Chapter 3 Terra
TERRA
Eden was balanced on a chair that had seen better days, trying to tie a strip of salvaged parachute silk around a heat crystal. The fabric kept slipping through her fingers, and she was swearing under her breath, creative combinations that would've made my old drill sergeant proud.
"A little help here?" she called without looking back.
I crossed the space and steadied the chair.
The human quarters weren't large, carved from the same volcanic stone as everything else in Scalvaris, but the women had done their best to make it feel less like a cave and more like home.
Fabric panels hung on the walls, hiding the rough rock.
Cushions purchased in the market clustered in corners.
Right now, though, it looked like a craft project had exploded.
Polished stones covered every surface, arranged in patterns that probably meant something to whoever had placed them. Strips of metal and leather from the ceiling, catching light and throwing it back.
In the corner, Eden's pride and joy stood like a monument to optimism: a scraggly bush she'd gotten from somewhere, its branches covered in sharp needles and her determination to call it a tree.
"There." Eden tied off the silk and hopped down. "What do you think?"
"I think it looks like we robbed a salvage yard."
"It's the Space-Christmas aesthetic." She grinned, shoving hair out of her face. "We're pioneers. We're making new traditions."
"We're making a fire hazard," Rachel said from across the room. She stood near Eden's bush-tree, eyeing the candles arranged at its base with obvious concern. "One spark and the whole thing goes up."
Eden's grin only got bigger. "That's what makes it exciting."
"That's what makes it dangerous."
Eden stuck her tongue out. "Same thing."
I left them to argue and surveyed the rest of the space.
Orla knelt by the makeshift kitchen, doing something complicated with spices and a pot that bubbled over the heat vent.
Selene helped her, chopping something that looked vaguely root-like with a healer's precision.
Hawk and Vega were attempting to hang more decorations, though it mostly involved Hawk making suggestions and Vega telling her why they wouldn't work.
Reika sat in the corner, small and quiet, watching everything with her too-wide eyes.
Kinsley stayed close to her, not hovering but present, ready if needed.
Kaiya had somehow gotten tangled in a length of silk and was trying to free herself without asking for help, too proud or too awkward to admit defeat.
My crew. My people. My responsibility.
It had been eight months since the crash.
Eight months of survival, adaptation, and the slow, painful process of building something new from the wreckage of everything we'd lost. Some days it felt impossible.
Others, like now, watching them laugh and argue and create joy out of scraps, it felt like maybe we'd actually make it.
"Terra, tell Rachel that space-Christmas needs candles," Eden demanded.
"Space-Christmas needs to not burn down our quarters," Rachel countered. "She's being a pyromaniac."
I held up my hands. "Compromise. Candles, but nowhere near the tree."
"It's a bush," Lexa called from where she was arranging stones into what might've been a menorah or might've been abstract art. "A sad, dying bush that Eden is torturing for aesthetic purposes."
"It's symbolic," Eden protested.
"It's botanical abuse," Vega jumped in on the fun.
Eden crossed her arms, her expression growing mulish. "You're all heathens with no appreciation for tradition."
"We have no idea if it's even close to December back home," Lexa pointed out, not for the first time. She'd been making this argument since Eden had proposed the celebration three weeks ago. "We could be celebrating in March for all we know."
"Does it matter?" Selene looked up from her chopping. "We're here. We're alive. And we need to live by this new calendar."
Something in her tone made the room go quiet. When Selene spoke, people listened. She had that quality, calm authority wrapped in gentleness, that made even her smallest observations feel profound.
The moment passed. Conversation resumed, overlapping and chaotic.
I watched Kaiya finally extract herself from the silk, face flushed with embarrassment.
Kinsley caught my eye and smiled, that warm, steady expression that said she had everything under control.
Reika's fingers twisted in her lap, but she hadn't fled yet.
She was getting braver by the day, and it didn't hurt that she had a freaking giant of a mate now to protect her when she needed it.
I moved to help Vega with the decorations. She handed me a length of wire, and we worked in easy silence.
Slowly, the quarters had transformed from cave to something almost festive, if you squinted and ignored the volcanic rock walls. The heat crystals cast everything in warm light. The makeshift ornaments reflected that glow. Eden's bush-tree stood in defiant celebration, needles and all.
"Okay," Eden announced, clapping her hands. "Candle time."
Rachel had won the argument about placement. The candles sat on a flat stone ledge away from anything flammable, arranged in a slightly wonky circle. If this was a metaphor, I wasn't really sure what for.
Earth was gone. Not destroyed, just unreachable. Somewhere across the impossible distance of space, life continued without us. People celebrated holidays we'd never see again. Seasons changed in patterns we'd never feel. Everything we'd known had become memory.
Eden lit the first candle.
"I miss my mom," she said quietly.
She passed the flame to Rachel, who lit the second candle with steady hands.
"My bubbe would tell me to buck up and make the most of this." Someone snorted, but I didn't catch who.
The flame moved around the circle. Each woman lit a candle. Each woman named a loved one.
When the light reached Kira, she stared at it for a long moment. Her jaw worked. Her fingers trembled. But she lit her candle and spoke in a voice that cracked halfway through.
