Chapter 45
TROKA
Iarrange for everything to be perfect. Actually perfect. Riverboat. Moonlight. Soft string quartet. A night just for us, away from shattered malls and gunfire and the weight of secrets. I want to ask her to stay with me—formally, completely. Let our family begin.
The boat cuts through the water like a ghost, wake trailing silver under a full moon.
Lanterns glow warm. The river smells of damp wood, moss, wet stone.
The air hums with crickets, distant frogs, and the gentle creak of oars pushing through black water.
On deck, the quartet plays: violins, cello, soft notes drifting across the night.
Alaina stands by the railing, wind tucking her hair behind her ear.
She wears a simple dress I picked out—blue, flowing, light.
I offer her my arm. She takes it. Her skin is cool, scented with jasmine and memory.
We walk between barrels of lantern light toward a small table covered in white linen, candlelight flickering in crystal.
I guided the boat here, to a bend in the river where trees arch overhead, moonlight pouring like silver wine.
“Are you serious?” she asks softly, gesturing at the scene. “This is… so romantic.” She smiles—curved, a little stunned. I feel warmth in my chest.
“I wanted a night that’s only ours,” I say, voice low. “No war. No prisons. No running.” I lead her to the table. The quartet shifts. They play a new tune, sweeter, slow. I catch her hand. The moonlight dances in her eyes.
We talk then—about nothing and everything. I tell her how much I’ve missed her laugh echoing in my armor plating. She tells me how she built hope again. The notes drift—a violin high, cello low—perfect against the river’s hush.
I take a breath. Heart banging in throat. “Alaina… would you move in with me? Live… with me, Caelix, every day?” My voice shakes, but steadies. “I want to come home to you.”
I see the moon gleam off her hair before I see her face. The lantern light flickers across the deck, revealing dust motes dancing between us—silver fireflies. The string quartet hums low, soft in the background, filling the gaps where the world’s noise has abated.
Alaina’s hand brushes mine. She looks at me like I’ve become something new. “Troka, this is—” she begins.
I stop her with a gentle smile, lifting her hand to my lips.
“Let me tell you,” I murmur. The wood beneath us creaks.
“I love the way your laugh sounds when you think no one’s listening, how it warms me, cracks open the walls I built.
” Her eyelashes flutter. I go on, voice raw: “I love your hands—their strength, their softness. The way you’ve held Caelix, held me, held fear at bay.
” The river’s hush presses in. She closes her eyes and leans a little closer.
“You don’t know how much it means—to have you say that,” she whispers.
I press my forehead to hers. “I don’t want grand speeches. Just truth. I love you. All of you.” She smiles, tears shining like dew in moonlight.
Then—snap. A tremor under the deck. The music changes—strings warble, off-key. I whip my head toward the canopy. One of the musicians gasps. A cello player’s tentacle wraps around him, glistening suckers squeezing deep. Horror ripples through the quartet. His bow clatters to the deck.
“Step back!” I roar.
Alaina gasps. I lunge. The deck tilts. The lanterns swing. The smell of saltwater and something foul bursts in. Tentacles crash through wooden planks. One slaps against a carved wooden horse by the railing, sending chips flying. The creature’s body lurks beneath, luminescent skin pulsing.
I grip the fireman’s ax. I move between Alaina and the musician. The tentacles thrash, reaching. I swing—crack!—sever a limb. Black water sprays. I pivot, water dropling on my boots. A tentacle lashes across my shoulder; I grit teeth and cut again.
“Alaina—behind me,” I snap. Her voice is small: “Be careful.”
I half turn, catch a glimpse of her eyes shining. My chest tightens. Then back to battle. A tentacle loops around the ax. I wrench it. The metal screams. Another tentacle lunges for the musician’s neck. I dive, slide beneath it, slam the ax upward. It recoils.
I hear Alaina catch her breath. A lantern shatters near her feet—flames flicker, scorch wood. She steps back.
I rise, breath ripping my chest. I gang up three tentacles, each severed, each recoil. The creature roars underwater. Then, final swing. A tentacle slices across the floor; I swing high—detached. The broken limb flops into the river with a splash.
The hull groans. The boat shudders. Silence follows. The dripping, the wet slosh of water, the soft gasp of the musician, the wind through rigging.
I turn to Alaina, chest rattling. She steps forward, arms immediate, pulling me in. I smell jasmine, river air, sweat. Caelix tucked in her arms. She presses her cheek to mine.
“You saved him,” she says. “And you… you still had me waiting.”
I swallow. “I asked you to come home.” I brush hair from her eyes. “I meant it. I want every dawn with you.”
She curls into my arms. “Then stay.” Her voice shakes.
I rest my hand over her belly, over Caelix. “We stay. Together.”
The musician stumbles to his knees, voice trembling: “Thank you… sir.” He glances at Alaina.
I nod, shifting to shield them both. Behind us, the riverboat creaks. Stars overhead. The night, broken, righted by love.