Page 2 of The First Child
“Empathic projection,” she explains. “All Zephyrian children develop it, but with Aniska, the emotional feedback is… intense.”
Through the window, I see her. Tiny fists flailing above a standard-issue crib, dark hair plastered to her skull with tears and sweat. She’s smaller than I expected, more fragile-looking. But the sound coming from her lungs could wake the dead, and every cry seems to resonate directly in my bones.
“How long has she been like this?”
“Three days. Ever since we received confirmation of her parents’ deaths.” Dr. Velanni’s markings shift to a deeper silver—concern, maybe, or frustration. “She won’t settle for anyone. Won’t take a bottle. We’ve had to provide IV nutrition.”
Three days. This child has screamed in grief for three days, and somehow I’m supposed to fix it for her.
I reach for the door handle when footsteps echo down the corridor behind us. Heavy boots on metal flooring, moving with military precision. I turn, expecting another medical officer or maybe colony security.
Instead, I find myself face-to-face with the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
Beautiful isn’t the right word. It’s too simple, too human for what stands before me. Tall and lean with the kind of grace that suggests predatory speed, midnight blue hair that seems to absorb light rather than reflect it, and silver-gold eyes that pin me in place like a targeting system. Intricate patterns trace his pale skin—markings that pulse with soft blue light as his gaze takes my measure.
Zephyrian. Obviously. But there’s something else, something in the way he carries himself that screams authority and barely contained power.
“Dr. Velanni.” His voice holds an accent I can’t place, each word precisely articulated. “I came as soon as I received your message.”
“Commander Ominox.” The doctor’s markings shift to what might be relief. “This is Captain Blaxton, the child’s designated guardian.”
The male—Commander Ominox—studies me with the kind of clinical assessment that makes my spine straighten. His gaze moves from my worn service jacket to the duffel bag at my feet, cataloging details with military efficiency.
“You’re smaller than I expected,” he says finally.
Heat flares in my chest. “Excuse me?”
“For someone claiming guardianship of Aniska Altell.” He steps closer, and I catch the scent of something clean and sharp, like ozone after a lightning strike. “I am Commander Sylas Ominox, spiritual leader of the New Eden Zephyrian community. According to our law and custom, the child belongs with her father’s people.”
The crying from room seven intensifies, as if Aniska senses the tension building in the corridor. The pressure behind my eyes becomes a sharp pulse of pain.
“According to human law,” I say, keeping my voice level despite the urge to step backward, “she belongs with her designated guardian. That would be me.”
“Human law.” He pronounces the words like they taste bitter. “The child is half-Zephyrian. Her empathic abilities require training and guidance that only our priests can provide. You cannot possibly understand what she needs.”
“What she needs is someone who knew her mother. Someone who gives a damn about more than just her alien DNA.”
The words come out sharper than I intended, but I don’t take them back. This arrogant bastard doesn’t get to show up and dismiss Margot’s choice like it means nothing.
His silver-gold eyes narrow. “And you believe your military training qualifies you to raise an empathic child?”
“I believe Margot Altell was one of my closest friends, and she trusted me with her daughter’s life. That qualifies me to tell you to go to hell.”
The silence that follows stretches taut as a tripwire. Dr. Velanni looks between us with the expression of someone watching a diplomatic incident unfold in real time. In room seven, Aniska’s cries take on a different quality—sharper, more urgent.
Commander Ominox tilts his head, studying me like I’m a puzzle he can’t quite solve. “You knew Lieutenant Altell well?”
The shift in his tone catches me off guard. Less imperious, more genuinely curious.
“Well enough.” I cross my arms, defensive. “We served together for three years. She saved my life more than once.”
“She studied with me,” he says quietly. “When she first arrived on New Eden. Her telepathic sensitivity was stronger than most humans as a side effect of prolonged exposure to Zephyrian mental techniques during her relationship with Krel’lun. She wanted to understand what her child might experience.”
The admission hits me sideways. Margot never mentioned studying with Zephyrian priests. Then again, there was a lot about her life on New Eden that she kept to herself in our brief communications.
“She spoke of you,” he continues. “Captain Hada Blaxton, the soldier who taught her to shoot straight and think tactically. She said you were the strongest person she knew.”
The words punch through my defenses like armor-piercing rounds. Margot talked about me. To this arrogant alien priest who thinks he has a better claim to her daughter than I do.
