Page 94 of Alien Assassin's Heir
CHAPTER 30
KAEL (KRAJ)
Five years slide past like breath on glass, living under a different name is the exact refresh that we need.
I never thought I’d measure time in harvests and festival cycles instead of battles and body counts, but here I am—boots sunk in soil, palms calloused not from weapons but from plows. The air here always carries the tang of iron-rich dust and wild lavender. Some days it still feels like I’ll wake in a barracks cot with orders screaming in my ear. Then Sola’s laugh rings across the fields, sharp as a bell, and the nightmare slips away.
She’s eight now. Sharp. Fast. Half-scaled, all fire. The kid moves like lightning when she wants to, her golden eyes gleaming with a hunger I know too well. Every week I train her in combat—not the brutal kind that leaves bodies broken, but the kind that teaches discipline, balance, survival. She catches blades out of the air now, little wooden ones I throw to keep her sharp. Luna shakes her head and mutters I’m going to get us both in trouble, but she smiles when she thinks I’m not looking.
“Faster, Sola,” I bark one afternoon, circling her as she balances on the fence rail. The sun burns orange overhead, sweat slicking my back. She holds the staff steady, jaw clenched, scales flashing briefly across her forearms. “Again.”
“I’m trying!” she snaps, then launches herself off the rail, twisting mid-air, and lands light as a shadow. Staff aimed at my gut.
I catch it one-handed, grinning. “Better. Don’t think. Trust your blood.”
“My blood’s half yours,” she says, defiant, chest heaving. “That means I don’t get to fail, right?”
Something inside me shatters and mends all at once. I crouch, ruffling her sweaty hair. “Exactly right, firefly. Exactly right.”
She beams and sprints off toward the settlement, her robes flapping, calling for her little pack of wild hybrid kids. Half the outpost follows her lead like she’s some tiny queen. Luna says it’s dangerous, putting too much weight on her shoulders this young. Maybe she’s right. But when I see the other children running with her, laughing, unafraid of their strange eyes or half-grown scales, I think—maybe this is how the galaxy heals.
The war ended two years ago. No one here talks about the cost. Not the millions dead, not the shattered planets. Not the quiet deals made in back rooms that saved some systems and doomed others. The galaxy shifted, powers rose and fell, and through it all we stayed untouched. Hidden in plain sight.
I farm now. Fix broken engines. Teach the kids how to defend themselves. Laugh more than I ever thought possible. I never expected this life, never thought it belonged to me. But now? Now I’d rip suns apart to protect it.
The festival of suns comes once a year, when both moons rise blood-red and the sky fills with light. It’s the closest thing this settlement has to religion. By dusk, the whole village gathers in the central square, lanterns strung like stars, the smell of spiced root and roasted meat curling through the air.
Sola stands between us, bouncing on her heels in her hand-stitched ceremony robes. Luna spent weeks on them—dark indigo fabric embroidered with golden threads shaped like constellations. Sola’s eyes glow with the same color, brighter than the lanterns overhead.
She clutches my clawed hand, tugging impatiently. “Say the words, Dad.”
I choke. Doesn’t matter how many times she calls me that, it hits like the first. I clear my throat, grin down at her, voice thick with emotion. “We’re stars, kiddo. All of us. Burning bright, together.”
She squeals, bouncing, and Luna laughs, the sound soft as summer rain. She squeezes my other hand, her fingers warm against my scarred knuckles. When I glance at her, she’s watching me, not the fireworks beginning to crackle above. Her smile is small, secret, meant only for me.
“You said it wrong,” Solie scolds, planting fists on her hips. “You’re supposed to say it like the priests do—‘from dust to fire, from fire to light.’”
“Eh,” I shrug, scooping her up onto my shoulders as the first firework explodes overhead in a shower of crimson sparks. “That’s their way. Our way’s better.”
She gasps, pointing as gold and violet bursts bloom across the sky. “Look, Dad! They’re like scales!”
“Yeah,” I murmur, throat tight, watching her face illuminated by the glow. “Just like scales.”
The crowd cheers, drums pounding, voices raised in joy. I barely hear any of it. All I hear is Solie’s delighted shrieks, all I feel is Luna’s hand still tangled in mine.
The three of us stand there—Sola on my shoulders, Luna pressed against my side—watching the night explode with fire, living under a different name but embedded with the same love.
And above us, the stars don’t judge. Don’t care about spies or traitors or blood spilled. They simply shine.