Page 19 of The First Child
“You’ll experience her fever as if it were your own. The healing process may trigger sensory feedback that?—”
“Sylas.” Her eyes meet mine, blue and determined and utterly uncompromising. “I don’t care what it feels like. Just fix her.”
The simple certainty in her voice cuts through every theoretical concern and political calculation I might have entertained. This isn’t about Zephyrian technique or human adaptation or the unprecedented nature of our partnership. This is about a child who needs us both.
I place my hands on either side of Aniska’s head, feeling the heat that radiates from her skull like a miniature star. Her empathic projection crashes over me in waves—pain and confusion and the primal terror of a body that’s betraying its young occupant.
“Now,” I murmur.
Hada’s consciousness flows into the connection like water finding its proper channel, carrying with it the emotional anchor that Aniska has learned to associate with safety and love. The baby’s distress doesn’t disappear, but it becomes manageable—contained within the framework of trust that exists between them.
Through that stabilized link, I begin the delicate work of thermal regulation. Zephyrian healing operates on the principle that consciousness can direct energy at the cellular level,that intention properly focused can alter physical reality. The technique requires absolute mental discipline and years of training to master safely.
What it doesn’t require is the kind of intuitive empathic connection that Hada provides without conscious effort.
Her fever feels like fire under my skin,Hada’s mental voice whispers through our shared awareness.How do you stand this?
By remembering that the discomfort is temporary,I reply, drawing excess thermal energy away from Aniska’s brain and redirecting it toward less vulnerable tissue.The healing is permanent.
But even as I work, I’m aware that traditional techniques aren’t sufficient for this situation. Aniska’s hybrid genetics create feedback loops that resist conventional energy manipulation, as if her human and Zephyrian cellular structures are operating according to different laws of physics.
She’s fighting the healing,I realize.Her dual heritage is creating conflicting responses.
Then we give her something to hold onto instead of fighting.
Before I can ask what she means, Hada pours every protective emotion she’s ever felt into the empathic connection. Not just love for Aniska, but the fierce determination that kept her alive through three years of combat missions. The unshakeable loyalty that made Margot trust her with the most precious thing in her universe. The quiet strength that refuses to let anyone she cares about face danger alone.
The effect is immediate and profound. Aniska’s resistance to the healing energy transforms into cooperation, her hybrid genetics learning to work together instead of against each other. Through Hada’s emotional guidance, her Zephyrian cellular structure accepts thermal regulation while her human physiology provides the metabolic stability to maintain healthy temperature.
Perfect,I breathe, watching her fever break as smoothly as dawn after the longest night.You’re perfect.
The words slip through our mental connection before I can examine their implications, carrying meaning that extends far beyond the current healing session. Hada’s consciousness flickers with surprise, then something that feels like recognition—as if she’s waited for acknowledgment of what’s been building between us since that first confrontation at the nursery.
Aniska’s empathic projection settles into peaceful exhaustion, her tiny body finally releasing the tension that drove her temperature toward dangerous levels. But the connection between Hada and me remains active, crackling with awareness that has nothing to do with a medical emergency and everything to do with the way she looks at me across our sleeping patient.
“Her temperature is back to normal,” I report unnecessarily, since we both feel Aniska’s contentment through the empathic link.
“Good.” But Hada doesn’t break eye contact, and her mental voice carries undertones that make my markings pulse with involuntary response. “Sylas?”
“Yes?”
“When you redirected her thermal energy… I felt everything you felt. Not just the healing techniques, but…” She trails off, color rising in her cheeks.
“But what?”
“How much you care about her. About us.” The admission emerges as barely more than a whisper. “It was overwhelming.”
The honesty in her voice strips away every defense I’ve maintained since accepting joint custody of the child currently sleeping between us. She felt my emotions during the healing—not just professional concern or spiritual dedication, but the deeper feelings I’ve tried to deny since that first night when she calmed Aniska’s traumatic projections.
“Hada—”
“And I felt something else.” Her hand moves to cover mine where it rests on Aniska’s head, skin-to-skin contact that sends electricity through every nerve ending. “You felt what I felt, too.”
It’s not a question. Through the empathic connection, she experienced the same emotional transparency that revealed her fierce protectiveness to me. Which means she knows exactly how much I’ve come to care about both of them. How the thought of losing either one creates an ache in my chest that meditation can’t touch.
“Yes.”
“So, we both know.”
