had also pushed another ship out. As the second night drew to a close, they had begun work on the third ship, and based on production alone, Crystil believed they might get two ships out every three days.
The unbelievable uptick motivated her back, as she slept only four hours a night and ate as she worked, accepting food delivered to her by other humans. She transported materials and held things in place for the others to weld, and she pushed herself to the physical limit, beyond even her time in battle.
But Crystil had developed too much of Celeste’s intuition for reading people. She knew the warehouse did not function based solely on the production of ships, but on morale, and on that ground, she saw slippage. Many people collapsed while working, and some openly questioned whether or not Typhos would even return.
“We beat him back, he’s humiliated, he won’t return.”
“We’ve fought war long enough. One man can’t possibly be worth this entire production.”
“If we have other magicologists on our side, why do we need to prepare?”
The words infuriated Crystil, who remembered what had happened on Anatolus a mere few weeks ago when the people got lazy. Annihilated. Only Cyrus and Celeste remain from that outpost. Only the Kastori here remain of the pure Kastori. Not including Typhos.
Whenever she heard people saying such things, she tried to encourage them, imploring them to push through one last battle. She tried to encourage those who collapsed to get some rest and come back stronger. But without meaningful motivation or sight of the target, she knew her words only supplied a short-term boost that would not work. Even she hated the uncertainty of when, exactly, they would go after Typhos, and if he would even retaliate against Monda. He’s got to want to. Knowing him. But if we get to him first…
You have to be prepared. You know the danger of not being prepared. Better to build dozens of fighters and not ever use them than to get lazy now and executed later.
Sensing the need for a push, she summoned for Emperor Orthran to meet her in a private room. He joined her on that second night, shutting the door behind her, as the two convened near a window overlooking the entire warehouse.
“The people’s morale is fading,” she said as the Emperor shut the door. “The people need to be pushed by someone besides a soldier. They need a leader, or better yet, a savior type. You can be that figure, the person who was seen as dead and is now back from the dead to save his
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