Page 41 of The First Child
“Now it’s home,” he corrects, and when I look into his silver-gold eyes, I see everything I’ve ever wanted reflected back at me.
The impromptu weddingceremony takes place in our living room three hours later, with Elder Lunai officiating and General Vex serving as witness to vows that somehow manage to honor both human and Zephyrian traditions while creating something entirely new.
“In the presence of family and community,” Elder Lunai intones, her voice carrying the weight of sacred ritual, “do you, Hada Blaxton and Sylas Ominox, commit to partnership that transcends individual desire in service of shared love?”
“We do,” we say in unison, our empathic bond humming with shared emotion that makes the formal words feel like music.
“Do you promise to protect and nurture the child who has brought you together, to provide guidance and support as she develops her remarkable gifts?”
“We do.”
“Do you commit to building a family that honors both your heritage and your chosen love, creating traditions that belong entirely to you?”
“We do.”
The crystal I now wear on a chain around my neck pulses with warm light, echoing the rhythm of our shared heartbeat and the gentle glow of Aniska’s contentment. She sits in her adaptive carrier, watching the proceedings with the focused attention of someone who understands that this moment will define the rest of her life.
“Then by the authority vested in me by the New Eden Colony Council, and in recognition of the empathic bond that makes your partnership sacred in the eyes of both our peoples, I pronounce you married partners and recognized parents to Aniska Altell.” Elder Lunai’s markings shift to warm gold as she smiles at our small family. “May your love continue to create miracles.”
The kiss that seals our vows carries everything we’ve built since that first confrontation at the nursery. Not just attraction or compatibility, but true partnership—consciousness that complement each other, minds that work in harmony, hearts that beat in rhythm despite coming from different worlds.
Through our empathic connection, I feel Sylas’s wonder at finding someone who understands him completely, his gratitude for the family we’ve created, his quiet amazement that the universe brought us together at exactly the moment when we both needed something we didn’t know we were missing.
And he feels my own emotions with the same intensity—the way my love for him has grown from initial attraction into something that feels necessary for survival, my absolute commitment to Aniska’s welfare, the peaceful certainty that this improvised family represents everything I’ve ever wanted but was afraid to hope for.
When we break apart, Aniska claps her hands with delight, her empathic projection filling the room with joy so pure, it makes everyone present laugh with shared happiness.
“She approves,” General Vex observes, his usually stern expression softened by something that might be sentimentality.
“She has excellent judgment,” I reply, lifting our daughter from her carrier to include her in the celebration. “Don’t you, beautiful girl? You knew we belonged together before we figured it out ourselves.”
Aniska responds with gurgling sounds that might be agreement, her silver-flecked eyes bright with the kind of happiness that comes from being surrounded by people who love her unconditionally. Through our three-way empathic connection, I feel her contentment settling into something deeper—the security that comes from knowing her family is permanent, that the adults in her life have committed to each other as completely as they’ve committed to her.
“So,” Elder Lunai says as she packs away the ceremonial objects she brought for the impromptu wedding, “what happens now?”
“Now we live,” Sylas replies, his arm settling around my waist with the natural ease that characterizes everything about our partnership. “We raise our daughter, we build our marriage, we create the kind of family that proves love matters more than legal precedent or cultural expectations.”
“And we figure it out as we go,” I add, noting how perfectly Aniska fits in my arms, how right it feels to have Sylas’s warmth against my side, how complete our small living space feels with all three of us in it. “Because that’s what families do—theyadapt, they grow, they find ways to make impossible things work through sheer determination and stubborn love.”
“Stubborn love,” Elder Lunai repeats with what might be amusement. “I like that phrase. May you both have abundant supplies of it.”
“I think we’re well equipped in that department,” Sylas says, his mental voice warm with contentment that flows through our bond like honey.
After our guests leave, we settle into the comfortable chaos of Christmas afternoon. Aniska explores her first presents with the focused intensity of someone discovering that the universe contains more wonders than she previously imagined. A soft stuffed animal that looks like it could be either an Earth mammal or Zephyrian creature becomes her immediate favorite, while toys that flash and chime and respond to touch keep her entertained for hours.
But the best part is simply being together—the three of us in our warm living space, surrounded by the evidence of our blended heritage and the quiet certainty that we have the rest of our lives to figure out how to be the family we’ve chosen to become.
“I have something else for you,” I tell Sylas as evening approaches and Aniska shows signs of sleepiness. “A wedding present.”
“Hada, you didn’t need to?—”
“Yes, I did.” I retrieve the small package I hid in my personal storage, noting how his expression shifts to curiosity mixed with anticipation. “Open it.”
Inside the wrapping is a photograph—printed on actual paper, a luxury that requires special ordering and costs more than most people can afford. But this image is worth every credit I spent to make it real.
It shows the three of us on the morning after our first night together as a family. Sylas holding Aniska while I lean against his shoulder, all of us caught in a moment of perfect contentment. His bioluminescent markings glow softly in the image, while Aniska reaches toward the camera with the fearless curiosity that defines her approach to everything.
But what makes the photograph special isn’t the technical quality or the composition. It’s the expression on our faces—the quiet joy of people who’ve found exactly where they belong.
