Chapter 27
JAELA
Ilead them down the clay-ringed path from the medbay shuttle pad.
Earth’s air is thick and lush around us: warm rain mist, damp grass, citrus groves.
It smells alive — so different from Jurtik’s burn.
My heart is pounding, every step heavy with hope and terror.
Behind me, Kel clutches Kyldak’s hand. He’s quiet, wide-eyed, absorbing every leaf, every drip of water, every bird cry.
We round the final bend and see it: Mom’s homestead, a dome of solar panels, glass greenhouses, vines spiraling up pale stone walls. It nestles in a crater valley: rivers, gardens, the soft hum of life flourishing. I stop short, breath catching.
My sister, Vira, flies out the door of the glass foyer before we even reach the walkway. She gasps, her hand clawing at her throat. Her eyes dart to Kyldak. "That’s him?" she whispers. "That’s Red Eye?" Her voice is both awe and accusation.
I shove her lightly aside, laughing, emotion spiking. "Yes. That’s him. Back from the ashes."
She stumbles backward, her mouth open, eyes wide. But she recovers fast, rushing to Kel. "Kel, hi! It’s Aunt Vira!" She scoops him up. The boy squawks, "Lizards!" and flails, nearly slipping from her grasp.
I step forward. "Permission to enter?" Kyldak rumbles, tone clipped and raw, like he’s announcing war or homecoming, I can’t tell which. His voice is deeper, rougher, edged with fatigue and cracked expectation.
A moment’s hush. Then the door slides open wider.
Mother appears. She’s regal even here, dressed in earth tones, hair haloed by solar panels behind her. Her eyes, steel-bright, fall on Kyldak. Her brow raises. Her lips curve faintly — part approval, part threat.
She stands. Quiet. The hallway behind her glows. She doesn’t move, but everything shifts: light, shadow, expectation.
Vira sets Kel down, and he runs toward the plants inside, distracted by green leaves and scuttling insects. "Lizards!" he shouts, chasing something across the polished floor.
I smile. A wild, relieved thing. Chaos, yes, but life.
Mother’s eyes flick from me to Kyldak, scanning him top to toe — armor lines under his jacket, too tall for any ordinary man, scars in places that make ancient sense. She finally nods, once, sharply. "You may enter."
Kyldak grunts. He steps across, boots echoing on tile. I follow, trailing behind but closer now. Vira meets my gaze, relief and fear mingling in hers.
Inside, the home is lush: vertical gardens, vine tendrils draped over glass arches, scent of herbs and fruit blending. Water trickles in hidden channels, and sunlight quivers through solar filters. A world designed to heal.
Mother’s voice, quiet: "Jaela, you’ve brought war to my doorstep — but maybe redemption too."
I swallow. “Always meant to bring home what was lost.”
Kyldak flicks his gaze at Mother. "Thank you."
Mother nods curtly, then turns to Vira. "Enough—Kel should be washed and fed. Later we’ll speak. Now, go." She gestures sharply. Vira scoops Kel, hurries down a hallway. I watch them go, then glance at Kyldak.
He steps toward Mother. I hear his boots on glass tiles. He stops a pace before her. Silence holds.
Mother studies him. The humming silence is full. Finally she says, almost lullaby soft: “You carry more than armor, Red Eye. You came all this way to live by a promise.”
Kyldak—voice low—"I came because she said he was waiting."
Mother’s eyebrow twitches. "And now?"
"Now I stay," he says.
Mother nods. She steps aside, sweeps her hand, opening the interior: "Then walk in."
He does. I follow. The plants part like curtains. The windows open to valley views. The scent of moss and rain shivers over us.
We cross the threshold. Mother’s eyes never leave Kyldak’s back. Her lips whisper something — neither blessing nor warning, a taut breath.
Kel runs in, laughing, chasing a green frog he found. He squeals as it leaps away, and pads of water drip behind him. Vira chases after him, laughter ringing.
I turn to Kyldak in that moment — life unfolding. Rain outside. Garden light inside. He watches Kel. Emotion is raw in his eyes.
I whisper, “We did it.”
He nods, voice husky. “Yes.”
Mother, standing beyond, watches him. I see her regard sharpen — respect, scrutiny, acceptance.
Something fragile and fierce shifts in me.
In our home. In our new life.
