Vira’s smile wobbles. “He’s in the city center, Jaela. In isolation, but stable. He’s asking for you. For both of you.”
The medics are shouting again — about vitals, about evac clearance, about “cross-contamination protocols.” None of it matters. I hold on to Kyldak’s hand like an anchor in the storm.
“We made it,” I whisper.
He nods, jaw trembling. “You got him home.”
“No,” I correct, squeezing his fingers. “Wedid.”
The next minutes blur. Med-teams swarm us, fitting us into stabilization harnesses, securing oxygen, wrapping our burns. Vira argues with a commander about access clearance.
“They arenotgoing into quarantine alone!” — and I can hear the steel in her voice that’s always been there since childhood, the same steel that kept me alive back then and now.
The sky splits with thunder as we’re lifted into the dropship. I watch the ruin — the wormhole chamber, what’s left of it — shrink beneath us, swallowed by stormclouds and fire. The portal collapses in on itself, leaving only a smoldering crater glowing faint blue.
Kyldak watches it too. His reflection in the viewport is ghostlike — bruised, exhausted, impossibly human. I can tell he’s thinking what I am: that we shouldn’t have survived that. That something—someone—wanted us to.
Vira sits opposite us, drenched, pale, her eyes darting between our faces. “You two look like you’ve been through hell.”
Kyldak gives a dry laugh. “We were. But it wasn’t all bad.”
I elbow him gently. “Says the guy who decapitated a warlord before breakfast.”
He smirks faintly. “You started it.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
Vira blinks at us, incredulous. “Gods, you’re flirting already?”
I grin, though my lip splits. “Apparently.”
Kyldak’s smirk fades, though. He leans closer, voice low. “I need to see him.”
I nod. “You will. Soon.”
His gaze softens. He looks like he’s not sure whether to cry or smile. His hand finds mine again and doesn’t let go.
Kyldak exhales shakily, a laugh tangled in a sob. “You were right,” he says. “We made it.”
I lean my forehead against the glass. “We did.”
And for the first time since this all began — the endless flight, the lies, the blood, the burning sand — I let myself believe it.
We’re home.
We’re whole.
And our son is waiting.
CHAPTER 26
KYLDAK
Ipush open the double doors to the medbay and the hiss of filtered air is the first thing that ratchets me back to life. The sharp smell of antiseptic, cold metal, and sterile lights floods me, and I blink against the brightness as my boots echo on the clean floor. My heart hammers like a war drum in my chest.
The silence is thick. Not the silence of emptiness, but the silence of waiting.
