A Supernatural Essence
A s Kisan began to regain his strength, the children grew bolder.
Their presence became a constant. They made sure to come by his bed after school, telling him their stories and showing him their balls, toys, art, and scribbles.
Chuffed, he treated each pronouncement and announcement with the solemnity and amazement it required.
Most days, Samira was busy overseeing her soldiers and Thalassi’s affairs. The kids, enamored with their new companion, enjoyed his attention. He, in turn, found their joy infectious and even healing.
It was clear to him that Samira’s children were the reason she fought and worked so hard daily.
Each had her dark, expressive eyes, welcoming warmth, and resilient spirit.
One which thrived in caverns’ safe spaces that she had built for her family and people amid the ruins of war.
At ten, her son Malik was full of boundless energy and mischief.
His brunette curls framed a round face still soft with the remnants of childhood, though his high cheekbones hinted at the man he would someday become.
His curious eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint that preceded trouble or creativity. His voice was often lifted in enthusiasm and wonder. He peppered his sentences with questions, his mind always turning.
Malik wore tunics loose enough for running and climbing and patched trousers that showed his rough-housing propensity.
Around his neck was a small leather cord with a polished stone—something he claimed was his lucky charm.
His bare feet were calloused from his endless explorations of the cavern.
From the moment he caught sight of Kisan, Malik was captivated.
‘Why do your eyes glow?’ he asked, in awe and delight. ‘Are you a wizard? Or warlock?’
The Rider smirked, the shadow of a smile touching his lips. ‘ Nada . Just different.’
Malik was undeterred. ‘Your magic is awesome! They move! Can you make them do tricks?’
Kisan held out his arm, the black and green ink shimmering as it responded to his command.
Malik gasped, his hands brushing over the patterns.
His excitement was palpable. ‘They’re alive!’ he exclaimed, his lilting voice echoing in the cavern.
‘They are,’ the Guardian rasped. ‘Just a part of me, they express if I’m happy or sad, and now, they’re pumped to be around you.’
Malik grinned. ‘That’s so cool. I want some when I grow up.’
‘Is that right, child?’ Misandra drawled from the other side of the room.
‘May I get some too?’ Liora asked. ‘On my cheeks?’
At seven years old, she was the quieter of the two, though no less observant. Her straight, dark hair fell to her shoulders, tied back with a simple ribbon.
Her eyes were deep and soulful, a mirror of Samira’s, and they seemed to take in everything around her with an unspoken wisdom.
Her voice was soft, almost musical, with a thoughtful cadence contrasting her brother’s exuberance.
She only spoke when she had something meaningful to say, but when she did, her words carried power.
Liora was often seen with a small leather-bound book filled with her sketches of the caverns, the people, and the remnants of their once-lush world.
She wore a simple, sturdy, and practical fabric dress with a belt pouch where she kept charcoal for her drawings.
On her wrist was a braided bracelet Malik had made for her, the threads worn but lovingly repaired.
Liora’s fascination with Kisan was quieter but no less intense.
She gazed at him with wonder, lingering on the glow of his tattoos and the luminescent green of his eyes.
‘If your mother approves, you can get the prettiest one ever. What are you thinking?’
‘I want a cavern mouse; they’re so cute.’
The Rider chuckled. ‘I’m sure they are.’
‘Do they hurt?’ she asked, her small hand hovering over his forearm.
Kisan shook his head. ‘Not at all.’
She tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. ‘They’re beautiful. Like the fairy lights in the lake.’
Kisan’s brow furrowed at the unexpected comparison. ‘ Sante .’
‘You’re welcome,’ she replied, a smile tugging at her lips.
Kisan, for all his gruffness, melted at their sweetness and innocence.
Malik’s endless questions and Liora’s quiet curiosity were a balm to something profound inside him—something he hadn’t realized was broken.
Their world was simple, unburdened by the stress of his past, and their fascination with him was untainted by fear or judgment.
When Malik traced the glowing lines of his tattoos with glee, and Liora pressed a finger into them, gasping as the shapes shifted on his arm, Kisan was hit with an unfamiliar warmth in his chest.
Later, the young girl gifted him a small drawing of him seated on the divan, looking away in thought.
The likeness was off, but he kept his face straight, appreciating the thought.
‘ Sante Liora, this is incredible.’
He stared at the childlike strokes made in charcoal long after she had gone to bed.
He couldn’t help but wonder if, in another life, he might have had something like this—something worth fighting for.
But here, in the heart of Thalassi, he found himself wanting to fight for it regardless.
One evening, the warm bioluminescent lamps cast a soft glow around Samira’s simple but cozy living room. The Rider sat on a divan, head back.
Samira tagged his expression. Contentment.
Their eyes met, and he smiled. ‘Stomach full, mind at peace. Tis heaven.’
She beamed back and continued washing plates at the kitchen sink, her soul at ease.
It was like he’d always been in her world, her home, like these evenings together. These moments were always meant to be.
