He steps toward Mother. I hear his boots on glass tiles. He stops a pace before her. Silence holds.
Mother studies him. The humming silence is full. Finally she says, almost lullaby soft: “You carry more than armor, Red Eye. You came all this way to live by a promise.”
Kyldak—voice low—"I came because she said he was waiting."
Mother’s eyebrow twitches. "And now?"
"Now I stay," he says.
Mother nods. She steps aside, sweeps her hand, opening the interior: "Then walk in."
He does. I follow. The plants part like curtains. The windows open to valley views. The scent of moss and rain shivers over us.
We cross the threshold. Mother’s eyes never leave Kyldak’s back. Her lips whisper something — neither blessing nor warning, a taut breath.
Kel runs in, laughing, chasing a green frog he found. He squeals as it leaps away, and pads of water drip behind him. Vira chases after him, laughter ringing.
I turn to Kyldak in that moment — life unfolding. Rain outside. Garden light inside. He watches Kel. Emotion is raw in his eyes.
I whisper, “We did it.”
He nods, voice husky. “Yes.”
Mother, standing beyond, watches him. I see her regard sharpen — respect, scrutiny, acceptance.
Something fragile and fierce shifts in me.
In our home. In our new life.
And Fatherhood, at last, begins.
Dinner inside Mom’s dining dome is chaos incarnate. The long table is groaning under platters of fresh vegetables, roasted root meats, steaming soups, herbal breads, and glowing lamps that flicker from the overhead solar grid. Outside, the valley slopes into darkness, and the bioluminescent vines in the greenhouse cast a soft green glow through glass walls.
I sit between Kel and Vira. Kel is half covered in stew, his small hand stained red, gleeful. Vira’s elbow is pressed into my side, eyes darting between me and Kyldak. My heart is full. Terrified. Alive.
Mother presides at the head of the table, impeccable, dignified. She eyes Kyldak over her wine glass. “So,” she says, sharp but curious, “Red Eye — tell me about this crater ambush technique you used back on Jurtik. Did you flank with eclipse smoke, or was it direct assault?”
Kyldak lifts a forkful of meat and chews, then leans forward. “I prefer deception over fireworks. Eclipsed flank, yes — but only after weakening their supply lines. Guerrilla pulses.” He meets her gaze head-on. “You taught me that.”
Mom’s lips twine into a slight smile. She leans forward. “So—supply disruption, sabotage. And your battles on Jurtik — what of that time in the Cinder Scar, when your armor was ruptured?”
Kyldak’s brow flickers. “Collapsed reactor core. I diverted conduit pressure with my bootplate. Splintered half my plating. But I won.”
Kel claps. “Dad wins!” He’s shouting, nearly inhaling his soup.
Vira laughs. “Okay, Dad wins—so when’s your diaper duty? You gonna change him next?” She elbowed him. “Come on, old man, wrestle me for that right.”
Kyldak looks at her, arching an eyebrow. Then he says, deadpan: “I’ll change him if he kicks me enough.” The table erupts in laughter.
Mom narrows her eyes. “Arm wrestle then? Show me strength of Red Eye.” She lifts her napkin. “Don’t embarrass us in front of the boy.”
Kyldak slides from his seat and faces Vira across the table. I hold my breath. Vira drops her napkin in mock terror. The table is cleared in seconds — we shove platters aside. Forks rattle.
Kyldak grips Vira’s hand. She grins widely. They lock knuckles. Strength hums through the table. The overhead lights flicker.
Mom watches closely. I hold Kel’s hand, trembling. I taste laughter, fear, pride in the air.
They strain — Vira flexes — Kyldak’s face tightens — then with a quiet jerk his cyber-arm hums. His fingers twist, motors clicking. The overhead light droops messenger wires, flickers, then steadies. It glows firm. The light becomes steady again.
