"Have you ever seen them?" I asked. The words came out rougher than intended.
She shook her head without looking away from the window.
"Never." Her voice carried quiet wonder. "When I was a kid, I used to check out books about the Arctic from the library. The Northern Lights. Polar bears. Endless winter nights."
A small laugh escaped her. The sound softened something inside me.
"It seemed like magic," she admitted. "Like something from a fairy tale."
I pushed to my feet before I thought better of it and crossed the small distance between us. The cameras shifted. Someone leaned slightly closer. I ignored them.
The seat beside her dipped beneath my weight.
"They are not magic," I said.
Her mouth curved immediately, the teasing expression returning. "Spoilsport."
"They are charged solar particles colliding with atmospheric gases," I continued, folding my arms loosely across my chest. "Entirely scientific. Completely explainable."
She turned her head slowly then, her eyes bright with amusement.
"But," I added quietly, lowering my voice, "that does not make them less beautiful." The words settled between us.
For a moment she simply studied me. Her gaze moved slowly across my face as if she were memorizing something she might lose. "You've seen them before?"
"Something similar."
I reached for her hand before caution could intervene. Her fingers slid naturally into mine, warm and familiar. The contact sent a sharp awareness through my body, the simple touch far more powerful than it should have been.
"On Atlan we have the Veil," I told her, watching the faint glow of the window reflect in her eyes. "Bands of color that move across the sky during solar storms. They stretch from horizon to horizon like ribbons of light."
Her fingers tightened around mine.
"But I have heard Earth's lights are different."
"How?"
"More vibrant," I murmured. "More alive."
She smiled at that. A real smile. Soft. Unguarded. "I’m glad I get to see them with you."
The simple certainty in her voice settled deep in my chest. Camera lenses zoomed. The faintest hum. I heard it. She did as well. She turned away from me and stared out the window.
The glamping site was like nothing I’d ever seen before. This planet, Earth, and her people were full of surprises.
Transparent domes rose from the snow like giant bubbles frozen into the earth. Warm light glowed from inside them, illuminating plush bedding, elegant furniture, and fireplaces that flickered invitingly against the translucent walls.
Outside, freezing Arctic air sliced through my lungs with sharp clarity.
String lights draped between the domes like suspended constellations. False candles lined the pathways, their flames trembling in the cold wind. And just outside our bubble?
Roses. Hundreds of them.
Red and white blooms clustered around the entrance in theatrical abundance, ice crystals and snow frozen on every petal. They were fragile. Beautiful. Like my mate.
Tori stopped beside me, staring at the elaborate display. Her breath curled into white mist as she sighed contentedly.
Production assistants guided us to the resort’s dining area with practiced efficiency, positioning cameras along the edges of the deck. A chef appeared as if summoned from thin air, presenting course after course of carefully plated dishes while music drifted from hidden speakers.
