Chapter 16 Rhea
RHEA
They’re screwing with my schedule.
I know it.
NovaCast blames “logistics,” “sponsor pivots,” and “production streamlining,” but I’ve worked in this business too long to fall for corporate horseshit. I can smell manipulation a mile away.
And this?
This reeks of a setup.
Segments I was slated to shoot—ones with actual narrative weight—are suddenly reassigned to fresh-faced nobodies with no edge and zero spine. Meanwhile, my assignments have turned niche. Intimate. And oddly specific.
A day ago, I was set to interview arena medical staff for a special on trauma care.
Now?
Now I’m shadowing Valtron.
“An inside look at warrior training rituals,” the production notes say. “Full access. Personal footage. Human interest angle.”
My stomach knots as I read it, bile rising hot in my throat.
They think it’s good TV.
Reunited lovers. Secret tension. Maybe a blowout. Maybe a tearful reconciliation. They don’t care which—they just want it on film.
And Valtron?
Either he’s in on it…
Or he’s waiting.
I don’t get a choice.
The production lead hands me a camera crew I barely know, gives me a countdown, and sends me into the pit.
Valtron’s already there.
The training ring is empty but for him, the lights low and moody. The smell of oil and sweat clings to the air, thick and metallic. Machines hum around the edges—sparring dummies, weight rigs, resistance grids all silent for now.
He’s pacing.
Shirtless.
Gloved.
His red scales catch the light like hot coals.
When I step into the ring, he stops.
His gaze snaps to me like a targeting lock.
The crew starts rolling.
I press my earpiece. “No audio feed. Visuals only.”
They protest.
I don’t care.
They won’t hear this.
“Training rituals, huh?” I say, voice dry as dust. “What’s next? Blastaar’s favorite smoothie recipe?”
He doesn’t laugh.
Doesn’t move.
Just watches.
I circle the ring, keeping distance, filming hands steady even though mine aren’t.
“You set this up?” I ask. “You pull strings?”
He shakes his head. “Didn’t have to.”
Of course not.
The network’s doing the heavy lifting. They want sparks.
They’re gonna get fire.
I lift the camera. Focus in on his face.
And that’s when he says it.
Soft.
Deadly.
Like a blade slipped between ribs.
“Is she mine? The child I saw you with?”
The world stops.
I don’t blink.
Don’t breathe.
Don’t move.
I lower the camera.
Our eyes lock.
His are full of too much.
Pain.
Hope.
A kind of panic I’ve never seen in him before.
I say nothing at first.
Because the truth’s too big for a yes or no.
So I ask a question of my own.
“Would it change anything?”
His jaw clenches.
A thousand things pass across his face—regret, guilt, love, rage.
But no lies.
Never lies.
He whispers, “Everything.”
I flinch like I’ve been struck.
Not from the words.
But from the way he says them.
Like a man watching his world tilt. Like a soldier who just realized the mission he’s on is the wrong one.
He steps forward.
I step back.
“Rhea—”
“No.”
I raise a hand. Not dramatic. Not cruel.
Just done.
“You don’t get to drop that on me like it’s a question in a survey,” I snap. “You don’t get to ask about my child like you’re owed anything.”
His eyes widen. “She’s mine.”
“And where the hell were you when she was born?” I shout. “When I was bleeding out and alone and terrified I’d have to bury myself and my baby under a new name on a planet no one maps?”
“I didn’t know!”
“Exactly!” I hiss. “You didn’t know. And you didn’t ask. You disappeared, Valtron. You chose duty. You chose glory. You chose everything but me.”
He reels back like I slapped him.
But I’m not done.
“Don’t come to me now with wide eyes and regrets. Don’t chase me down when you made me a ghost. I raised her. I held her through night terrors and read her stories about stars and taught her that her father was gone because he had to be. Not because he didn’t care.”
He tries to speak.
I won’t let him.
I turn.
I walk.
I leave him there—alone in the ring, under lights that no longer shine.
That night, Ripley’s already asleep when I get back.
I sit on the floor beside her bed and stroke her hair.
She murmurs, presses her face into her bramblebear, and sighs.
And I weep.
Silently.
Because my heart’s too full to hold it anymore.
And somewhere across the compound, Valtron sits alone, bathed in the blue glow of an old archived feed.
Me.
Laughing.
Smiling.
Back when my eyes were unguarded and my voice was joy and the galaxy hadn’t torn us open.
He watches the loop again.
And again.
And again.
Until the breath in his lungs feels foreign.
And he finally understands what he lost.