The infant looked at her, seemed to calculate the distance, and launched himself forward with confidence that vastly exceededhis actual skill level. He managed two steps before losing his balance, but Anya was there to catch him before he could tumble.
“Good job!” She lifted him up, spinning him in a gentle circle that made him laugh with pure delight. “You’re going to be running around this ship in no time.”
The warmth in Selik’s chest expanded until it felt like his heart might burst from the pressure. This moment—this perfect, ordinary moment of celebrating a child’s developmental milestone—was everything he’d thought he’d lost forever.
His daughter had taken her first steps in their home on Ciresia. He’d been convinced that they would have years to watch her grow and learn and become whoever she was meant to be. He’d been wrong. The Red Death had stolen that future, leaving him with memories and grief and the certainty that he would never experience such simple joy again.
But here he was, watching another infant take his first steps, and feeling that same overwhelming pride mixed with love and protectiveness. Not a replacement for what he’d lost—nothing could replace Lira’s specific, irreplaceable self—but something new and equally precious.
Corinne moved to his side, slipping her hand into his. “You okay?”
“Yes.” The word came out thick with emotion he didn’t bother trying to hide. “More than okay.”
She leaned her head against his arm, understanding without needing explanation. They’d both lost so much—her husband, his family, the lives they’d built before fate intervened—but they were building something new here in the wake of that loss.Something that honored the past while still reaching toward the future.
Mikoz attempted another few steps and succeeded in reaching the edge of the crib before sitting down. He looked up at them with clear satisfaction, like he knew exactly how impressive his accomplishment was and expected appropriate recognition.
“You did so good, sweetheart,” Corinne told him. “Such a big boy, learning to walk.”
The infant’s tail lashed with pleasure at the praise. He pulled himself up again, determined to keep practicing now that he’d figured out the basic mechanics.
“He’s going to be trouble,” Anya predicted with a grin. “Once he figures out he can get places on his own, we’re going to have to watch him constantly.”
“It will be worth it,” he said, surprised by how much he meant it. The inconvenience of chasing a mobile infant seemed like a blessing rather than a burden. It meant life continuing and the future unfolding in all its messy, unpredictable glory.
They spent the next hour taking turns encouraging Mikoz’s walking attempts. Anya would sit a few feet away and call to him, celebrating each successful journey with enthusiastic praise. Corinne recorded some of the attempts, already planning to preserve these memories for when Mikoz was older.
And he watched them, his tail curled around Corinne’s waist while his hand rested on Anya’s shoulder. Contact points that grounded him in this moment, in this reality of family and belonging that he’d thought lost forever.
Eventually Mikoz tired of the game and crawled to Corinne, demanding to be picked up and cuddled. She obliged immediately, settling back with him in her arms while he fought against sleep with the determination of infants everywhere.
“Someone’s had a big day,” she murmured, stroking over his head. “Walking is hard work.”
Anya curled up beside them, resting her head on Corinne’s shoulder with the casual affection that came easily now. “Can we celebrate? Like, have something special for dinner or something?”
“Absolutely.” Corinne looked up at him. “What do you think? Can we raid the galley for celebration-worthy food?”
“I will see what can be arranged.”
He left them and went to the galley.
“Commander.” Sartan, the grizzled old warrior who ruled the galley with an iron fist looked up from his prep work, his expression carefully neutral. “What brings you to my domain?”
“I need a favor. I would like something special for dinner tonight in my quarters.”
He could have simply ordered Sartan to prepare the meal, but he doubted it would have been edible under those circumstances. Sartan studied him for a moment. “What kind of celebration?”
He hesitated, torn between pride and the necessity of discretion, but while Sartan could be both stubborn and surly, Selik had no doubts about his loyalty.
“The child took his first steps today.”
Understanding softened the cook’s grizzled features. “Ah. Yes, that deserves recognition.” He turned to survey his supplies, then nodded. “I can prepare something suitable. Give me two hours. I will have it sent to your quarters.”
“Thank you.”
“No need for thanks. Celebrating a child’s milestone is proper and right.” The cook paused, then added more quietly, “It is good to be reminded that there is a future.”
He nodded, his throat tight, then returned to his office to complete some overdue reports. But despite the work waiting for him, his mind kept wandering back to the small family waiting for him a few decks away. The paperwork that had always provided useful distraction now felt like an unwelcome obligation keeping him from where he actually wanted to be.
