Page 10 of Daring the Drakarn Warrior Lord
Nyx clapped me on the shoulder, careful of the scratches he'd left earlier. "That's the spirit. Now come on. If we're going to oversee this thing, we should probably look less like we've been rolling around in the forge."
"You started it."
"You challenged me."
"Details."
3
TERRA
Eden was balancedon a chair that had seen better days, trying to tie a strip of salvaged parachute silk around a heat crystal. The fabric kept slipping through her fingers, and she was swearing under her breath, creative combinations that would've made my old drill sergeant proud.
"A little help here?" she called without looking back.
I crossed the space and steadied the chair. The human quarters weren't large, carved from the same volcanic stone as everything else in Scalvaris, but the women had done their best to make it feel less like a cave and more like home. Fabric panels hung on the walls, hiding the rough rock. Cushions purchased in the market clustered in corners.
Right now, though, it looked like a craft project had exploded.
Polished stones covered every surface, arranged in patterns that probably meant something to whoever had placed them. Strips of metal and leather from the ceiling, catching light and throwing it back.
In the corner, Eden's pride and joy stood like a monument to optimism: a scraggly bush she'd gotten fromsomewhere, itsbranches covered in sharp needles and her determination to call it a tree.
"There." Eden tied off the silk and hopped down. "What do you think?"
"I think it looks like we robbed a salvage yard."
"It's the Space-Christmas aesthetic." She grinned, shoving hair out of her face. "We're pioneers. We're making new traditions."
"We're making a fire hazard," Rachel said from across the room. She stood near Eden's bush-tree, eyeing the candles arranged at its base with obvious concern. "One spark and the whole thing goes up."
Eden's grin only got bigger. "That's what makes it exciting."
"That's what makes it dangerous."
Eden stuck her tongue out. "Same thing."
I left them to argue and surveyed the rest of the space. Orla knelt by the makeshift kitchen, doing something complicated with spices and a pot that bubbled over the heat vent. Selene helped her, chopping something that looked vaguely root-like with a healer's precision. Hawk and Vega were attempting to hang more decorations, though it mostly involved Hawk making suggestions and Vega telling her why they wouldn't work.
Reika sat in the corner, small and quiet, watching everything with her too-wide eyes. Kinsley stayed close to her, not hovering but present, ready if needed. Kaiya had somehow gotten tangled in a length of silk and was trying to free herself without asking for help, too proud or too awkward to admit defeat.
My crew. My people. My responsibility.
It had been eight months since the crash. Eight months of survival, adaptation, and the slow, painful process of building something new from the wreckage of everything we'd lost. Some days it felt impossible. Others, like now, watching them laughand argue and create joy out of scraps, it felt like maybe we'd actually make it.
"Terra, tell Rachel that space-Christmas needs candles," Eden demanded.
"Space-Christmas needs to not burn down our quarters," Rachel countered. "She's being a pyromaniac."
I held up my hands. "Compromise. Candles, but nowhere near the tree."
"It's a bush," Lexa called from where she was arranging stones into what might've been a menorah or might've been abstract art. "A sad, dying bush that Eden is torturing for aesthetic purposes."
"It's symbolic," Eden protested.
"It's botanical abuse," Vega jumped in on the fun.
Eden crossed her arms, her expression growing mulish. "You're all heathens with no appreciation for tradition."
