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Chapter Thirty-Four: Epilogue

O ne Year Later

Callie

The first months after we left Sanctorii passed in a blur of adjustments.

Integrating back into crew life, processing our experiences, learning to touch freely after so long with restrictions.

We chose the Devil’s Playground , drawn to Captain Beast’s offer of transport missions over the Galaxy Warrior’s dangerous rescue operations.

But as our first rescue mission approached—a distress call from a failing slave transport—I realized we’d been preparing for this moment all along. Every trial we’d endured, every barrier we’d overcome, had been leading us here: using our freedom to free others.

Here we are, still in our bed, wrapped in each other’s arms as I—

The alarm klaxons shatter the peaceful morning as the Devil’s Playground drops out of hyperspace. I’m already moving before my feet hit the deck, muscle memory from a year of rescue missions taking over .

“Bridge, now!” Captain Beast’s voice booms through the ship’s comm system. “We’ve got a situation.”

Aries is beside me instantly, both of us pulling on clothes as we race through the corridors. The controlled chaos of an emergency response flows around us—crew members rushing to battle stations, the familiar hum of weapons systems coming online.

“What’s the situation?” I ask as we burst onto the bridge.

Captain Beast’s massive frame dominates the viewport, his expression grim. “Slave transport, dead in space. Life support failing.” He gestures to the drifting ship ahead. “Forty-seven souls aboard, including children.”

The familiar surge of determination floods through me. This is why we do this—why we’ve spent the last year working with Captain Zar-Rynn to expand our rescue operations. Every soul we save is a victory against the system that once held us captive.

“Transport prepped and ready,” Aries reports from the tactical station, already shifting into his role as head of security. “Medical teams standing by.”

The rescue proceeds with practiced efficiency.

Our year of working together has forged the crew into a seamless unit.

When we board the failing transport, the scene is heartbreakingly familiar—dozens of beings from various species, collared and caged, their eyes holding that same hopeless desperation we once knew.

As we often find in situations like this, the slavers escaped in pods, leaving the poor slaves with little to no ability to maintain life support.

There’s something in these people’s expressions other than despair, though. Recognition. Hope.

“You’re them,” says a young Vorthari female, her reptilian skin pale with exhaustion. “The ones who escaped. The ones who come back. ”

Our reputation has spread throughout the underground networks. Former slaves turned liberators. A crew that doesn’t just survive—we return to pull others from the darkness.

“We’re here now,” I tell her gently, working to remove her collar with tools I’ve become expert at using. “You’re safe.”

Hours later, after all forty-seven beings have been processed, treated, and settled into temporary quarters, Aries and I finally steal a moment alone in our cabin.

“Tired?” he asks, pulling me against his chest.

“Exhilarated,” I correct, looking up at this male who’s become my partner in every sense of the word. “Did you see that little Whelpie boy’s face when Dr. Raine told him he was free?”

His arms tighten around me. “I saw. I also saw you promising his sister we’d help her find their parents.”

“Because we will.” The certainty in my voice comes from a year of keeping such promises. “Our contact network reaches half the outer rim now. If they’re alive, we’ll find them.”

“And if they’re not?”

“Then that little boy and his sister have a home with us—or at the Sanctuary on planet Fairea, just like all the others.” I lean into his warmth, marveling at how natural this has become. “We’ve built something good here, haven’t we?”

“Better than good.” His lips brush my temple. “We’ve built hope.”

Through our viewport, I can see the Galaxy Warrior approaching—Captain Zar-Rynn responding to our call for additional support. Tomorrow, some of our newest rescuees will transfer to his ship, others will choose to stay with us, and a few will decide to start new lives at Sanctuary.

All of them will have choices. Real choices, made freely .

“The Redemption Committee was right,” I murmur against his chest. “We couldn’t know what we were building during those trials.”

“What do you mean?”

“They weren’t just testing whether we could love each other. They were testing whether we could become the kind of people who turn pain into purpose.” I look up at him, seeing my own understanding reflected in his golden eyes. “Whether we could be worthy of the freedom we were fighting for.”

His smile is slow and warm and devastating. “And are we? Worthy?”

“Ask me after another forty-seven rescues,” I tease, but my voice catches with emotion. “Ask those children sleeping safely in our guest quarters tonight. Ask the families we’ve reunited, the lives we’ve saved.”

“I already know the answer,” he says, his voice dropping to that intimate register that still makes my knees weak. “We’re worthy because we choose to be. Every day, every rescue, every time we reach back into the darkness to pull someone else toward the light.”

Later, as we lie tangled together in our bed, I listen to the gentle hum of the ship’s engines carrying us toward Sanctuary. Tomorrow will bring new challenges, new rescues, new souls to save. But tonight, we rest in the knowledge that we’ve found our purpose.

We aren’t just survivors anymore. We’re liberators. We’re hope made manifest in a galaxy that desperately needs it.

And we’re just getting started.

“I love you,” I whisper into the darkness.

“I love you too,” he responds, his arms tightening around me. “Now and always. ”

Outside our window, stars whirl in their eternal dance, but inside our quarters—our home—we’ve created something even more beautiful: a love that doesn’t just heal, but heals others in return.

This is what redemption really means. Not just saving ourselves, but becoming the kind of people who save others. Not just finding love, but using that love to light the way for those still lost in darkness.

And tomorrow, we’ll do it all again.