20. Hakan
Hakan
Seven months later….
I'm pacing the corridor outside the birthing room in the healing center like a caged beast.
"Hakan, you need to calm down," Adan says, his tone measured and reassuring. "Abigail says everything is progressing normally."
“But Daisy is in pain,” I say for the perhaps the millionth time. “She’s been in labor for hours. There's nothing normal about that."
“It’s normal for human females,” Adan says. “It takes them time. Breanna went through the same thing when she had our daughter."
“But Daisy is so tiny,” I point out. "And the baby — what if the baby is too large? What if —"
“Hakan," Adan says, his expression firm but not unkind. "Your mate is strong. She survived being wormholed across the galaxy and nine months of your terrible cooking. She can survive giving birth."
Despite my anxiety, I feel my lips twitch. "My cooking has improved."
"Marginally," he shoots back.
The door to the birthing room opens, and Abigail emerges. Her face is flushed, her hair escaping from its tie. She’s smiling.
"Hakan," she says. "Daisy's asking for you."
I'm through the door before she finishes the sentence.
The room is warm and dimly lit, designed to be calm and soothing. Daisy is on the bed, propped up by pillows, her red hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. She looks exhausted and beautiful and —
Nestled in her arms is —
A gasp escapes me.
"Hakan," she says. “Meet your son.”
I'm frozen, unable to process what I'm seeing. The baby is tiny, with skin that's a beautiful light blue. His eyes — when they open — are amber, glowing softly.
He's perfect.
He's ours.
"Hakan?" Daisy's exhausted voice pulls me back. "Do you want to hold him?"
Trembling, I reach down and before I know it I'm holding —
My son.
He settles against my chest, his tiny hand reaching up, and my heart cracks wide open.
"Hello, little one," I whisper. "I'm your father."
In that moment, I flash back to the moment I first held my daughter.
Tears fill my eyes. The pain of losing her will never fade.
And now — now I have a new life to protect. A new hope, a new love.
Daisy gestures and I gently return him to her arms. She cradles him against her chest, and the picture they make — my mate and my child — fills me with joy.
"He's perfect," she breathes. "Absolutely perfect."
I sit carefully on the edge of the bed and wrap my arms around both of them.
There's a gentle knock on the door, and Abigail pokes her head in. "Ready for more visitors?"
Daisy and I exchange glances, then nod.
The door opens and Riz and Davi burst in, faces bright with excitement, along with Grandfather Kano.
They peer at the baby with identical expressions of wonder.
"He's so small," Davi whispers.
"What's his name?" Riz asks.
I look at Daisy, and she nods, giving me permission to share.
"Korran," I announce, my voice thick with emotion. “Named in memory of my younger brother."
Grandfather Kano approaches the bedside. He looks at the baby for a long moment, his telepathic presence gentle as he brushes against the infant's mind.
"He's strong," Kano says. "His mind is already active. You have a clever one there."
The boys want to hold their new brother, so we show them how to support his head, how to cradle him gently. They take turns, their faces solemn with the responsibility, and I'm overwhelmed with love for all of them.
"He's going to be a warrior," Riz declares.
“No, a scientist," Davi counters.
"He can be both," I tell them. "He can be whatever he wants to be."
Eventually, Abigail appears and shoos everyone out, insisting that Daisy needs rest.
“We’ll be home tomorrow,” I tell the boys, kneeling down to hug them.
And then it’s just Daisy, me, and baby Korran.
Daisy is nursing him, and I watch in awe as my son feeds, his tiny hand resting against her breast.
"I can't believe he's real," I murmur. "That he’s ours."
Daisy smiles. “Ready for lots of sleepless nights and dirty diapers?"
"I've faced Virdathian battle cruisers," I reply. “Diapers don’t phase me.”
She smiles. “I’m holding you to that.”
She hands me our son and settles back against the pillows, her eyes already drooping with exhaustion. "I love you, Hakan."
"I love you too, amavi. More than words can express."
I sit in the chair beside her bed, cradling our son while she sleeps, and I think about everything that brought us to this moment.
The destruction of Krava. The loss of everyone I ever loved. My years of isolation and grief. The farm I built to keep myself busy, to give myself purpose when I had none.
And then, like a miracle, Daisy appearing in my life, alone and terrified but refusing to give up. Teaching me that survival isn't the same as living. Showing me that I can love again, hope again, build a family again.
I look at my son, named for the brother I lost, and make him a silent promise.
I will protect you with everything I am. I will teach you to be strong, kind, and brave. I will give you a childhood filled with love and security. You will never doubt that you're wanted, that you're cherished, that you're exactly where you belong.
You will know about your heritage, both Kravan and human. About the worlds we came from and the world we're building together. About the hope you represent.
Korran makes a small sound in his sleep, and his tiny hand curls around my finger.
My heart — which I thought was permanently broken five years ago — is beating again.
I will always mourn who I lost when Krava fell. I will always grieve my beloved first wife and daughter.
But grief and joy can coexist. Loss and hope can share the same heart.
Love is infinite. It doesn't diminish when it's divided.
It multiplies.
I have Daisy. I have Riz, Davi, Kano, and now Korran. I have a community of friends and allies building something new and beautiful together from the ashes of what was destroyed.
I have everything I never thought I'd have again.
And I will fight with my every breath to protect all of it.
Daisy stirs in her sleep, a smile crossing her face, and I wonder if she's dreaming of our family. Of the life we're building together.
I hope she is.
Because this life — this impossible, unexpected, miraculous life — is worth dreaming about.
It's worth living.
With my mate beside me and my sons safe in our home, I'm not just surviving anymore.
I'm living.
I'm loving.
The End