Chapter 48
TROKA
Iwake before dawn, restless. The moonlight smears across our bedroom floor, and Caelix sleeps between us—soft breaths, gentle rise and fall. I stare at Alaina’s silhouette, the curve of her neck in dim lamplight, and a panic claws at my chest.
I made an error.
Not in love. Not in vow. But in skip-step.
In tradition. I never asked her parents.
Here, among Vakutans, that’s no small thing.
Earth customs linger with Alaina—stories she’s told me, fragments.
The idea of asking a woman’s parents for permission to marry them is foreign to me, but sacred where she’s from.
And I jumped ahead. I bound her to me without honoring hers.
I sit up carefully and nudge Alaina. “Do you… did I—did I get ahead of things?” My voice is hushed. “I realize I never asked your parents if I could marry you.”
She stirs, blinking in the low light. She shifts closer, wrapping an arm around Caelix. “Troka—” she says, gentle but firm. “You didn’t err in love. But yes… you skipped a step I stopped believing in a long time.”
I feel hollow. “Your parents—I don’t even know if they'd accept me. After everything. After how things ended between you two … because of Caelix. I… what if they—”
She presses her lips to my shoulder. “Don’t assume worst. I’d rather you come to them than live in fear. But we do not have to open old wounds unless we choose to.”
But I do want to. Because Alaina deserves that respect. And Caelix deserves grandparents who see him, not spew prejudice. I vow quietly: tonight I’ll go. I’ll meet her father.
Later, with dusk still pale, I take Caelix in his carrier on one arm, Alaina’s hand in the other. We slip into her old hometown. The air smells faintly of evening market spices and wet pavement.
I grip Caelix’s carrier strap so tight my knuckles whiten against the cool metal ring. The workshop door hisses open—Bill’s workspace. Wood shavings drift in the lamplight. The air smells of sawdust and engine oil, like every memory we ever made in this town.
Bill’s bent over a half-assembled frame at a bench. His goggles ride high on his forehead. He turns slowly, a face lined with years and guarded hope.
For a heartbeat, no one moves.
Then Alaina speaks, voice soft but firm:
“Dad.”
He straightens. His eyes — steel, then surprise, then something softer — flick to Caelix. To me. I feel my heart trip over itself.
I step forward. “Mr. Southland,” I say. My voice trembles, but I force steadiness. “I’m Troka Vass. I love your daughter—always have. I’m here to ask… may I marry her? And… may I hold my son, Caelix?”
Bill’s breath hitches. His fingers brush a wood plane on the bench. He looks from me to Alaina to Caelix. Caelix’s little hand waves at Bill. I swallow. The moment warps: me, Bill, my son.
Bill moves forward, hesitant. He holds out his arms. “Caelix…” He glances at me, then at Alaina. “Can I…?”
Alaina lifts Caelix from her arms. He giggles, reaches for Bill. Bill holds him. Very gently at first, then firmer. He cradles him. The baby presses his cheek to Bill’s chest. Bill’s eyes glisten.
I clear my throat. “Thank you. More than I can say.”
Bill sets Caelix back in Alaina’s arms but doesn’t let go of her hand. “You asked permission.” His voice is low, rough. “I never thought I’d see this. But… yes. You have it.”
A smile trembles on Alaina’s lips. She exhales. She looks at me. “Thank you, Dad.”
Bill nods, rubbing his jaw. “Dinner tonight. My home. We’ll talk. All of us.”
I exhale so hard I’m nearly dizzy. “I’ll be there. I promise.”
Bill steps back, wiping sawdust from his hands. “I’ll cook your favorites, daughter.” He glances at me. “You’re welcome too.”
The air is thick: sawdust, engine oil, relief, possibility. I clasp Alaina’s hand, lean my head to her. “Thank you,” I whisper.
She squeezes. Caelix giggles again.
I glance at Bill, uncertain: “I—I’m sorry I waited so long. I should’ve asked sooner.”
He laughs, soft and broken. “You being here now means more than any timely ask.”
We stand in his workshop, clacking tools and shadows behind us, but for once the door is open.
When dinner comes, we gather around Bill’s old table. The food is simple—roasted root, fresh bread, soup. But warmth blooms in my chest like sunrise. We eat between talk and laughter. Bill asks Caelix questions; Alaina tells old stories; I tell of our plans.
Later, as night deepens, I walk Alaina to the door. She presses a kiss to my cheek. Under lamplight, I quietly say—“Thank you for trusting me with your world.”
She smiles tired. “You earned a place in it.”
And I step in, take my role—not just as mate—but son-in-law, father, partner. Together we cross the threshold.