His eyes, burning with the swirling luminescence of distant nebulae, locked onto the approaching group.
‘Issa, darling,’ he rumbled, his voice a tidal force of affection.
The fae like goddess crossed the distance in a blur of motion, throwing herself into her father’s clasp.
He gathered her to his chest, radiating a deep devotion.
‘My daughter,’ he murmured.
A woman followed him on the porch, her presence regal and timeless, her coils of dark hair woven with silver thread.
Her eyes mirrored Issa’s, wild, celestial, and teeming with galaxies.
With a joyous cry, she joined in the embrace.
Ki’Remi stepped forward and was folded into the group hug.
When the quartet finally pulled apart, the older man’s focus shifted to Mo.
‘Molan, my Sacran adopted son, welcome.’
Mo too got the hug treatment, as did Sheba.
‘I remember you from Issa’s wedding, the battle medic with wild stories from the frontiers,’ he grinned. ‘Welcome.’
Finally, he turned to Idan.
Shock flared in his golden gaze, and he began to lower himself into a formal kneeling posture.
Idan moved, his hand outstretched to halt the veteran’s descent.
‘One general cannot kneel before another,’ Idan declared, his tone resonating with a profound, solemn respect. ‘Stand, General Zephyr Astraeus D’Leqan. First Blade of the DawningFlame, Father of Storm and Mercy, Keeper of the Lionhearted Line of Sacra. You who stood beneath a thousand suns and did not waver, whose roar once silenced battlefields, and whose embrace sheltered the stars. You remain wounded but unbroken, cast from the heavens yet carrying the sky on your shoulders. Your legend precedes you.’
Despite the protest, Zephyr offered a deep, respectful bow. ‘I welcome you, Commander Simi’Ren Idan Caliostheles. My hearth is yours.’
Idan turned to Issa’s mother, inclining his head with respect.
‘Your daughter spoke of your beauty, Raquel Asilla Ministrant D’Leqan, but she did not pay it sufficient honor. Heartmother of the Seven Winds, Flame-Womb of the Radiant Lineage, The Quiet Star That Endures.’
Beaming, Zephyr ushered them into the interior, his hand resting on Issa’s waist.
‘Your siblings, Iyanda and Safiya, have abandoned us for the distractions of New Malindi,’ he explained, a wry smile softening his rugged features. ‘They prefer the pulse of the city over the silence of a stuffy farm.’
‘Typical,’ Issa smiled.
‘Stuffy is the last word I would choose for this sacred space,’ Sheba countered.
Idan’s gaze lingered on the craftsmanship of the home as they filed into a living room that offered a panoramic view of the mountains.
Raquel guided the group toward a set of divans, the furniture plush and upholstered in thick, moss-colored velvet, its luxuriousness consuming Idan as he sank into it.
He surrendered to the sumptuousness, as a sigh escaped his lips.
This farmhouse was a sanctuary of comfort.
Idan sensed the residence lay on a foundation of joy, love, and warmth, far from the cold steel and blood-soaked marble palaces of Sacra.
Massive timber beams stretched across the ceiling, and pillars of morning sunlight danced over the plaster as light filtered through the latticed windows.
