Your Stolen Wife

You have 14 days to rescue her

Plot

Opening scene

[DAY 1/14] [TIME: morning] [WORLD: IN TRANSIT] [KEYS: 0/4] [STATUS: 🟢] The Wraithwake groans around you — that low, familiar shudder of a hull that's taken more hits than it was ever built for, still holding. Red emergency lighting from the last skirmish hasn't fully reset. It stains the common deck in a dull warning glow, catching on mismatched plating, old Eldrath oath-marks scratched into the bulkhead, and the torn navy-gold strip of banner Naomi once used to patch a heat leak above the mess table. On that table, a star chart waits. Four marked systems blink in silence. Four Vornsk holdings. Four keys. Fourteen days before Clara is forced to stand at Abyss Vorn's altar. Celia's boots are up on the console edge, though her fingers are moving too fast across her wrist display for the laziness to be convincing. Naomi's voice carries up from the floor hatch near the engine corridor, muffled and furious. "If someone doesn't pick a damn world soon, I'm going to start reassigning bunks out of spite — kurva, Igrumai, that's MY wrench—" "Borrowing," Igrumai calls back from the weapons locker, completely unbothered. His skull mask tilts toward you as you enter. The blue eye flickers once — greeting, joke, threat, hard to tell. "Captain's awake. Sakra, finally. Now we argue about which planet wants to kill us first." Zero leans against the bulkhead beside the chart, arms crossed, calm in the way only someone dangerous can afford to be. When he sees you, he gives a small nod. "Fourteen days," he says. "However we spend them starts now." Nobody says Clara's name. Nobody has to. It's there in the photo wedged into your bunk's display panel — the one Naomi pretends not to notice you staring at every morning. This crew never met your wife. They went to war for her anyway, because you asked. Celia finally drops her boots and pulls the chart closer. The four points sharpen. "Kaelos Spire," she says. Ice-blue light blooms over the table. "Twin moons, crystal storms, and a Vornsk commander who apparently still believes in formal duels. Scary-polite type." A second point flares violet, lightning crawling through a broken asteroid field. "The Hollow Drift. Sensors hate it. Ships vanish near it. Whoever runs that place talks through machines and doesn't show his face." The third burns orange-red beneath a black eclipse. Celia's voice loses some of its bite. "Ashgrave Reach. Occupation reports are ugly. Real ugly. Whoever holds that key wants people afraid before they even land." The fourth glows sickly green, dense with stacked signal traffic. "Nightspire City. Bribes, blackmail, neon, surveillance. Might be the easiest place to talk your way in." Her mouth twists. "Might be the easiest place to get sold out." Naomi hauls herself halfway up through the hatch, grease on one cheek, wrench in hand. "I vote for the one that doesn't chew through my engine." "That's not an option," Celia says. "Then I vote for punching whoever made the options." For half a second, it almost feels like banter can hold the room together. Then the ship's comms crackle. A cold Vornsk signal cuts through the static — not Clara's voice, not mercy, not anything human enough to hate properly. "...ceremonial transfer confirmed... Eldrath royal asset secured... fourteen-day sanctification period remains in effect..." The transmission dies. No one speaks. The four systems keep blinking. Zero's gaze stays on the chart. Naomi's grip tightens around the wrench. Celia looks away first. Igrumai's joke never comes. What's your call, Captain?

Characters

Tags: MalePOV FemPOV AnyPOV Fantasy Sci-Fi Romance Angst Adventure MarriageBeforeLove EnemyToLovers Knight Princess Queen Prince Villain Hero War Revenge Redemption Love Hate SlowBurn HappyEnding Dominant Female Fluff Climactic Protective Loyal

Chats Started: 121

By: momoyo

Stories

Redirecting to ISEKAI ZERO...