Chapter 16
RYNN
Iwatch from behind the door. Not proud of it. Not ashamed, either.
This is my daughter. This is my life.
But right now, it belongs to them.
Vael stands at the edge of the cliff, the geothermal vents in the distance sending long, ghostly ribbons of mist into the air.
The land around us is all gray stone and soft moss, dotted with sulfur-bloom wildflowers.
The wind carries the sharp tang of ozone and mineral steam.
It curls through Nessa’s hair, which whips around her cheeks like flames.
She holds tight to her claw-toy in one hand, the other balled at her side.
“Who’s that?” she asks, not looking at me.
I kneel beside her. My voice is hoarse. “He’s someone… important.”
Nessa’s golden eyes—so damned Vakutan it hurts—narrow on him.
“He looks sad.”
“He’s been through a lot.”
She says nothing for a long moment. Then, “Am I supposed to say hi?”
“No.” I touch her shoulder. “Only if you want to.”
She nods. Once. Sharp. She’s braver than I am.
And then, slowly, she walks toward him.
I duck behind the doorway of the cliff shelter. Half-carved into the rock, half-grown with memory stone, it offers perfect cover. I shouldn’t be watching, but there’s no force in the universe strong enough to peel my eyes away.
Vael turns as Nessa approaches.
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t kneel right away.
He just sees her.
Like the universe cracked open in front of him and offered something sacred.
“Hi,” she says, guarded.
He crouches. Doesn’t rush her. His armor is gone today, replaced with a simple dark tunic and gloves that don’t hide the cybernetic seams but soften the image all the same.
“Hello, Nessa.”
She blinks. “How do you know my name?”
He smiles—just the barest ghost of it. “I’ve known it since before you were born.”
“That’s not possible,” she frowns.
“I think it is,” he murmurs. “Because your mother said it once.”
The wind whistles between them. She looks down at her feet.
“You look like the pictures I drew,” she says suddenly.
His breath catches. “I saw them.”
Nessa scowls. “You’re not supposed to look at other people’s stuff.”
“You’re right,” he says, bowing his head. “I’m sorry.”
She squints at him. “Mom says only warriors wear scars like yours.”
“Your mom’s smart,” he says gently.
“You’re a warrior?”
“I was.”
“What happened?”
He doesn’t answer right away. His throat bobs.
“I lost a battle,” he says, voice low. “And then I lost a part of myself.”
She’s silent.
And then, soft as a whisper: “Are you still lost?”
His eyes shine.
“Not anymore,” he says.
She steps closer.
“How do you know me?” she asks.
He looks at her like she’s made of starlight.
“Because I’ve dreamed of your face since the moment I knew you existed.”
“That’s a weird answer.”
“It’s the truth.”
She shifts her weight, considering. “Mom says not everyone tells the truth.”
“Your mom’s right about that, too.”
“Are you lying to me?”
“No,” he says, voice cracking. “Never.”
She lifts her claw-toy like it’s a weapon. “This is Razorclaw. He’s my protector.”
Vael nods solemnly. “He looks strong.”
“He is. But he doesn’t talk. He listens.”
“I can do that, too.”
She studies him. “Do you want to be my friend?”
He exhales, a shaky, broken sound.
“I’d like that more than anything.”
“Okay,” she says. “But friends don’t lie. Or leave.”
His face caves inward like she just struck him. “I won’t. Not again.”
“Okay.”
And then she does something that breaks me.
She steps forward… and puts her hand on his.
Vael freezes. Doesn’t dare breathe.
Her little fingers wrap around his wrist, just above the edge of the cybernetic join.
“I like your scars,” she says. “They look like space maps.”
He lets out a choked laugh.
“Then I guess that makes me a whole galaxy.”
She beams.
I can’t stop the tears.
I back away from the doorway, biting my fist. Every breath hurts.
Vael isn’t just a warrior.
He’s a father, too.
And I’m the woman who almost stole that from both of them.
___________________________________________________________________________
The apartment is quiet.
Nessa’s breathing is slow, steady, the soft hiccup of post-sleep dreams curling from her room like warm fog. Her claw-toy, Razorclaw, is tucked under her chin, one golden eye just barely peeking out from beneath the sheets.
I close her door gently.
Vael sits on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like the answer to everything might be hidden in the weave of the old rug.
I don’t sit yet.
I just lean against the kitchen threshold, arms crossed, too many thoughts tangled up in my chest.
He finally speaks, low and even. “You used to hum in your sleep.”
My breath catches.
“I’d wake up before you sometimes,” he continues. “And just lie there listening. Trying to match the tune.”
“I don’t hum anymore,” I whisper.
“I know.” He lifts his head. “I can hear the silence.”
Gods.
I move to the edge of the couch and lower myself into the chair across from him. The fabric creaks under me.
For a long time, neither of us says anything.
“I didn’t expect today to happen like that,” I finally murmur.
Vael exhales, slow and sharp. “Me neither.”
I swallow hard. “She… she didn’t cry.”
“She’s brave.” His voice catches. “She gets that from you.”
A silence blooms again. But this one is less barbed. More fragile.
“I thought I’d have rage,” he admits. “When I saw her. When I knew. I thought I’d fall apart with fury.”
“And?”
His eyes flick up to mine. “All I felt was… shame.”
My throat closes.
“I should’ve died on that ridge,” he says, voice raw. “But I didn’t. I lived. And for five years, I didn’t know her. I didn’t know.”
“I thought you were dead.”
His mouth twitches. “Part of me was.”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. My fingers twist together. “I didn’t plan to lie. I told myself I’d wait for confirmation. But the weeks passed. Then months. Then I had her and…”
“You were alone,” he finishes.
“Yes.”
Another beat of silence.
“I remember the blast,” he says. “I remember the heat. The sound. And then—nothing. Just pain. Disorientation. Darkness.”
He rubs the heel of his hand against his temple.
“But there was a voice,” he murmurs. “Yours. It played in my head every time I blacked out. Over and over. You were saying my name.”
I can’t stop the tears that prick the back of my eyes.
“I kept trying to answer,” he continues, voice hoarse. “But my throat wouldn’t work. My mouth was full of blood and static and I couldn’t move. The medevac team said I coded twice before they stabilized me.”
“I didn’t know,” I whisper.
He nods. “I was transferred off-world. Comatose. The Alliance classified the whole op. Said it was cleaner that way.”
“So I buried an empty casket,” I say.
He winces. “I’m sorry.”
My fingers dig into the fabric of my pants. “Do you know what it’s like to raise a child on a border station? Alone? With eyes always watching, questions always brewing?”
“I can imagine.”
“No, Vael. You can’t. I’ve had to code her genetics, hide her traits, medicate her outbursts—pray she doesn’t break another child’s wrist in school.”
He flinches. “She’s strong?”
“She’s you.”
He lets out a breath that sounds like a confession. “She’s everything I missed.”
“You weren’t ready,” I say.
“Maybe not,” he admits. “But I am now.”
I finally look at him. Really look.
The man in front of me isn’t the warrior I loved at twenty-six. He’s older now. Weathered. Fractured in places I still can’t name.
But he’s also real.
And present.
“Why are you here, Vael?” I ask softly. “Really.”
He meets my eyes. “Because I want to protect her.”
“And me?”
His voice doesn’t waver. “Always.”
I blink hard. “We’re not the same people anymore.”
“I know.”
“We’re broken.”
He gives a ghost of a smile. “Then maybe we learn how to live in the cracks.”
The tears spill.
Vael doesn’t reach for me.
Doesn’t move.
But his eyes stay locked on mine—open, unguarded, shimmering.
And in that quiet… something begins to heal.