Page 42 of The Survivors (The Children of the Sun God #4)
Niki
“Welcome home. My love. My mate.”
~ Michail
Michail’s bull spoke to me last night for the mating ceremony we invited Helios to. Helios held us in his arms after he kissed us with his mark. Words weren’t needed. The comfort and peace he brought gave us more than either of us could ask for.
We woke this morning to find that Isaak, Lena and Serafim had left. With them gone, the rest of us felt ready to venture into the unknown. None of us looked back at the labyrinth we left behind.
I wanted to feel angry with my sister for leaving without a goodbye, but deep down, I understood.
“Tell me about your home,” I ask Michail.
“ Our home,” he emphasizes, “is carved into rugged mountains like these. It has a sprawling maze of ancient stone paths that seem to pulse with a life of their own.
“Vines twist along the walls. Their roots burrow deep into cracks formed by centuries of weather and time.
“Sunlight filters through breaks in the canopy above, and shifting patterns of light and shadows dance over the moss-covered stones below.
“Each turn of the labyrinth carries the scent of earth and rain, a reminder of the jungle pressing close around it.
“Outside the labyrinth, the landscape opens into a small plateau surrounded by lush rainforest. The air is thick with humidity, heavy with the smell of wet leaves, ripe fruit, and the faint tang of distant fires.
“Humans live in a cluster of stilted wooden houses, raised above the muddy ground to protect against the seasonal floods. Their homes are vibrant with color—painted blues, greens, and yellows that stand out against the muted browns and greens of the jungle.
“Between the houses, paths of packed dirt weave like veins, connecting modest vegetable gardens, drying racks for coffee beans, and scattered workshops where the hum of activity never ceases.
“Here, men and women weave hammocks, repair fishing nets, or carve intricate designs into gourds. Children dart between the trees, and their laughter rings out.
“At the edge of the settlement, the jungle is like a vast, untamed ocean. Towering ceiba trees stretch skyward. Symbiotic vines wrap around their thick trunks while orchids and bromeliads sprout from their branches.
“The people there live in harmony with their surroundings, blending resourcefulness with reverence for the land.
“The hidden entrance to our labyrinth is both a source of mystery and a point of contention to the humans. Some believe the area is sacred, a relic left behind by forgotten hands. Others treat it with caution, wary of the stories whispered about those who entered and never returned.”
When Michail began to speak of his home—our home—it was clear he carries its essence in his heart. He painted a picture I can clearly see in my mind.
“I’m ready to go home.” Peace overwhelms me at the idea of a home. Not a prison, but a place where I’m safe and loved.
“It’s a long way there. Dangerous and unpredictable. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promises.
I trust him. Worry never crosses my mind.
I look at him, noting the way his jaw tightens with determination. “You made it once, and we’ll make it again.”
The first leg of the journey takes us through the foothills where the dense forest wraps around us like a protective cocoon. We move quickly but carefully, mindful of the wildlife and the watchful eyes of those who might report strangers passing through.
As the days stretch on, the terrain shifts. The forests give way to open fields, then to winding back roads that Michail seems to know by instinct.
At night, we rest wherever we can—a barn abandoned for the season, the shelter of a rocky outcrop, or the dense thickets that offer concealment.
Michail keeps his promise with unwavering vigilance. He forages when food is scarce. He deftly identifies roots and berries I wouldn’t have dared to touch.
When we cross a river swollen with spring rains, he carries me on his back without hesitation. His strength unfaltering against the rushing water.
“Tell me more about your home,” I ask one evening while we huddle by a small, carefully concealed fire.
“Our home,” he corrects again. “It’s more than just a place. It’s the people, the land, the way the air smells after the rain. It’s knowing you’re part of something bigger. That the earth remembers you and welcomes you back.”
I lean into his warmth, imagining the vivid world he described. It feels distant, like a dream, but I can feel it pulling me closer.
When we cross the border under the cover of darkness, my heart races with anticipation, not fear.
Michail’s hand is firm on mine, guiding me through the twists and turns of paths only he seems to know. Each step takes us further from the life I’d known, but also closer to the one I long for—am ready for.
When the dense jungle of Venezuela finally comes into view, it is as if the world opens up. The air is heavier and rich with the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers. The forest greets us with a symphony of bird calls, rustling leaves, and a distant waterfall.
“We’re almost there,” Michail says.
By the time we reach the plateau, the first rays of dawn are breaking through the trees, casting the stilted houses in soft, golden light. Smoke curls lazily from the chimneys, and the faint hum of life stirs in the distance.
“This is it,” he says with heavy emotion. “The entrance to our home is on the other side of this village.”
We walk the last steps to the entrance hidden behind thick trees and the ruins of a people long forgotten.
Hand in hand, Michail guides me through the twisted maze until the cave opens up, revealing our home.
For a moment, I stand still, taking it all in. Here, in this vibrant, untamed corner of the world, is the promise of safety, love, and belonging .
With my heart full, I turn to Michail. “I’m ready to be a woman. A mate. The woman who loves you and trusts you. To live the life I was destined for.”
His arms wrap around me, grounding me in the present. “Then welcome home. My love. My mate.”
COMING 2025
pETER & vIOLET
fRANK & gEORGIA
nIKOLAOS & tARA
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