Overwhelmed with poignancy, she beckoned her daughter over and sent her on an errand. Her eyes followed as Liora’s face lit up at the task she’d been given.
‘Kisan.’
He opened an eye to see Liora appear, her small hands carrying a clay mug of steaming tea. She approached with a shy smile, her silver and gold eyes gleaming.
‘This is for you,’ she said, holding the cup.
Kisan knifed up and took it from her with so much care it brought a tear to Samira’s eyes.
He gazed at the liquid within, which seemed to hold the elixir of life instead of a simple mint and wildflower brew.
‘ Sante ,’ he rasped, bowing to the little girl. ‘How thoughtful of you, beautiful.’
Her daughter didn’t respond with words, but her shy smile and quick retreat to her aunt’s side said enough.
Kisan glanced at Samira, and her heart lurched.
With a tip of his chin, he sipped the tea with enjoyment.
Moments later, Malik settled beside the Rider on the floor.
Samira, back from work for an early dinner with her family, was washing the plates at the sink.
Misandra was crocheting with Liora. Leaning on the older woman’s shoulder, she stuck her tongue between her lips in concentration as she learned a simple stitch.
Malik clutched a wooden carving, its edges smooth from careful sanding. He presented it to Kisan with a solemn face, who accepted it, turning it over to examine the intricate details.
‘You made this?’ the Rider asked, his aqua eyes softening as they traced the well-crafted grooves of the small animal—a flying otter, its delicate wings outstretched mid-flight.
His voice, still rough from his ordeal, carried an unexpected gentleness.
Malik nodded, his curls bouncing with the movement. ‘ Naam ! Elder Pasha taught me. Took forever, but it’s good, right?’
Kisan studied the etching for a moment longer, then allowed a smile to tug at his lips. ‘It’s freakin’ fantastic, kid. You’ve got skill.’
The boy’s face lit up, his pride unmistakable. ‘You think so? I want to make more. Perhaps even a whole family of otters.’
‘You should,’ Kisan said, handing the carving back with deliberate care. ‘It’s a good talent. Not everyone can create something out of nothing.’
Malik clutched the model to his chest like a treasure, grinning from ear to ear.
Wiping her wet hands on a towel, Samira took in the scene.
Her gaze lingered on Kisan, his hard edges dulled by the soft presence of her children. She’d seen this side of him once before—on Eden II when he validated a boy and his desert hopper.
There was something pure about Kisan’s interactions with youngsters; it was as if their innocence reached a part of him that he kept buried.
They responded to him, sensing the truth beneath his hardened exterior.
Samira’s chest tightened as she realized how this moment touched her. His tenderness was unexpected but undeniable, stirring something within her that she wasn’t ready to name.
After putting the kids to bed in their adjoining room, Samira joined Kisan on the floor. He propped himself against the couch, his stiffness betraying some lingering aches, though his strength steadily returned.
‘Had to find a hard surface. There’s been way too many soft beds and cushions in recent weeks,’ he growled in explanation.
‘I can always put you in the barracks.’
he arched a brow. ‘Not sure how I feel about that.’
‘What? Is this tiny home growing on you?’
He turned and gave her a long look. ‘I think tis the souls within I can’t resist.’
He reached a hand to her cheek and stroked it, then moved it down her arm, the touch sending shivers through her spine.
The golden glow of his kinetic healing, the meta gleam that had given him a supernatural essence for days, had faded away.
Still, damn, was he all rugged, all imposing, undeniably all man.
Her heart stirred even as her core flexed in raw need.
Fokk.
‘They’re incredible kids,’ Kisan murmured after a long silence, his rumble thoughtful. He rested his hands on his knees, his green eyes distant, as if he were turning over the truth of his words in his mind.
‘They’re my reason for breathing,’ Samira replied.
He shifted to her and nodded, his growl almost reverent. ‘Smart. Kind.’
‘They have to be,’ Samira responded, her gaze softening. ‘This world doesn’t leave much room for anything else.’
She glanced at the doorway of the kids’ room, where she could hear the sounds of their even exhalation. ‘For everything I do.’
Kisan turned to her, his piercing eyes steady. ‘They’re lucky to have you.’
Her heart skipped. How he gazed at her—unflinching and full of something more profound—made her feel seen in a way she hadn’t expected.
A flare of need passed between them, a silent understanding that neither dared to voice just yet.
‘They like you, you know,’ she said, breaking the quiet, her lips curving into a small smile. ‘Malik already asked if you’ll stay for a long time.’
Kisan chuckled. ‘I don’t know about that. I’m not exactly the best influence.’
‘You might be surprised,’ she replied, her tone teasing but her eyes earnest. ‘You’re not as rough as you think.’
He raised an eyebrow, his mouth quirking. ‘That so?’
She nodded, holding his gaze. ‘That’s so.’
For the first time that evening, a laugh rumbled through him. ‘If you say so, Samira.’
For the first time in years, Kisan felt that maybe, just maybe, he was starting to believe it himself.