Elder Tayani stands by the vine wall, her staff planted beside her. The soft wind rustles her white robes. She watches the field, but I know she’s also watching me. “You’re ready,” she says quietly.
“I’m no longer broken,” I answer. “Doesn’t mean I’m whole. Not without her.”
She nods slowly. “You will never be whole again. Not without your fated mate. But you may complete the journey anyway.”
I stay still, the grass brushing the back of my boots. “What am I leaving for?” I ask.
She turns, looks me in the eyes. “You must know what you’re leaving for to make the journey matter.”
I stare upward at the twin suns already climbing, then at the stars fading in early light. “For what is mine,” I say.
Tayani shakes her head, soft sigh in the air. “You must learn that giving is the ultimate act of love.”
I scoff, the word rolling out harsh. “And you forget I am a Reaper. I am born to take.”
Her smile is gentle, patient. She steps forward and rests a pale hand on my shoulder. I flinch at the contact, but she holds firm. “You were born to love a human woman,” she says. “And love is a verb.”
I don’t answer. I want to argue. I want to fight. I want to prove I’m not made for verbs. I’m made for claws and war. But something stops me. I respect her far too much to kill her for annoying me.
That night,I lie awake instead of sleep. The coals in the firepit are still warm from the day’s chores. I pick up one of the stones I’ve carved—Liora’s head, the child’s twin braids—and trace the glyphs. The smell of burned wood, sap, stone dust drifts upside the night air. The wind towers hum in the distance like long exhalations.
Suddenly—I see it.
A light. A flash of movement above the horizon. Not one of the Solari transport craft. Not slow and regulated. This is fast. A blaze across the sky. A freighter. Poorly shielded, too many gaps, no beacon.
I’m already on my feet. My heart drums. The sounds of the commune night fade. Kids asleep. Guardians awake. Fields lying quiet. But the air tastes wrong—electric tang, alien ozone.
I step outside the dome, barefoot on the damp grass. I climb over the fence line once more and stand among the wild grass that reaches my knees. The freighter glows distant orange,trailing fire like a wounded beast. The Solari behind me gasp. One of the younger women grips her child’s hand like a lifeline.
“Fly,” someone says weakly. Fear in their voice.
But I answer none of that. My voice is low. “No Solari will need to violate their oaths of nonviolence tonight.”
Eyes turn to me—wide. “Why not?” someone asks.
“Because,” I say, letting the words roll out like a blade, “for tonight, a Reaper hunts his prey.”
The silence that follows is thick, heavy with shock and something else—something I can’t name. A shift.
The Solari children line around me. One small girl tugs at my cloak. “Sir?Gyon?” she says. “Are you going away?”
I look down. I try to soften. For them. For her. And in that moment—I feel it. A warmth in my chest. Alien. Unexpected. The thought of children of my own, tiny hands gripping my leg, a smile fierce and proud. Could I have that? Should I want that?
I nod. “For a while.”
The children hug my legs. I don’t push them away. I don’t want to scare them. The night air is still except for the tower hum and the distant roar of the freighter’s engines.
I crouch and press my forehead to a small head. The girl’s hair is soft, warm. “Be safe,” she whispers.
I stand. I turn to the sky. The blaze streaks. The world holding its breath. And I smell fire, steel, and the promise of something. Not peace. No. The promise of action. Of purpose.
I walk back toward the fields. My boots leave prints in the grass. The night closes behind me.
Tomorrow I will step into the dark. But tonight I hold this moment.
Because it belongs to me.
And I will take it.
