Page 92 of The Monster's Daughter

I begin:

“You remember war by its wounds—by smell, by echo, by absence. But memory isn’t only fire. It’s also what you build afterward. I stand here with my daughter because I believe we deserve to build something different.”

A wave of murmur ripples through the crowd. I see things: a dignitary raising a hand, a hybrid child blinking eagerly, a Grolgath elder watching with polished horn bracelets catching the light.

I glance at Natalie. She’s rigid beside me. I reach down and squeeze her hand. Her scale-coated fingers flex.

She dignifies me with a silent nod.

I take a breath and speak louder.

“I was once a fugitive in my own skin. I changed planets, I changed names, I changed alliances. I tried to hide from my past, believing that I could leave it behind. But it followed me. It carved me. And it tried to claim her—my daughter—as a slave to its code.”

I pause. The edges of the stage hush.

Her eyes flick to me. I nod.

“So we fought not to erase history, but to reclaim it. Not so we’d have no scars, but so those scars would tell a story of survival, of connection, of choice. Because love—raw love—is what holds us when the universe demands we break.”

I sweat beneath the lights. My voice cracks ondemand. I swallow, push down fear.

She straightens. “We didn’t start this galaxy. But we can change where it goes next.” Her voice lifts, echoing across domes, across screens, across hearts. The quote spills into holo-text behind her.

Applause erupts. Holosystems flare. I glance at Kage in the wings—tears caught in the corner of his eyes. He presses a hand over his heart.

Afterward, we drift through corridors of diplomacy. The gardens outside bloom under xenoflora lights. Alien vines glow faint teal. The air smells of blossom and ozone. Natalie runs ahead, scaling small walkways, daring gravity. She laughs, a pure, clear sound.

Ambassadors wave, citizens nod. Some approach to shake my hand, some to murmur “courage” or “truth.”

A young human girl comes up shyly. “Ma’am, I lost my brother in the Nulegion purge. I—thank you for telling our story.”

I catch the girl’s hand.

Voice soft, “He was loved. And you are loved too.”

She turns, tears shining, and hurries off.

Kage finds me by a fountain rim. Water trickles over translucent stones that catch light like shards.

He pulls me in. “You killed war with words today.”

I laugh, breath trembling. “Don’t flatter me—I’m still scared.”

He maps his fingers along my cheek. “So am I. But we’re not doing this apart anymore.”

Natalie bounds over. Hands me a folded slip of alien leaf. “For you, Mommy. So you don’t forget.”

I unfold it. A poem in multiple scripts, layered: “In flesh we live. In code we survive. In love we belong.”

I choke. He wraps me tighter.

That night, we fly out above Glimner’s orbit. The summit lights fade behind us. I watch stars blur past viewport glass. Natalie lies asleep, scaled fingers curled inside mine. Kage’s hand is warm around my waist.

I breathe in the hum of the engines, the soft stir of the cabin. My heart still races. But there’s a fire in me no longer of fear.

I turn to Kage and whisper, “I told them. All of it.”

He kisses my forehead. “They heard you. We heard you. And the galaxy can’t un-hear this.”