Page 27

T he soft glow of my datapad casts a blue light across the polished stone table in Jaro's dwelling.

Our dwelling. I still stumble over the thought.

Data streams across the screen, a complex matrix of linguistic patterns, historical timelines from Kyra's scrolls, and my own biological observations on the heart-bond.

It is the most challenging and exhilarating research project of my life.

I am, in effect, drafting a new social constitution.

No pressure, Kendra.

“If we define the bond as a biological precursor,” I say, tracing a line on the screen with my finger, “it separates the involuntary event from the voluntary action. The hardware from the software.”

Kyra, sitting opposite me, leans forward, her brow furrowed in concentration. “A precursor. I like that. It honors the fated nature of the connection without negating the role of the individual.”

Jaro stands behind me, a warm, solid presence I am acutely aware of. I feel his gaze on the screen, then on me. The crescent mark on my chest pulses with a faint, steady warmth, a constant bio-feedback loop tethering me to him.

“The old words speak of 'the awakening',” he rumbles, his deep voice vibrating through the floor and up my chair. “Not of a capture. The bond awakens a potential. The choice is what gives it power.”

“That's it,” I say, turning to look up at him. His amber eyes are soft, thoughtful. The beast is calm. “That's the core principle. The awakening is biological. The commitment is a choice.”

Bond-choice. The phrase solidifies in my mind, a perfect synthesis of our two worlds.

“The guidelines need to reflect that,” Kyra adds, making notes on a thin, flexible slate. “Consent must be mutual and explicit. The declarations must be made by both partners, not just the male.”

“And the ceremony,” I say, excitement building. “It shouldn't be a claiming. It should be a joining. A partnership.”

Jaro places his large hands on my shoulders, his touch sending a jolt of heat through me. “It will be. Our ceremony will be the first.”

His possessive tone has softened over the past weeks, replaced by a new, more profound protectiveness. It is not the instinct of an owner, but the devotion of a partner. It is a change I feel down to my bones.

“We need to plan it carefully,” I say, leaning back against him for a moment, drawing strength from his presence. “Integrate science and spirit. The best of both our worlds.”

“Neema will not make it easy,” Kyra warns gently. “She is a powerful voice on the council, and she holds fast to the old ways.”

“Then we will have to convince her with data she cannot refute,” I reply, turning back to my datapad. Challenge accepted.

* * *

The air in Neema's healing compound is thick with the scent of drying herbs and something sharp and medicinal. She watches me with narrowed, skeptical eyes as I set up my portable analysis unit on her stone worktable.

“The old rituals have served our people for generations,” Neema says, her voice as dry as the leaves she is crushing in a mortar. “They do not require your alien measurements.”

“I'm not questioning the rituals, Neema,” I say calmly, calibrating my device. “I'm seeking to understand their mechanisms. Your ancestors were brilliant observers of the natural world. They knew which plants affected the mind and body. I'm just looking at them on a molecular level.”

She snorts, a sound of pure disbelief. “The spirits of the plants guide the bond. They do not have... molecules.”

I call up the analysis of the ceremonial incense she uses.

“This species, Cylia-vor , emits a pollen that contains a mild psychoactive compound. When inhaled, it promotes a state of heightened emotional receptivity by temporarily lowering serotonin inhibitors. It literally makes the participants more open to connection.”

Neema stops her grinding, her knuckles white around the pestle. She peers at the complex diagram on my screen.

“And this,” I say, pointing to the ceremonial drink.

“The root you use contains a compound that stimulates the release of oxytocin.

On Earth, we call it the 'bonding hormone.

' It fosters feelings of trust and affection.

Your ancestors weren't just performing a ritual; they were practicing advanced neurochemistry.”

A long silence stretches between us. Neema stares at the screen, then at the herbs in her bowl, then back at the screen. The conflict is plain on her face.

“The plants for our ceremony,” I continue, switching screens, “should enhance that empathic connection, not dull the senses or promote subservience.

I've identified three native species from Kul-Vasha that have potent empathogenic properties. If prepared correctly, they could amplify the emotional feedback of the heart-bond, making the choice to join a fully conscious, shared experience.”

I hold my breath. Jaro and Kyra stand silently by the entrance, letting me lead this conversation. This is my offering, my bridge.

Neema puts down her pestle. She walks slowly to my datapad, her ancient eyes tracing the glowing lines of a chemical structure. “Show me,” she says, her voice a low rasp. “Show me the molecular structure of a spirit.”

* * *

We stand before the tribal council. The chamber is full, the air humming with anticipation and tension. I feel Jaro beside me, a bastion of calm strength. The familiar warmth of our bond is a steady anchor in the sea of uncertain faces.

