Page 36 of Legacy for the Alien Warrior

He pushed away from the door and made his way to the main cabin. Kara had the lavender child on her lap, gently cleaning dirt from her face with a damp cloth. Rory sat nearby,meticulously arranging small objects in a pattern only he understood. The scene looked so natural, so comfortable—as if they belonged here, on his ship. With him.

“We should eat,” he said, his voice gruffer than he intended.

Kara looked up, her eyes meeting his. “I could help prepare something.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You tend to the children. I’ll manage the food.”

He retreated to the galley, grateful for the distraction. Cooking had always been a solitary activity for him, one of the few pleasures he allowed himself during long journeys between ports. Now he found himself considering what the others might eat, what flavors would appeal to them. He prepared a simple meal of protein cubes, grain, and the few fresh vegetables he had on board.

When he returned with the food, the lavender child was wearing one of the shirts Kara had altered from his old clothes. It hung like a dress on her small frame, but she looked markedly cleaner and less frightened.

“Here,” he said, setting down the tray. “Nothing fancy, but it’s nourishing.”

“Thank you, Thraxar.” Kara’s voice was soft, appreciative in a way that made his skin tingle.

He watched as she helped the children fill their plates. Rory immediately began separating his food by color, while the lavender child sniffed each item cautiously before taking small, quick bites.

“She’s hungry,” Kara observed. “Who knows how long they kept her without proper food.”

His jaw tightened. “That trader will answer for his crimes.”

“You reported him?”

“I sent an anonymous tip to the port authorities before we left.” His tail lashed. “It’s not enough, but it’s something.”

She nodded, then turned her attention back to the children. “Eat, Rory. Just the yellow ones first if you want.”

He filled his own plate but found he had little appetite. The domesticity of the scene before him was both alluring and painful. This wasn’t his family. They weren’t staying. In a few days, he would deliver them to the Patrol station as promised, and his ship would return to its silent state.

“I should check our course,” he said abruptly, setting down his half-eaten meal. “Enjoy your food.”

He didn’t wait for a response, just turned and strode back to the cockpit, where the emptiness felt suddenly oppressive rather than familiar. He sank into the pilot’s chair and stared out at the streaking stars of hyperspace.

What was wrong with him? He’d been alone for years—by choice. After losing his family to the Red Death, he’d vowed never to form those kinds of attachments again. The pain of loss was too great, too consuming. Better to live alone than to love and lose.

Yet here he was, already dreading the moment when Kara and Rory would walk off his ship and out of his life.

And what about the lavender child? Where would she go? The thought of her being processed through some sterile Patrol facility made his stomach turn. She needed care, patience, understanding—all the things bureaucracies typically lacked.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the soft footsteps until Rory was standing beside the pilot’s chair, looking up at him with those solemn gray-blue eyes.

“Hello, little one,” he said, his voice softening automatically. “Did you finish your meal?”

As usual Rory didn’t answer, but he held up his arms. Thraxar automatically picked him up and placed him on his lap. Rory stared out at the hyperspace view, his fingers moving in a repetitive pattern against his thigh.

Thraxar found the rhythm oddly soothing. They sat in companionable silence, watching the stars streak by. After a while, Rory leaned against his arm, his small body warm through the fabric of his shirt.

Something uncurled in his chest—something he thought had died with his family on Ciresia. He allowed his tail to curl protectively around Rory’s back.

“You’re a brave one,” he said quietly. “The way you approached that child in the cage. No fear, just… kindness.”

Rory continued his finger movements, but he leaned more heavily against Thraxar’s arm.

“I wish I had your courage,” he admitted, the words easier to say to someone who wouldn’t respond. “I’ve been running for so long. Hiding from connections. From feeling anything.”

He glanced down at the boy’s tousled brown hair. “But you and your mother… you make me want things I can’t have.”

The door to the cockpit slid open, and Kara appeared, her silhouette backlit by the corridor lights.

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