Page 37 of The Monster's Daughter
I tear out of the harness before the hatch’s seals even hiss open. The air outside rushes in, sharp and cold enough to sting my lungs. It smells of snow and burned dust, a clean bite over the reek of the pod.
I stumble into the wasteland.
Above me, the sky glows faint orange, a smear of smoke trailing where the gunship fell, far to the south. The line arcs down to a distant horizon, still pulsing faintly with fire.
My knees hit the frozen ground before I know I’ve dropped. Gravel and ice cut into my palms.
A sound rips out of my chest, raw and low at first, then rising. A roar. Not a word. Not even a cry. Just a sound that splits the thin sky open, echoes off the barren hills and dies alone.
The taste of blood fills my mouth.
Bella is gone.
After that, I stop speaking.
Sorena tries to press food into my claws. “Kage,” she murmurs, voice trembling. “Eat, please.”
I stare past her. The stew’s scent—boiled roots and ration powder—turns my stomach. My body feels like an empty room.
Gake’s claws slam the table one night. “She gave her life for you,” he snarls. “For us. Don’t waste it sitting here rotting.”
I bare my teeth but don’t answer.
They try everything—stories from my childhood, old spices, music through the battered datapad. Nothing breaks through. The light’s gone from their eyes, but mine feels darker still.
I failed her. Worse, I failed the bond.
The jalshagar never survives one-sided.
Part of me knows she’s dead. Or worse—taken by that thing. But my chest still aches like something’s there, frayed but unbroken, a thread pulling tight from somewhere far away.
I drag myself out into the snow at night, looking south. The wind howls across the flats, cold enough to sting even through my scales.
Sometimes I think I hear her voice in the static.
I don’t answer.
I start building because it’s the only thing left.
Salvage from the pod. Bits of old relay towers scavenged from the wastes. Wires knotted with frost. My claws dull on metal and ice, but I keep working.
A signal repeater, cobbled together from scraps. A ghost tower to throw my call into the void.
It’s hopeless. No one’s coming.
But I build anyway.
Because if I don’t, her sacrifice means nothing.
Days blur. Weeks. My hair grows longer, frills droop. My claws split. Gake watches me with quiet eyes. Sorena mutters prayers over dead roots.
At night, when the sky’s clear, the stars burn hard and sharp above the wastes. No smoke. No fire. Just a ceiling of cold lights.
I sit in the snow, claws buried in frost, staring up. My breath ghosts in white curls.
“If you’re out there…” I whisper to the stars, voice cracked and low. “I’ll find you.”
It’s not a plea. It’s a vow.