Vex's supporters are here, their expressions sullen and resentful. But many others look on with open curiosity. The story of my healing, of Jaro's victory and his mercy, has shifted something in the tribe's collective consciousness. They are ready to listen.

Jaro steps forward, his voice resonating with a new kind of authority. It is not the bark of a warrior, but the measured tone of a leader.

“Elders. Brothers and sisters. Today we bring you not a rejection of our traditions, but an evolution.” He gestures to me and Kyra.

“We have studied the past, our most ancient ways, as depicted on the sacred mountain. We have learned that our ancestors understood the heart-bond not as a chain of possession, but as a cord of shared strength.”

He presents our framework. Bond-choice. He speaks of the biological awakening and the conscious commitment. He explains how partnership harnesses the power of the bond, making the tribe stronger, more adaptable.

“The universe is changing,” Jaro says, his gaze sweeping over the assembled faces.

“New arrivals are on their way to Xylos,” he reminds them, a subtle nod to the approaching Earth ships and my strategic value.

“We cannot face a new future with old fears. We must evolve, or we will perish. This is not a human way or a Xylosian way. It is a new way. A stronger way.”

The debate that follows is fierce. A traditionalist elder, one of Vex's staunchest supporters, rises. “You ask us to abandon the rites that have defined us? To allow an outsider to rewrite our most sacred laws? This bond has made you weak, Jaro. It has contaminated your bloodline.”

Before Jaro can respond, Neema steps forward, her presence silencing the murmurs.

“The bond has not made him weak,” the old healer says, her voice surprisingly strong.

“It has made him wise. I have seen the alien's knowledge. It does not contradict the wisdom of the spirits; it illuminates it. Our ancestors were not just warriors. They were scientists. Healers. Thinkers. We have forgotten that. This bond, this human... they are reminding us of who we truly are.”

Her support is a powerful blow to the opposition. I see the tide turning in the faces of the undecided elders. Chief Torq, who has remained silent throughout, finally rises.

“The world changes,” he says, his voice a low thunder that commands absolute attention.

“A predator that cannot adapt to a new forest will starve. A tribe that cannot adapt to a new reality will fade into memory. My son has shown strength not by clinging to the past, but by forging a new path forward. A path that honors our essence while allowing for our survival.” He looks at Jaro, then at me, and a flicker of something that might be pride crosses his stern features.

“The council will consider this proposal.”

* * *

The deliberation takes two days. Two days of agonizing waiting.

Jaro and I spend the time in his dwelling, the unspoken tension a third presence in the room.

We train together in the courtyard, the physical exertion a welcome release.

We talk for hours, filling in the gaps of our lives, our two worlds slowly mapping onto one another.

But we do not touch with the intimacy of the cave.

A self-imposed distance hangs between us, a recognition that the next step must be taken after the tribe's decision, and with absolute, unpressured clarity.

On the third morning, we are summoned.

The council chamber is silent as we enter. Chief Torq stands before the elders.

“We have reached a decision,” he announces.

“The old ways provide for adaptation in times of great change. The arrival of the Star-Walker and the awakening of the heart-bond represent such a time.” He pauses, his gaze finding ours.

“The council has approved the framework of bond-choice. The new ceremony will be sanctioned, for this unique circumstance. It will set a precedent, but each future bond will be judged on its own merits.”

A collective exhalation fills the chamber. A narrow victory, but a victory nonetheless.

Later, back in the quiet of our dwelling, the reality of what we have accomplished, and what lies ahead, settles in. The suns are setting, casting long shadows across the room. Jaro comes to stand before me.

“The choice is now yours, Kendra,” he says, his voice quiet, stripped of all formality. “The tribe has given its consent. But it is your consent that matters. There is no more pressure. No more politics. Only you and me.”

I look up into his face, into the amber eyes that hold a universe of strength, passion, and a vulnerability he shows only to me. The biological pull of the bond is a powerful, undeniable force. I feel it in my bones, a hum of rightness, of belonging. But that is not what makes my decision.

“My bond with you isn't a chain, Jaro,” I say, my voice steady.

“It's an anchor. It doesn't hold me down. It holds me steady. It lets me be stronger than I ever was on my own.” I reach up and place my palm over the heart-bond mark on his chest. His own hand covers mine instantly.

“I choose this. I choose you. Not because of destiny or biology. But because my life is better with you in it.”

A shudder runs through his powerful frame. He leans his forehead against mine, his eyes closing for a moment as if in prayer. “And I choose you, Kendra Miles. My partner. My equal. My Star-Beast.”

The corner of my mouth quirks up at the familiar, ridiculous name. “Then I guess we have a ceremony to prepare for.”

“Yes,” he whispers, his lips finding mine in a kiss that is not about possession or passion, but about promise. A promise of a future we will build together, one bond, one choice at a time.