“I am a Keeper. Words are my domain.”
“I thought your domain was ice and ancient knowledge.”
“Those too.” He squeezed her hand. “Jaz, if you want to return to the polar region, I will go with you. Gladly. But we must be practical about what that means.”
She nodded, her expression sobering. “I know. My claim is gone. Most of my equipment was destroyed. GenCon is probably stillwatching the area. And we can’t exactly set up a homestead when we’re supposed to be helping track down emergence sites and building a resistance network.”
“All true.” He tilted his head, considering. “But not insurmountable. The polar regions are vast—far larger than your original claim. There are places GenCon cannot easily monitor, let alone reach. And if we are meant to help others who emerge…” A slow smile spread across his face. “Many of the preservation chambers are in the deep polar ice. If anyone is equipped to find them and reach them before GenCon does, it is someone who knows that territory intimately.”
Her eyes widened as she followed his logic. “You’re saying we could be more useful up there than down here.”
“I’m saying that our preferences and our purpose might not be as incompatible as we feared.”
She was quiet for a long moment, turning the idea over in her mind. He could almost see the gears working—the practical engineer calculating logistics and weighing risks.
“We’d need supplies,” she said finally. “Equipment. Some kind of base of operations. My crawler survived, but it’s not designed for long-term habitation.”
“What about the ranger station where we sheltered? R-339 said there are others like it—emergency outposts scattered throughout the polar territory. Unmanned, but maintained. We could use them as staging points while we search for something more permanent.”
“And we’d need to stay in contact with Alina and Rhyx. Share information, coordinate efforts.” She frowned. “Thecommunication equipment in my crawler has limited range. We’d need relay access.”
“The cyborg network extends throughout Mars. R-339 can provide access.”
“And GenCon. They’ll still be looking for us. For you.”
“Let them look.” His voice hardened. “The polar ice is my territory. They do not know it as I do. We can evade them indefinitely if we’re careful. And if they find us…” He shrugged. “The ice can take them.”
She nodded eagerly. “It could work. It won’t be easy, but…” She looked at him, and he saw something in her eyes that made his heart stutter. “I want to try. Even if it’s hard. Even if we fail. I want to try to have a life, Adjar. A real life, not just survival. And I want that life to be in the place that feels like home.”
“The polar ice.”
“Our polar ice.”
He pulled her close, wrapping his wings around them both. The room was still too warm, the settlement still too close, but here, in this moment, with her in his arms, none of that seemed to matter quite as much.
“We should talk to Alina and Rhyx in the morning,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest. “Explain what we want to do. Make sure they understand we’re not abandoning the alliance—we’re just contributing to it in a different way.”
“They will understand. She and Rhyx chose to make their home in this settlement, but it was a choice. She will respect ours.”
“I hope so. I like her.” She paused. “I don’t make friends easily. But I think… I think she could be a friend. If we let her.”
“Then we will let her.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “We will maintain the connection even as we return to our territory. It is possible to be part of something larger while still honoring who we are.”
“Found family,” she murmured.
“What?”
“Something I read once. About people who build their own families by choice rather than blood. Found family.” She shifted to look up at him. “That’s what we’re doing, isn’t it? Not just you and me, but… all of us. The dragons who are waking up. The mates we find. The allies we make. We’re building something new because the old structures are gone.”
He considered this. His memories of old Mars were still fragmentary, but he remembered structured hierarchies and duties and roles carved in stone over millennia. That world was gone. It had been gone for longer than he could comprehend.
But perhaps that wasn’t entirely a loss.
“My people believed in bloodlines,” he said slowly. “In the importance of heritage and lineage. Warriors were bred to fight. Keepers were trained to remember. Everyone had a place and a purpose, a role they were expected to fulfill.” He paused. “But when everything fell apart—when the world died and we chose preservation over extinction—we did so together. Warriors and Keepers, scholars and soldiers, all of us equal in the face of annihilation. The old structures didn’t matter anymore. Only survival.”
“And now?”
“Now…” He stroked her hair, marveling at the softness of it. “Now we build again. But perhaps we build something different. Something that allows for choice. For connections that are earned rather than inherited.” He smiled slightly. “Found family. Yes. I think I like that concept.”
