Ravik of Xerion is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences. It contains psychological themes, emotional intensity, and romantic content between adult characters, including elements of dominance, vulnerability, and queer identity.

The story may explore trauma, military violence, and morally complex relationships between consenting adults. Reader discretion is advised. All characters are fictional and over the age of 18.

The engine hum filled the cabin, steady and slow. Seated at a narrow desk, Captain Ravik Neravik leaned back in his chair, shoulders tight, fingers twitching against the armrest.

His violet eyes scanned the dossier, then paused. Names. Roles. People he’d have to trust.

Strike Commander Kael Marris
Ravik huffed. Of course Kael was first. The dossier described Kael as disciplined and calculating, an ideal Strike Commander, the kind of leader others would follow without question.

He’ll love me. Just wait until I upstage him.

Still, he couldn't shake the curiosity. What was it like to lead with that kind of confidence, to feel like you belonged at the top, not by right, but by choice? It was infuriating.

Demolitionist Veyra Strahl
Ravik tilted his head, reading the notes about her expertise in explosives and her stoic demeanor. Gorathis-born. Actions over talk. Probably wouldn’t flinch if the walls blew out.

Finally, someone who isn’t going to swoon every time I walk into a room. 

Ravik allowed himself a faint smirk. He appreciated grounded people that were less likely to bend over backwards to appease him.

Sniper Sarin Deyka
Ravik groaned, dragging a hand over his face as he skimmed Sarin’s profile. The sniper was described as “irreverent” and “charming,” with a knack for pinpoint accuracy that was matched only by his tendency to flirt with everyone.

Great. Just what I need—a fanboy with a scope. 

He pictured silver eyes and a wide smile. His jaw clenched. Keep it professional. If he starts batting his lashes, I’m throwing him in the airlock myself.

His Role: Infiltrator
The rest of the document outlined his responsibilities as the team’s Infiltrator. The Empire expected him to be the unseen hand, slipping past enemy defenses to plant explosives, extract intelligence, or pave the way for his squad.

At least this makes sense. No one really sees me until they need something. Typical.

The communicator beeped. Sharp. Insistent. Frowning, Ravik picked it up, noting the security clearance on the call. He straightened before he realized it, finger hovering a second too long over the button.

“Captain Ravik,” a voice said, low and smooth.

Ravik shivered. The authority radiating from that voice was unmistakable.

“Commander Zarion,” Ravik replied, keeping his tone neutral, though his pulse quickened. He hadn’t expected direct contact—not this soon.

“Just checking in on my new Infiltrator,” Zarion continued. “You have your orders, but this isn’t the Academy. Your Xerion pedigree means nothing in the Vanguard. Comfortable?”

“Comfortable enough, sir,” Ravik said, throat dry. Zarion’s voice was too calm. Too controlled. Ravik hated how much he wanted to hear more.

A soft chuckle came through the line, deep and resonant. “Good. You’ll need your energy for what’s ahead.”

Ravik hesitated. He’d never felt uncertain speaking to a superior before, but this was different.

“I heard,” Zarion said, his tone shifting slightly, “that you were… disappointed in your assignment.”

Ravik’s jaw clenched, heat rising to his face. “No, sir.”

Another chuckle. “It’s not wise to lie to me, Captain.”

Ravik swallowed hard. “It’s not that I’m dissatisfied, sir. I just—”

“Wanted the Dominus, not the Revenant,” Zarion finished for him, his voice dropping into something almost teasing. “Let me make one thing very clear, Ravik. This isn’t a consolation prize. However, if it’s not what you wanted, the airlock is always an option. Open it now, take a walk, and I’ll find myself a new Infiltrator.”

Ravik froze, a lump forming in his throat. Zarion’s words were matter-of-fact, but there was a faint, suggestive edge beneath them. 

“I’ll make it work,” Ravik said finally, his voice steadier than he felt.

“Good. You’ll do fine, Captain. I see great potential in you. Don’t make me regret it.”

The transmission ended, leaving Ravik alone once more. He stared at the communicator, his breath uneven, his thoughts racing. All he could hear was the echo of Zarion’s voice; calm, commanding, and disarmingly intimate.

Ravik clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. “Focus,” he muttered to himself. He dropped the datapad onto the desk, harder than he meant to.