Epilogue
IRIS
The Arborium’s archive smells like lavender oil and old paper, like pressed petals and warm sunlight filtered through leaves. It’s quieter than Mythara—less humming tech, fewer pressure-sealed vaults and runespark terminals—but I don’t miss the grandeur.
Not really.
Not when I get to walk home every night through firefly-lit gardens and into Garrik’s arms.
The archive itself is tucked inside a living tree the size of a cathedral, with braided walkways winding around the trunk and bioluminescent moss spelling out the catalog index.
Every day, a different student from the Arborium’s academy comes by to practice translating old field notes from the early terraforming era.
Every day, I sip honeyed tea from the meadery while Garrik’s sister drops off gossip and unsolicited advice about wedding rituals.
Which she insists are different than mating rituals. Apparently those involve feathers. And ropes.
And a lot of very ceremonial honey.
Garrik turns the color of ripe plums every time it comes up.
Today, though, we’re curled together on a café balcony in Fablegrove, piecing through an encoded botanical logbook with four missing pages and a map that shouldn’t exist. My legs are draped across his lap, his arm warm around my shoulders, and even though he keeps insisting he doesn’t deserve this—this peace, this love, this life—he keeps reaching for me like he’s terrified I’ll vanish if he stops.
Garrik hums now and then as I read, low and content, his chin resting lightly against the side of my head. His fingers move in lazy patterns through my hair, combing through the curls at the nape of my neck with slow reverence, like he can’t help it.
I’m talking—rambling, really—about the strange sequence in the book’s margin.
“See, this part doesn’t match the rest of the log.
It’s older. More ritualistic. And if it’s referencing the Arborium’s western quadrant, that means either the plant was moved—or we’ve been cataloging its species origin wrong for, like… four hundred years.”
His hand slows.
I look up, expecting a frown, a furrowed brow, maybe one of his skeptical expressions—the ones I secretly love because they mean he’s about to challenge me, ask for sources, make me explain myself.
But he’s not doing any of that.
He’s just staring.
At me.
My words falter. “What?”
Garrik blinks, like I’ve pulled him from a dream. “Hm?”
“You’re staring,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Am I boring you?”
His lips twitch. “Never.”
I raise a skeptical brow.
He leans in, brushing his nose along my temple in that slow, contented way he does when he thinks I’m too distracted to notice. “You could talk about soil composition for the next hour, and I’d still be exactly where I am. Listening. Holding you. Wanting to kiss you every time you take a breath.”
Heat blooms under my skin, slow and sweet and settling low in my belly.
“Okay,” I murmur. “But what if I really start talking about soil?”
He kisses the edge of my jaw. “Then I’ll learn everything I can, just so I can keep up.”
I close the book.
Just—thunk—right there against the table, ignoring the flutter of loose papers still tucked between its pages.
Because Garrik’s looking at me like I’m the most fascinating thing in the entire archive, and I’ve had enough of pretending this logbook matters more than the way he just said wanting to kiss you every time you take a breath.
I shift in his lap, swinging my legs around so I can face him, knees bracketing his hips. He blinks up at me, startled and already flushed, antennae twitching with that particular brand of bashful affection I’ll never get tired of provoking.
I reach up to touch his face, cupping his jaw with both hands. His beard is soft under my thumbs, and his lips part just slightly as I lean in.
“Hi,” I whisper, kissing the tip of his nose.
“Hi,” he whispers back, dazed.
Then I kiss him—properly this time. Slow, sweet, deliberate.
The kind of kiss that says I’m not going anywhere.
The kind that says you don’t have to earn this.
His hands curl around my waist, anchoring me in place, and I melt into him without hesitation, letting the rest of the world drift out of focus.
When I finally pull back, his eyes are soft and liquid gold, and his antennae have gone all fluttery at the tips.
I rest my forehead against his. “Flora keeps bringing up mating rituals.”
He groans. “Of course she does.”
“She said there’d be ropes.”
“She would say that.”
