I burned this moment into my soul.
The weight of them around me—both my clan and cubs. The sound of their breathing. The warmth of bonds stretched between us—thin and bright and unbreakable. My constellation, whole. My family, together.
Whatever came next, I would carry this.
Tomorrow, the hunt begins.
26
Selena
The landing pad gleamed under Destima’s first light.
I stood at the villa’s threshold, watching the crew run final checks on V’dim and Z’fir’s war vessel. The dawn had barely cracked the horizon—thin gold bleeding into indigo—and the air still held the cool weight of the night. My spots flickered in muted oranges and yellows, responding to the ache that had settled behind my sternum the moment I’d peeled myself out of the nestbed.
I hadn’t slept. Not really. I’d lain in the warmth of my family for hours, tracking their breathing, cataloging the texture of every bond in my web, and when V’dim’s tentacles had begun their careful withdrawal—slow, deliberate, designed not to wake anyone—I’d kept my eyes shut and pretended.
He knew. Of course he knew. V’dim always knew.
But he’d let me have the pretense, and I loved him for it.
Z’fir had been quieter still. His vines had retracted from my ankle with the careful precision of roots pulling free of soil—unhurried, achingly gentle, as though the act of letting gorequired more strength than holding on ever had. I’d felt his turquoise thread thin in my web. Not fading. Bracing. The bond knew what was coming, even before they’d slipped from the room.
Now their vessel sat on the pad like a promise waiting to be broken. Sleek and dark-hulled, outfitted for patrol—for the long stretches of guarding Destima’s perimeter and the corridor between here and Liskta. Close enough to reach us in hours if something went wrong. Far enough that the bonds would stretch thin and sing with the strain.
The household had roused for the departure. No one announced it. No one needed to. This family operated on a frequency that transcended words—a shared awareness that hummed through the bonds and the bloodlines and the particular way Kaede’s footsteps changed when something mattered.
He was already at the pad. Arms crossed, armor locked, visor down. Eshe stood three paces behind him, silent and watchful—the Royal Guard’s presence a comfort I’d stopped questioning long ago. Kaede’s thread pulsed cold and steady in my web. Not distant. Controlled. The deliberate calm of a warrior who had already filed this goodbye under tactical necessity and moved on to operational planning.
But beneath it—beneath the ice and the discipline and the flawless posture—I caught the faintest tremor. He didn’t want them to go either.
Xylo appeared at the vessel’s ramp, pressing a sealed medkit into Z’fir’s hands with the focused efficiency of a healer who was absolutely not going to let his nestbrothers down. His restless fingers had already checked the kit’s contents three times. I’d watched him repack it twice before we’d left the villa, moving supplies around with the quiet intensity of a male who couldn’t fix the galaxy but could ensure the nutrient ratios were correct.
“Nutrient supplements on the left side,” he said, his voice clipped and professional. “Wound sealant in the center compartment. And don’t—” His composure cracked, just slightly. “Don’t be stubborn about using them.”
Z’fir accepted the kit without argument. His root-rough fingers closed over Xylo’s for a moment longer than necessary—a squeeze that said everything his silence usually carried.
Oeta watched from the villa steps. She didn’t approach the pad or insert herself into the farewell. She simply stood—arms at her sides, fuchsia aura dimmed to something watchful and resolute—and waited. Her promise from the balcony hung between us. She would be here. She would protect this place. And if I called, she would come.
I pressed a hand to my belly and crossed the threshold.
My family, gathering in the half-light to watch two of us fly toward war.
Tori brought the cubs out.
They came through the villa doors in a small, solemn procession—Nocrez first, rubbing sleep from his eyes, his little Circuli tentacles wrapped tight around the stuffed animal V’dim had made him during their first week on Destima. Neazzos behind him, spine straight, tail rigid, wearing the expression of a child who had decided that discipline was the only acceptable response to heartbreak. And Meti last—barefoot, calm, those still-water eyes already fixed on V’dim and Z’fir with an awareness that made my throat close.
Tori stopped at the edge of the pad, her Swynemi mates flanking her. Celyze’s cosmic-touched wings tucked tight against her back, and Luwyn’s hand rested on Tori’s shoulder—a quiet anchor. Tori caught my eye and nodded.I’ve got them.The promise of a friend who knew what the next hour would cost and had already decided to carry whatever she could.
The cubs knew.
Even Nocrez, who was young enough that we could have softened it—could have turned this into a simple “see you later” instead of what it was—he knew. Children always did. They read the silences between words, the way adults held their bodies when they were trying not to fall apart. And my cubs, raised in this constellation of warriors and scholars and healers, had learned to read those signals with devastating accuracy.
Nocrez broke first.
He hit V’dim at full speed, his arms wrapping around his clanfather’s torso, as high as he could reach. The sob that tore out of him was raw and uncomplicated, the grief of a child who didn’t yet know how to package pain into something manageable.
“Promise.” His face was pressed into V’dim’s chest, the word muffled and wet. “Promise you’ll come back.Promise!”
