Page 40 of The First Child
Our living spacenever looked more beautiful.
The Christmas tree stands in the corner like a beacon of warmth and light, its branches heavy with ornaments that tell the story of our blended heritage. Earth decorations mingle withZephyrian ceremonial objects, creating something that belongs entirely to us—a fusion of traditions that honors both cultures while creating something new.
The Zephyrian bonding crystal hangs near the top, its inner light pulsing in rhythm with the electromagnetic frequencies of the human light strings. Every time I look at it, I’m reminded of the moment three weeks ago when we discovered that the universe had tried to tell us something for years—that we were meant to find each other, meant to build this family, meant to create love that transcends every boundary society has created.
“She’s watching the lights,” Sylas observes, settling beside me on the adaptive furniture that somehow accommodates both our physiologies without seeming like a compromise.
Aniska sits in her carrier, transfixed by the way the Christmas lights interact with the bioluminescent panels in the walls. Her empathic field radiates pure wonder, the kind of joy that comes from experiencing something beautiful for the first time. Every few moments, she makes soft sounds of delight that fill the room with contentment so profound, it makes my chest tight with emotion.
“First Christmas,” I murmur, reaching out to stroke her cheek with one finger. “Think she’ll remember this?”
“Perhaps not consciously. But empathic children retain emotional impressions of significant experiences. The love she feels right now, the sense of safety and belonging—that becomes part of her foundational consciousness.” His arm settles around my shoulders, pulling me closer against his side. “She’ll carry this with her always.”
“Good.” I lean into his warmth, marveling at how perfectly we fit together despite coming from different worlds, different cultures, different approaches to life. “I want her to know that Christmas means family. That it means being surrounded by people who would do anything to keep you safe and happy.”
“She knows.” His voice carries the quiet certainty that comes from direct empathic awareness. “Through our bond, she experiences everything we feel. Our love for her, our commitment to each other, our determination to give her every good thing the universe has to offer.”
We sit in comfortable silence, watching our daughter discover the magic of colored lights and soft music, while the weight of this morning’s tribunal decision settles into something that feels like peace. No more legal challenges. No more threats of separation. No more uncertainty about whether we’ll be allowed to keep the family we’ve built together.
Just us, and the quiet joy of Christmas morning, and the knowledge that we have the rest of our lives to figure out how to be the parents Aniska deserves.
“I have something for you,” Sylas says eventually, his mental voice carrying undertones of nervous anticipation that make me curious about what could possibly make a centuries-old spiritual leader anxious.
“Christmas presents? I thought we agreed to focus on Aniska this year.”
“This isn’t exactly a Christmas present. More like…” He pauses, searching for words to describe something that apparently doesn’t translate easily between cultures. “A recognition gift. Something that acknowledges what we’ve become.”
He moves to the storage alcove where he keeps personal items too precious for common use, returning with a small crystalline object that seems to contain its own internal light source. The moment he places it in my hands, I feel warmth that has nothing to do with physical temperature and everything to do with the love that radiates from its molecular structure.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe, studying the way light moves through the crystal’s faceted surface like captured starfire. “What is it?”
“A family bond marker. In Zephyrian culture, they’re created when individuals formally recognize permanent partnership and shared responsibility for children.” His markings pulse with what might be embarrassment or hope. “I had it synthesized using genetic material from all three of us. Our combined consciousness, made manifest in crystalline form.”
The implications hit me like gentle thunder. Not just a gift, but a proposal. Not just recognition of what we’ve become, but an invitation to make it permanent in ways that transcend legal custody arrangements and tribunal decisions.
“Sylas.” His name emerges as barely more than whisper. “Are you asking me to marry you?”
“I’m asking you to formalize what already exists. To make official the partnership we’ve built since that first night when you calmed Aniska’s traumatic projections.” His hand covers mine where I hold the crystal, and the contact sends cascades of shared sensation through our empathic connection. “I’m asking you to be my wife, my partner in every sense, the other half of the family we’ve created together.”
“In front of witnesses? With legal documentation and ceremonial recognition?”
“If you want those things, yes. But more importantly, in our hearts. In our consciousness. In the empathic bond that connects us at levels deeper than any legal document could acknowledge.”
I study his face, noting the way vulnerability and hope combine in his expression. The trust he offers by allowing me to see past his spiritual composure to the man who loves me with quiet intensity that makes everything else in the universe feel secondary.
The answer comes without hesitation, carrying certainty that surprises me with its completeness.
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes,to everything. To marriage, to partnership, to making this family official in every possible way.” I lean forward to kiss him with all the emotion I’ve held back, feeling his response through our empathic connection like sunlight after endless winter. “Yes to forever.”
The crystal in my hands flares with brilliant light, as if our commitment activated some dormant energy source within its structure. The radiance spreads outward, creating patterns that seem to resonate with the Christmas tree lights and the bioluminescent panels, transforming our living space into something that looks like it belongs in a dream.
Aniska makes a sound of pure delight, her empathic field sparkling with joy so intense, it brings tears to my eyes. She’s waited for this moment—not consciously, perhaps, but with the deep knowing that comes from empathic awareness. She understands that her guardians have just committed tobeing her parents permanently, that the family she’s known instinctively was real has now been acknowledged by the adults who love her.
“Now it’s Christmas,” I whisper against Sylas’s lips.
