Page 90 of Alien Assassin's Heir

CHAPTER 28

KRAJ

Six weeks.

Six weeks since the canyon ran red. Six weeks since the fire consumed the last fragments of my old life. Six weeks since the shuttle’s engines lifted us away from Arkosh, from ghosts, from Targen’s reach.

And now—we’re here.

The Zheln Outer Fringe. A planet so far off the maps no one remembers its name. The locals just call it “Haven.” The air tastes of iron and salt, the sky stretched wide and painted with violet clouds. At night, two suns trade shifts, and the horizon burns with colors I don’t have words for.

The settlement is nothing more than a sprawl of prefab domes and scavenged structures stitched together by stubborn exiles, miners, and wanderers. The kind of place that doesn’t ask questions, because everyone here has their own answers they’re trying to forget.

It’s perfect.

I take work at a mechanic’s shed by the landing yard. My hands, built for war, find peace in metal—refitting thrusters, patching hulls, coaxing old generators back to life. The clang of tools, the smell of oil and coolant—it steadies me.

Luna helps at the medbay. She walks in every morning with her hair tied back, sleeves rolled, and that fire in her eyes that makes men twice her size step aside. She belongs there, mending wounds instead of carrying them.

And Solie—our Solie—runs wild through the lavender grasses that stretch for miles outside the settlement. Her laughter rings higher than any birdcall, brighter than the hum of the suns. She doesn’t hide anymore. Sometimes, when the light catches her right, I see the shimmer of scales on her cheeks, faint but proud. No one stares. No one whispers. Here, she’s just another child.

Still, I wake some nights with the taste of blood in my mouth, claws aching as if I’ve torn someone open. Nightmares. Targen’s knives flashing. Luna’s scream echoing. Solie ripped from my arms. But when I jolt awake, chest heaving, I feel small hands pressed to my scales. Solie, curled against me, safe. And Luna’s fingers tracing patterns across my chest, steadying me.

One morning, the suns creep through the shutters, warm and golden, and I catch Luna watching me. Her lips curve, soft and knowing.

“We made it,” she says, her voice thick with sleep.

I nod, pulling her closer. My throat is too tight to say more. “We did.”

That afternoon, I take Solie hunting. Just the two of us. The lavender grasses ripple around us, whispering like waves. She’s got a little bow Vale carved for her, and she carries it like it’s the most important thing in the world.

“Hmm,” she pipes, skipping over stones.

The word slams into me harder than any blade ever has. I almost stumble.

“Yes, firefly?”

“Do you think I’ll be good at this?” Her eyes are wide, shining molten-gold like mine.

I crouch, fixing her quiver strap. “You’ll be good at whatever you decide to be good at. Hunting, climbing, running this whole damn world one day if you want.”

She beams, dimples flashing. My chest feels too small for my heart.

We don’t catch anything—gods, she scares off every hare within ten klicks with her giggles—but that doesn’t matter. She aims, she looses, she laughs. And then it happens.

She draws her bow, tongue sticking out in concentration. The suns catch her cheek—and suddenly, her skin ripples. Shimmering scales bloom across her face, catching the light like jewels. Only for a heartbeat. Then they fade.

She gasps, drops the bow. “Did you see that?” Her voice is electric, proud, fierce.

My throat closes. I kneel, cupping her cheeks. “I saw.”

She grins so wide I think she’ll split in two. And then she says it. The word that changes everything.

“Did you see that, Dad?”

Dad.

The ground tilts. The air thickens. My heart feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest. I can’t speak. I can’t breathe.