“And feathers.”
Garrik’s whole face is turning a shade of mortified mauve. “She’s trying to get a reaction.”
“She’s getting one,” I say, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “But you…you’ve been suspiciously quiet every time she brings it up.”
He stiffens.
“Garrik,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Are you keeping something from me?”
His gaze flickers. “I’m not keeping it from you, exactly…”
“Uh-huh.”
“I was waiting for the right time.”
My eyebrows lift. “To tell me what?”
He hums. “Well…Davrin kept telling me humans exchange rings…”
I frown as he pulls away slightly, then slips his hand into his pocket. My heart clenches because I know what’s coming next.
And I’m still not prepared for the sight of the ring.
It’s a plain wooden band, polished to perfection and inlaid with something sparkly—just like I told him months ago when I sat in his cottage and told him I loved him for the first time. He passes it over with a bashful smile, averting his eyes.
“I don’t know the human customs, but…Flora helped me make it—”
“You made this?”
Garrik nods, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly flustered. “From one of the orchard branches. The ones that bloom early. I carved it by hand.”
My throat tightens. I lift the ring between us, studying it. It’s not perfect. The band isn’t symmetrical. The quartz glints unevenly where the resin set a little crooked.
And it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“You made this,” I repeat, my voice trembling.
He swallows. “I didn’t want to rush you. Or assume. But when you came back—when you stayed—I just…” He trails off, antennae flicking. “I needed something that said it, I guess. Something that meant you’re mine. Not just because of the bond. Not just because of fate. But because you chose me.”
I stare at him, this big, bashful, brilliant alien who once guarded my back through ashstorms and riots and endless nights without sleep. Who now guards my heart with those same steady hands.
I slide the ring onto my finger.
It fits perfectly.
“Garrik,” I whisper, leaning in to kiss him again, “I chose you the moment you showed up in that wrecked Legion outpost with a pocket full of dried flowers.”
He pulls me close again, resting his forehead against mine.
The ring gleams between us, catching the light of the mosslanterns strung along the balcony railing.
Below, the market is starting to close up for the evening.
A musician plucks at a lyre-like instrument down the path.
The scent of warm bread and flower nectar drifts up through the dusk.
“Do you ever think about it?” I ask softly. “What comes next?”
His antennae twitch. “Next after this moment?”
“Next after today,” I say.
He snorts. “You mean a wedding. You can just say wedding.”
I smirk. “You want one?”
“With you?” he says. “Anywhere, any way you want it. The ceremonial honey, the ropes, the feast that Flora’s probably already menu-testing for…I’ll take it all. As long as I get to stand beside you and say yes.”
My heart aches a little with how much I love him.
“And kids?” I ask, quieter now. Not because I’m unsure—but because the thought makes something sharp and tender bloom in my chest…and because I wonder exactly how that would work, not that I need to figure that out yet.
His expression softens. “If we’re lucky. If you want them.”
“I think I do,” I say. “Not now. But someday. Little bookworms with your curls and my sarcasm.”
“Poor Arborium,” he says solemnly.
“Poor Davrin,” I counter, laughing.
We fall into silence again, but it’s the kind that thrums with promise.
I tuck myself into the crook of his shoulder, and he draws the blanket from the back of the café chair over the two of us.
The ring is warm on my hand, his heart steady under my cheek, the stars blinking above through the dappled canopy like they’re winking just for us.
I’ve lived through war. Through displacement. Through the collapse of everything I thought I knew about the world.
But this?
This is the start of something new.
Not just a future.
A home.
And I know that no matter where we go—through forgotten ruins, half-wild archives, and honey-soaked rituals—we’ll walk it together.
Side by side.
Me and my best friend.
Love soft alien kisses, steamy secrets, and cozy sci-fi romance?
Don’t stop here—The Alien in the Archive is waiting to steal your breath. Set in the same universe, it follows a brilliant psychic librarian and the ancient, dangerous alien who invades her dreams…and maybe her heart.