"For my sister. Wherever she is. I'm coming."
The flame came to me last. I looked at the eleven lit candles, at the faces of my people illuminated in their glow, and felt the weight of every choice that had brought us here.
"For the ones we couldn't save," I said. "And the ones we still can."
I lit the final candle.
We stood in silence, twelve flames burning against the dark. The makeshift decorations swayed in air currents. Somewhere in the distance, the sounds of Scalvaris continued, alien and familiar all at once.
Then Orla cleared her throat.
"Okay, enough sadness. Let's eat before this food gets cold."
"Thank freaking god," Lexa muttered.
We ate sitting on cushions on the floor, plates balanced on laps, passing dishes back and forth. The conversation flowed easier now, loosened by food and the release of ceremony.
"So," Eden said around a mouthful of not-potato, "how are the mates?"
Hawk threw a piece of bread at her. "Subtle."
"I'm not here for subtle. I'm here for gossip." Eden grinned, unrepentant. "Come on. You're all mated to massive dragon warriors. There have to be stories."
"There are stories," Vega said dryly. "Most of them involve excessive protectiveness and an inability to understand the concept of personal space."
"Zarvash follows you around like a very large, scaly shadow," Selene observed.
"He does not."
"He absolutely does," Orla confirmed. "I've seen him lurking outside the training field when you're sparring."
Vega's face did something complicated. "He's not lurking. He's … strategically positioned."
"That's what lurking means," I said.
"You're one to talk." Vega pointed at me with her fork. "Darrokar nearly started a war last week because someone looked at you wrong."
"That someone was Karyseth, and she was threatening me."
"She was walking past you in a corridor."
"Aggressively." I shuddered.
Everyone laughed. Even Reika's mouth twitched.
"At least they're hot," Eden said wistfully. "That's something."
"You want a seven-foot dragon warrior?" Hawk asked. "I promise, they're not all they’re cracked up to be."
I kept my mouth shut about that.
Eden sighed. "I've seen the way Khorlar looks at you. And I don't exactly see any human dudes around. And, no offense, but I don't think I'm going to fall for Lexa."
"Like I would have you." Lexa threw a piece of fruit at her.
Eden failed to dodge.
Next to her, Kira flinched.
She'd gone quiet again, pushing food around her plate without eating. Her shoulders hunched inward. Her gaze stayed fixed on nothing. I watched her fingers tighten on her fork, knuckles going white.
Lexa noticed too. She shifted closer, not obviously, just adjusting her position so she was within arm's reach. Ready.
Kira stood abruptly. "I can't." Her voice cracked. "I can't do this. I can't sit here celebrating while Larissa is—"
She didn't finish. Just turned and fled, the door to the quarters slamming behind her.
For a moment, nobody moved. Then Lexa was up and following, her own plate abandoned. The door closed again, softer this time.
The remaining ten of us sat in heavy silence.
"Damnit," Vega said.
"She's been holding that in for weeks," Selene said. "I knew it was coming."
"We all did," Kaiya said. Her plate sat untouched now too. "How long are we supposed to pretend this is okay? That we're safe while other humans are being tortured in Ignarath?"
"We're not pretending," I said.
"Aren't we?" Vega's eyes were hard. "We're decorating. Celebrating. Acting like we've built something stable here. But we haven't. We've just gotten comfortable while people suffer. You didn't see what they're doing out there." She shuddered.
"That's not fair," Orla said quietly.
"Isn't it?" Vega stood, her movement sharp. "Kira's sister is in Ignarath. So are others. And what are we doing? Waiting for the Blade Council to decide the politics are convenient enough to mount a rescue."
I understood her anger. Felt it myself, burning in my chest alongside the food and the candlelight and the desperate attempt at normalcy. Vega was right. We were celebrating while others suffered. We were building lives while people died. The guilt of survival tasted like ash.
But I also knew that falling apart wouldn't help anyone.
"Vega." I kept my voice level. "Sit down."
"I don't—"
"Sit. Down."
She did, reluctantly, her jaw tight with frustration.
I looked around at the faces watching me. These women who'd followed me through hell and somehow come out the other side still breathing. They deserved honesty.
"You're right," I said. "We are celebrating while others suffer. We are building lives while people remain trapped. And yes, the politics are complicated, and the council is moving slowly."
"And?" Vega prompted, as if she wasn't also mated to a member of the council.
"And I don't fucking know," I snapped. "But ignoring the food in front of us isn't going to help the people in Ignarath. So let's eat our damn meals, and I'll talk to Darrokar. We're going to get them back. I promise."
I met the eyes of each of those women, even though Kira was the one who really needed to hear this. Vega had witnessed just how bad things were in Ignarath, people held as slaves, forced to fight in the arenas when they were no longer useful. We couldn't leave them there.
I just had no idea how or when we could really get them back.
I stuffed a bite of food in my mouth and chewed aggressively.
"Mom and Aunt Vega are fighting," Kaiya said. "It really is like Christmas back home."
Vega snorted, and the rest of us started laughing.
I'd take the win.