Epilogue
The sun shone on Perileos for the first time in history.
Not the half-light that had filtered down through cracks and shafts, not the blinding ultralights that had been made to mimic the circadian rhythm of the sun, but the real thing.
Warm sunlight poured across the city beneath its new, fortified-electroglass dome, where scatterings of scaffolds sat amongst white foundations of new homes and buildings.
The air buzzed with drills and hammers, not sirens.
For the first time, the people of Reva were building up instead of digging down.
Gemma braced herself against the rail of a scaffold, Christian’s warm hand in hers, and let herself breathe it in.
Nadine had stood at this very spot this morning, her dark hair pinned tightly as she issued orders to crews with the vigor of a governor and the fierce clarity of one who had survived.
Hawk had been beside her, stiff in his new Systems uniform, already half-drowning in the tide of politics he’d sworn he didn’t want.
Yet he’d lifted his chin and spoken for Reva at the council table, securing citizenship for every person in Perileos, and now his voice carried in the halls of power, setting an example for the daughter who now saw her dad daily.
Lysa had chosen differently. She’d rolled her eyes at Christian’s protests and joined the reconstruction crews with her electrostaff leaned against the wall of her new home like a promise.
“I belong here,” she’d told them. “Besides, someone has to watch over Dad.” Christian had finally relented, especially after Gemma reminded him he didn’t need to protect his sister anymore.
And Gunner—bruised pride and all—had been waiting at the base of the scaffold this morning with a pack already slung. He’d grinned sheepishly, his voice low when he’d said, “I heard you’re going orb hunting. Thought maybe you could use someone who knows ancient alien ruins.”
Gemma had surprised herself by hugging him before she agreed. Forgiveness hadn’t erased the hurt, but it felt like setting down a stone she’d carried too long.
Rami, the Kaizen, and Philip had been marched off months ago to Capital City and repurposed under the Systems’ watchful eyes. Oranos Space Station belonged now to a mediator sent from the president—a neutral, watchful reminder that Reva’s freedom was still young and fragile.
But today, for this breath, the city felt like it belonged to its people.
Gemma tightened her grip on Christian’s hand. He was quiet beside her. His hazel-green eyes were fixed on the horizon where the dome caught the sunset, scattering shades of purple, pink, green, and blue across the sky.
She leaned into him. “Hard to believe it’s real.”
“It is.” His voice was rough, like he was afraid the moment might dissolve if he spoke too loudly.
Gemma’s tattoos thrummed faintly under her skin, reflecting her calm, steady pulse. They felt less like a burden now and more like they belonged. She had been remade for this, not just to fight but to carry forward something better than war.
She turned toward Christian, ready to say so, but the look in his eyes stole her words. He lowered to one knee, his hand never leaving hers. He withdrew a small band from his pocket—a ring of polished revarium steel.
“Gem,” he said, and his voice broke on her name, “I don’t know where these orbs will take us, but I know I don’t want to face any of it without you.
Not as a comrade or a girlfriend or a miracle I’m afraid of losing.
But as my wife. I want to wake up next to you every morning, fall asleep next to you every night.
Cry with you, laugh with you, grow old with you. Will you marry me?”
Her throat tightened. The glow under her skin spilled brighter, flickering across both of them until it seemed the dusk itself bent toward them. She dropped to her knees so she could meet him eye-to-eye.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Stars, yes.”
He smiled and slid the ring on her finger.
The metal was cool and grounding. Gemma framed his face in her hands and kissed him hard, the feel and taste of him a solace against the worry of what was to come when they left their planet behind to travel the galaxies.
Because she needn’t fear the future, not when she was excited to live it with the man she loved who would be hers for eternity.
Christian pressed his forehead to hers, whispering so only she could hear. “I love you so much.”
“I love you more.”
“Not possible.”
Their lips found each other’s again, and Gemma’s glow lit the scaffold in violet fire.