The doctor offers a small nod. “We’ve completed the extraction. No rejection signs so far. His vitals are stable. He’s in critical recovery — but yes, he has a fighting chance.”
She exhales. Relief cracks her voice. She turns to me. “They said you were compatible beyond expectation.”
I nod mutely.
Kel coughs gently — a small rasp. I stiffen. The doctor steps forward, adjusts a line.
“Don’t strain,” the nurse murmurs.
He shakes his head. “I need to talk to Dad.”
I lean in closer. “I’m right here.”
He blinks again, closes his eyes, drifts.
I lean back, my hand still on him. Jaela reaches over and slips hers into mine. Our fingers lace.
Tears still in my eyes, I blur into the soft white hum of the medbay. The last thing I notice is Jaela’s lips pressing to my forehead, and the faint, steady beep of the monitor marking Kel’s heartbeat — alive, present.
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 scoopshim 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.
