“Hey, watch it with those voice commands,” Kyldak calls, striding in, his armor long gone, hair damp from sea breeze. He’s wrestling Kel into a harness — a toddler-sized safety rig with soft straps, belts, comfort locks. Kel giggles, twisting away.
Kyldak grunts, tugging a strap over Kel’s shoulder. “Get still, kid. You trying to fly off with the sparrows?”
Kel laughs, shakes his head. “No, Daddy, just racing!”
Kyldak gives him a mock glare. I walk over, press a kiss to Kel’s cheek. The harness clicks secure.
I grin. “Okay, copilot, launch sequence in three.”
Kyldak steps back, hands on hips. “Pilot, engage thrusters.” He flicks a switch. Kel’s scooter sputters, then lifts off, coasting over the floor. He shrieks with delight. We all laugh. The drone pours oat-milk into bowls; the aroma of toasted nut and cinnamon ripples in the air.
I lift a bowl and hand it to Kyldak. He sits at the table, Kel between us. I join. We eat, bits of fruit and grain, the drone delivering spoons, refills, coffee. Outside, gulls wheel over the waves. The morning light is pale gold.
I watch them both — my son laughing, his father’s eyes soft — and I feel a swelled heart, heavy with everything we fought to have.
Kyldak leans over. “You okay?” His voice is soft, rough. He brushes a crumb from my cheek.
I nod, smile breaking. “Better than ever.”
Kel chimes in: “Mama, can we go to the tide pools after breakfast?”
I set my bowl down. “Of course.”
Kyldak growls playfully: “I’ll race you both.”
Kel cheers; I laugh.
We finish breakfast in chaos: dishes clatter, drone arms spin, Kel bounces in his seat. Kyldak lifts him, drapes an arm around both of us.
I lean my head on his shoulder. The drone hums. The garden beyond the glass is riotous: alien blossoms, Earth roses, vines weaving. A soft breeze stirs the blooms.
We step outside, hand in hand. Kel darts ahead on his scooter, trailing laughter. The ocean murmurs distant. Seagulls cry. Wet salt air kisses our faces. Kyldak watches him. I watch Kyldak. Two anchors, two miracles.
I press my palm to his back. “Thank you for being here.”
His voice soft: “I’d cross a galaxy for this.”
I rest my cheek against him. The world wide and wild, and this — here — is ours.
We follow Kel to the tide pools. He points out sea urchins, shimmering shells, strange creatures crawling. The sun glints off wet stone. Kyldak kneels beside him, lets him climb on his lap, explaining tidal cycles, salinity, moon pulls. His voice is gentle, proud. I take photos with a holo-snap, catch their faces in light and water.
When Kel runs off to chase a hermit crab, Kyldak turns to me, sand on his boots, salt in his hair. “You okay?” he asks again.
I nod, tears in my eyes. “I am. Because of you. Because of us.”
He cups my face, kisses me. Soft. Deep. I taste sea and love.
Kel returns, panting. “Look what I found!” He holds out a shell. I grin, take it.
Kyldak laughs, ruffles Kel’s hair.
We stand there, the three of us, waves glinting, garden behind, hope all around.
I think: everything we lost, everything we bled, everything we feared — gone. Here we are.
Because of him. Because of me. Because love won.
Forever in this one world.
