Page 23 of The First Child
“That’s terrifying.”
“Good terrifying or bad terrifying?”
He considers the question with the same seriousness he brings to matters of spiritual significance. “Good terrifying. Like jumping off a cliff and discovering you can fly.”
“Exactly like that.”
I rise up on my toes to kiss him, soft and quick and full of affection that doesn’t demand anything beyond the moment we share. He responds with the careful warmth that’s become our compromise between desire and restraint, his hands settling on my waist with just enough pressure to ground us both.
When we break apart, Aniska makes a sound of pure delight that fills the room with empathic joy. Her emotional field radiates the kind of happiness that comes from being surrounded by people who love each other as much as they love her.
“She approves,” Sylas murmurs against my forehead.
“Of course she does. She’s a smart kid.”
“She is indeed.”
We return to the lights with renewed energy, stringing them through artificial branches while Aniska provides commentaryin the form of coos and giggles. The bioluminescent panels in Sylas’s walls respond to the electromagnetic emissions, creating shifting patterns that complement the twinkling display.
“It’s working,” I breathe, stepping back to assess our progress. “The lights and your wall panels—they’re harmonizing.”
“Interesting. The frequency modulation appears to trigger resonance in the biological circuits.” His markings pulse in rhythm with the light strings, creating an effect that’s equal parts science and art. “Aesthetically pleasing.”
“Beautiful,” I correct. “It’sbeautiful.”
“Yes. It is.”
But he’s not looking at the lights when he says the words. He’s looking at me, with an expression that makes my breath catch and my empathic sensitivity spike with awareness of everything he’s not saying. The growing attraction that complicates every interaction. The affection that deepens into something more substantial with each passing day. The careful hope that maybe this improvised family might become something permanent.
“Ornaments next?” I ask, needing to focus on something concrete before I do something impulsive like kiss him until we both forget about Christmas decorating entirely.
“Ornaments,” he agrees, though his voice carries the same underlying tension that currently makes the air between us feel electrically charged.
The ornament collection reveals itself to be even more eclectic than I remembered. Handmade pieces from various postings, official commemoratives from military achievements, gifts from friends scattered across the galaxy. Each one carries itsown story, its own connection to moments that shaped who I’ve become.
“This one’s interesting,” Sylas says, holding up a crystal formation that looks suspiciously like Zephyrian bio-tech. “Where did you acquire it?”
“Trade station near the Centauri cluster. The vendor said it was a friendship token from some local artisan.” I pause, studying the way the crystal catches and refracts the tree lights. “Why?”
“Because it’s not just decorative. This is a resonance amplifier designed to enhance empathic connection between individuals who share proximity.” His markings shift to deep blue as he examines the piece more closely. “Someone gave you a Zephyrian bonding crystal.”
“A what, now?”
“Traditional gifts between individuals who wish to strengthen their emotional connection. Usually exchanged during courtship or early partnership.” He looks up from the crystal to meet my eyes, his expression unreadable. “You’ve carried a Zephyrian engagement token for… how long?”
“Three years.” The implications hit me like a physical blow. “Are you saying I’ve been accidentally carrying around an alien engagement ring?”
“More like a commitment symbol that expresses intention for a deeper relationship.” His mouth quirks upward in what might be amusement. “But yes, essentially.”
I stare at the crystal, trying to process the idea that I’ve been carrying Zephyrian relationship jewelry without knowing it.“Should I be concerned about accidentally proposing to random people?”
“The crystal only activates in the presence of compatible empathic signatures. If it hasn’t resonated before now…” He trails off, his gaze sharpening as the crystal glows with soft inner light.
The resonance spreads outward from the ornament, creating harmonics that seem to bypass my ears and resonate directly in my bones. But it’s not uncomfortable—quite the opposite. The sound feels like coming home, like finding a frequency I’ve searched for without knowing it existed.
“It’s responding to us,” I whisper.
“To our connection. The empathic bond we’ve formed through caring for Aniska, the emotional resonance that’s been building between us.” His markings pulse in rhythm with the crystal’s glow. “It recognizes us as compatible partners.”
