“You can’t promise that.”
“No. But I can promise she won’t face it alone.”
She studies me for a long time. Like she’s trying to spot the trap in what I’m offering.
Then slowly—cautiously—she nods.
CHAPTER 29
VAEL
The stars shift different out here.
Denser. Quieter. Like they know better than to shout in a place like this.
The shuttle ride from the orbital port is mostly silent. Rynn watches the terrain pass beneath us through the side viewport, jaw set, fingers absently curled into the seat fabric. Nessa’s dozed off with her head in Rynn’s lap, a ribbon of drool escaping one side of her mouth. Her arms twitch in dreams I can’t decipher.
I let them have the quiet.
Outside, the planet’s skin changes with every kilometer—silver mist valleys, ridge-backed hills like ancient knuckles pressing up through the earth. And then the ocean.
I feel it before I see it.
Something in the air changes—ion-rich, brine-soaked, humming faintly in the bones.
When we crest the final rise, the coast unrolls beneath us like a secret painting.
The settlement hugs the shoreline: narrow stone dwellings, domed and seamless, grown from volcanic sediment andreinforced with synth-vein moss. No walls. No gates. Just open structures arranged like constellations across the cliffside.
And the sea—stars, the sea.
It isn’t blue. It’s deep violet, nearly black, with glowing root tendrils that stretch miles into the waves. Schools of luminous creatures undulate beneath the surface, leaving trails of gold and turquoise as they pass.
Rynn leans closer to the window. “Is it always like this?”
“Always,” I say softly. “The old ones say the ocean’s alive. Listens. Remembers.”
She doesn't reply, but I catch the flicker in her eyes. The way wonder starts to replace wariness.
The first fewdays are hard.
Not dangerous. Just unfamiliar.
Nessa clings to Rynn’s side like a tick, her senses overloaded. Every color too bright. Every sound too strange. The local children watch her from a distance, their eyes curious but cautious.
Vakutan children don’t run or shout. They move like dancers, trained from birth to treat the world as sacred. Nessa, for all her fire, quickly realizes loud earns her nothing but sidelong glances.
She starts whispering more. Watching more.
I take her to the tidepools first. Show her the breath-fins that flutter like cloth against the rocks. The shell-backs that chirp when startled.
She asks questions in hushed tones. Doesn’t ask for pancakes once.
Rynn, though…
She’s harder to read.
She moves like a shadow through the village—respectful, alert, guarded as hell. I see the way her hands twitch near herholster out of habit. The way her shoulders tense when elders pass her by without a word.
