Taking a seat at an old wooden desk, Kreed sighed. Who would’ve ever thought that maintaining two identities would be so exhausting? Playing the good military commander while lining up the pieces so that all would fall into place at exactly the right time. Fortunately, he would no longer need both identities soon. Once his people had the support they needed, there would no longer be any need for Kreed Sylk.

The Grand Lord had declared war on anyone who pledged fealty to his Second. That directive had only made those already loyal to Roden all the more dedicated. Wync had even mentioned the growing list of names loyal to Roden from Hillas’ earthside camp earlier today.

After decades, the tides were finally turning in Kreed’s favor. Most Draeken felt that Hillas had failed them, but they were afraid of the break from tradition yet. A Puftan had ruled the Draeken people through centuries of peace and decades of war. Even Kreed had to admit he felt a pang of something akin to remorse for the change he was steering his people toward. But he knew in his heart that what he’d done—and was about to do—was the only way to preserve what remained of Draeka.

He stretched his wings. The bones cracked and popped a little more each year. Just one more task and then perhaps sleep would find him tonight. Kreed checked his room and set up the portable electronic dampener before dialing the secure code only he and Apolo knew. This setup wasn’t as secure as what he’d had on the base, but he needed to get news of the war to Apolo. The risk of being caught was worth it. He needed Sephian support now more than ever.

Seconds passed. Seconds became minutes. Minutes became tens of minutes.

“Fyet,” he cursed as he fell back in his chair. His wings flicked in irritation. Apolo had never missed a call before. Never.

He could only hope that some menial meeting detained Apolo. If the Sephians were no longer on good terms with the humans, what hope did the Draeken have? Unlike the Sephians, who could now return home, the Draeken were stranded there; the next closest planet would take several years to reach, and even with the upgraded power cells, the core ships weren’t equipped for such a journey. Earth was their only chance.

Except, without Apolo, Kreed had no bridge to garner human support, and without human support, Kreed would be forced to rely on Roden to broker peace with humans. With the reputation Lord Commander Zyll had earned during the war, Kreed would have a better chance navigating the twelve hells than seeing peace come to fruition for his people. For his people’s survival, Kreed must succeed.

Fyet. He thumped the desk with a fist. Answer my call, ta deiti.

If he were discovered now, the Draeken people may believe Kreed was the traitor, but he knew who the real traitor was. If he did nothing to stop Otas, his people would die. If he continued his plan without Apolo’s help, he’d die, but his people might survive. No choice, really.

He leaned forward and dialed the secure code again, and again, no response. Apolo had always been there for him. Even when his father beat him within an inch of his life for not winning an archery contest, it’d been Apolo—not his Draeken friends—who sat by his side and nursed him back to health.

Goosebumps flitted across his skin, and he hated himself for feeling any kind of weakness. He’d come too far, sacrificed too much, to succumb to fear now. He would still succeed with his part. He couldn’t afford to fail. And when he was finished, he’d have to count on his people’s collective intelligence and need for survival to find an end to war.