And Fatherhood, at last, begins.
Dinner inside Mom’s dining dome is chaos incarnate.
The long table is groaning under platters of fresh vegetables, roasted root meats, steaming soups, herbal breads, and glowing lamps that flicker from the overhead solar grid.
Outside, the valley slopes into darkness, and the bioluminescent vines in the greenhouse cast a soft green glow through glass walls.
I sit between Kel and Vira. Kel is half covered in stew, his small hand stained red, gleeful. Vira’s elbow is pressed into my side, eyes darting between me and Kyldak. My heart is full. Terrified. Alive.
Mother presides at the head of the table, impeccable, dignified. She eyes Kyldak over her wine glass. “So,” she says, sharp but curious, “Red Eye — tell me about this crater ambush technique you used back on Jurtik. Did you flank with eclipse smoke, or was it direct assault?”
Kyldak lifts a forkful of meat and chews, then leans forward. “I prefer deception over fireworks. Eclipsed flank, yes — but only after weakening their supply lines. Guerrilla pulses.” He meets her gaze head-on. “You taught me that.”
Mom’s lips twine into a slight smile. She leans forward. “So—supply disruption, sabotage. And your battles on Jurtik — what of that time in the Cinder Scar, when your armor was ruptured?”
Kyldak’s brow flickers. “Collapsed reactor core. I diverted conduit pressure with my bootplate. Splintered half my plating. But I won.”
Kel claps. “Dad wins!” He’s shouting, nearly inhaling his soup.
Vira laughs. “Okay, Dad wins—so when’s your diaper duty? You gonna change him next?” She elbowed him. “Come on, old man, wrestle me for that right.”
Kyldak looks at her, arching an eyebrow. Then he says, deadpan: “I’ll change him if he kicks me enough.” The table erupts in laughter.
Mom narrows her eyes. “Arm wrestle then? Show me strength of Red Eye.” She lifts her napkin. “Don’t embarrass us in front of the boy.”
Kyldak slides from his seat and faces Vira across the table. I hold my breath. Vira drops her napkin in mock terror. The table is cleared in seconds — we shove platters aside. Forks rattle.
Kyldak grips Vira’s hand. She grins widely. They lock knuckles. Strength hums through the table. The overhead lights flicker.
Mom watches closely. I hold Kel’s hand, trembling. I taste laughter, fear, pride in the air.
They strain — Vira flexes — Kyldak’s face tightens — then with a quiet jerk his cyber-arm hums. His fingers twist, motors clicking. The overhead light droops messenger wires, flickers, then steadies. It glows firm. The light becomes steady again.
Vira’s jaw drops. The table goes quiet. Mother’s stern face softens. She leans forward. “You fixed that?” she whispers. She sounds… impressed.
Kyldak steps back, palms rising. “Just old hardware. Needed a tune.” He shrugs. The grin on his face is a soft blade. “Still got it.”
Dinner resumes, but now the atmosphere is warmer. The interrogation lapses into laughter, stories, jokes. Mother asks about Earth politics, sister harasses him about his tattoos, I snuggle next to Kyldak. Kel leans into his lap. This is family. Everything I’ve fought for.
Later, after plates cleared and zero-g card tables afloat in the lounge dome, I slip out through the sliding glass to the upper deck.
I find Kyldak leaning over the railing, arms crossed, staring at the stars.
The valley’s view is wide: domed farms, distant lights, the Milky Way arching overhead.
The air is cool, scented of night jasmine and wet soil.
I step up beside him. “You okay out here?”
He glances at me. “Yeah.” He breathes in. “I think they like me.”
I laugh, soft in the night. “You’re lucky they didn’t try to sedate you in the medbay when you woke.”
He pushes off the railing and turns. His eyes shine. “Would’ve been worth it.”
I shiver, catch his gaze. The wind tangles his hair, stirs the vines. He reaches out, draws me close. Our lips meet — not tortured, not desperate, but settled, full of relief and peace. Stars frame us. The sky holds its breath.
I rest my forehead against his. The scent of him — metal, starlight, sweat — fills me. His arms — strong enough to carry worlds — fold me in.
We stand like that, quiet, until the vines glow, the domes hum, and Kel’s laughter echoes faintly in the distance.
Under the stars, I whisper, “We’re home.”
He grins, voice low. “Damn right.”