Chapter 28
KRAJ
Six weeks.
Six weeks since the canyon ran red. Six weeks since the fire consumed the last fragments of my old life. Six weeks since the shuttle’s engines lifted us away from Arkosh, from ghosts, from Targen’s reach.
And now—we’re here.
The Zheln Outer Fringe. A planet so far off the maps no one remembers its name. The locals just call it “Haven.” The air tastes of iron and salt, the sky stretched wide and painted with violet clouds. At night, two suns trade shifts, and the horizon burns with colors I don’t have words for.
The settlement is nothing more than a sprawl of prefab domes and scavenged structures stitched together by stubborn exiles, miners, and wanderers. The kind of place that doesn’t ask questions, because everyone here has their own answers they’re trying to forget.
It’s perfect.
I take work at a mechanic’s shed by the landing yard. My hands, built for war, find peace in metal—refitting thrusters, patching hulls, coaxing old generators back to life. The clang of tools, the smell of oil and coolant—it steadies me.
Luna helps at the medbay. She walks in every morning with her hair tied back, sleeves rolled, and that fire in her eyes that makes men twice her size step aside. She belongs there, mending wounds instead of carrying them.
And Solie—our Solie—runs wild through the lavender grasses that stretch for miles outside the settlement.
Her laughter rings higher than any birdcall, brighter than the hum of the suns.
She doesn’t hide anymore. Sometimes, when the light catches her right, I see the shimmer of scales on her cheeks, faint but proud.
No one stares. No one whispers. Here, she’s just another child.
Still, I wake some nights with the taste of blood in my mouth, claws aching as if I’ve torn someone open.
Nightmares. Targen’s knives flashing. Luna’s scream echoing.
Solie ripped from my arms. But when I jolt awake, chest heaving, I feel small hands pressed to my scales.
Solie, curled against me, safe. And Luna’s fingers tracing patterns across my chest, steadying me.
One morning, the suns creep through the shutters, warm and golden, and I catch Luna watching me. Her lips curve, soft and knowing.
“We made it,” she says, her voice thick with sleep.
I nod, pulling her closer. My throat is too tight to say more. “We did.”
That afternoon, I take Solie hunting. Just the two of us. The lavender grasses ripple around us, whispering like waves. She’s got a little bow Vale carved for her, and she carries it like it’s the most important thing in the world.
“Hmm,” she pipes, skipping over stones.
The word slams into me harder than any blade ever has. I almost stumble.
“Yes, firefly?”
“Do you think I’ll be good at this?” Her eyes are wide, shining molten-gold like mine.
I crouch, fixing her quiver strap. “You’ll be good at whatever you decide to be good at. Hunting, climbing, running this whole damn world one day if you want.”
She beams, dimples flashing. My chest feels too small for my heart.
We don’t catch anything—gods, she scares off every hare within ten klicks with her giggles—but that doesn’t matter. She aims, she looses, she laughs. And then it happens.
She draws her bow, tongue sticking out in concentration. The suns catch her cheek—and suddenly, her skin ripples. Shimmering scales bloom across her face, catching the light like jewels. Only for a heartbeat. Then they fade.
She gasps, drops the bow. “Did you see that?” Her voice is electric, proud, fierce.
My throat closes. I kneel, cupping her cheeks. “I saw.”
She grins so wide I think she’ll split in two. And then she says it. The word that changes everything.
“Did you see that, Dad?”
Dad.
The ground tilts. The air thickens. My heart feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest. I can’t speak. I can’t breathe.
She doesn’t notice my silence—she just throws her arms around my neck, giggling, scales flashing faintly again as her joy bursts out of her. I hold her tight, burying my face in her hair, hiding the tears burning hot down my cheeks.
That night, back at the settlement, Luna builds a fire outside our small dome home. The wood crackles, throwing sparks into the night. The air smells of roasted roots and smoke. Solie falls asleep curled in a blanket, her head in my lap, fingers still sticky from honeyfruit.
I look across the fire. Luna sits with her knees drawn up, flamelight painting her hair molten gold. She looks at me, at us, and her smile is so full of peace it almost hurts to see.
In that moment, I understand.
Love isn’t passion. It isn’t obsession. It isn’t the hunger that’s devoured me for years. Love is this. Love is presence. Being here. Staying.
I reach across the fire, take her hand. My voice is low, raw. “Whatever happens next, you’re my home.”
Her smile softens into something I’ve never seen before, something that strips me bare. She leans forward, touches my face with her palm, warm and steady.
“And you’re ours.”
The fire pops. The stars turn overhead. Solie shifts in her sleep, murmuring nonsense, her little hand pressed to my chest.