Epilogue Two

EPILOGUE TWO

THE YOUNGLING CENTER

DONNA

The morning dawns with a peculiar stillness, the kind that settles over momentous days. I stand at our bedroom window, watching the first hints of orange streak across Hudo’s sky, my heart thrumming with anticipation. Today is the day. After three months of preparation, paperwork, and proving our worthiness to the adoption council, we’re finally heading to the Youngling Center.

“Lira’an?” Tovan’s voice, still rough with sleep, draws my attention from the window. He’s propped up on one elbow, golden eyes searching my face. “You’re up early.”

I try for a smile, but my nerves make it wobble. “Couldn’t sleep anymore.” Moving away from the window, I perch on the edge of the bed. “What if none of them like us, Tovan?”

His large claw finds mine, engulfing it completely. The familiar warmth of his touch grounds me, as it always does.

“That is not possible,” he says, gaze moving through mine. “You have enough warmth in your life-organ to fill this entire farm.”

“But what if—” I start, but he sits up fully, pulling me against his chest.

“No more what-ifs, my kahl. Today, we go where the fates are leading us.”

The journey to the Youngling Center takes nearly three hours by hover-transport. I spend most of it with my gaze out the window, watching the landscape change from our rural farmlands to the bustling outskirts of a city. Tovan uses one claw to steer, the other resting on my thigh. Now and then, he squeezes gently, his eyes flicking to the side, to where I sit with my hands clenched in my lap.

“Tell me again what Nia said.”

Tovan squeezes my thigh again, sending reassurance my way. “She said that when they went to adopt their youngling, they too, were nervous. But the moment they saw her, everything else faded away. The core-beat will know.”

I nod, twisting my hands in my lap. God, I’ve never been more nervous. “And the bounty hunter’s contact at the Center? They’re expecting us?”

“Yes, lira’an. Everything is arranged.”

The Youngling Center rises before us, a sprawling complex of interconnected domes. Unlike the stark government buildings we’ve become familiar with in this process, this place is painted in soft colors—blues and greens that remind me of the ocean. Gardens surround the building, and I can see small figures darting between the plants, their laughter carried away by the wind.

My throat tightens as Tovan lands the transport. Children. So many children, all shapes, sizes, and colors. Some purple and pink like Tovan, others with different hues entirely. Some with extra limbs, others with fewer than expected. All of them precious. All of them waiting for someone to choose them.

“Ready?” Tovan asks, his claw finding mine again.

I squeeze his fingers as I look at him. I’ve never been more sure about the person I want to share this with. Through the entire process, Tovan’s made me feel like I will be the best mother. But after giving up on that idea so long, it’s now the scariest thing I will face. “Ready.”

The entrance hall is bright and welcoming, with murals depicting various species living in harmony. A tall, willowy being with iridescent skin greets us, their movements fluid like water. “Welcome to the Youngling Center. I am Caretaker Zyl’a. You must be the Kamesh unit?”

“Yes,” Tovan confirms, his professional tone barely masking his own nervousness. “We have an appointment.”

Zyl’a’s face ripples with what might be a smile. “Of course. Ka’Cit Urgmental spoke highly of you both. Please, follow me.”

We’re led through corridors that echo with distant chatter and laughter. Everywhere I look, there are signs of life and love—artwork pinned to walls, tiny handprints in rainbow colors, toys tucked into corners. This isn’t an institution; it’s a home.

For a moment, I wonder if the child will even like it on my farm out in the middle of nowhere.

“We have thirty-seven younglings in our care,” Zyl’a explains as we walk. “Ages range from infancy to twelve orbit cycles. Some are here temporarily while their families navigate difficult circumstances. Others…” They pause, something sad flickering across their features. “Others are waiting to find a new family unit.”

We stop at a large window overlooking an indoor play area. My breath catches. Below us, children of various species play together, their differences forgotten in the universal language of childhood joy. A small blue girl helps a younger child with tentacles build a tower. Two identical furry children chase each other around climbing frames. A tiny being that seems to be made entirely of glass reads a book to a group of what looks like mesmerized toddlers.

I swallow hard and Tovan pulls me into his side in that way he always does. Reminding me he’s there. Grounding me. Reminding me I’m no longer alone. On my chest, the kahl sigils thrum with his proximity and I release some of the tension with a smooth breath.

“Would you like to meet some of them?” Zyl’a asks gently.

It’s only then that I realize I’m pressed against the glass like an eager child myself. Stepping back, I smooth my dress. “Yes. Yes, please.”

The playroom is warm and filled with the kind of controlled chaos only children can create. As we enter, several little ones look up. A few of the older children whisper among themselves, pointing at me—probably because they’ve never seen a human before.

“Younglings,” Zyl’a calls out, their voice carrying easily across the room. “We have visitors today. This is Tovan and Donna Kamesh.”

A chorus of greetings rings out, some in Standard, others in languages my translator doesn’t quite catch. I lift my hand in a nervous wave, my heart already melting at their eager faces. Glancing at Tovan, his warm eyes are on me. They crinkle the moment I look back at him.

“Let’s go find our chid,” he whispers.

My heart warms and swells so much it feels like I might combust.

As we enter the play area, several children rush over. It catches me by surprise. I thought they’d be cautious, distrustful, shy—or maybe that’s just my own experiences on Earth coloring my outlook. These children are different. They’re full of questions about who I am and where I’m from. I try to answer as nicely as possible, leaving out the whole abduction and hardship part. I tell them about my farm instead. They’re beautiful, all of them, with their different colors and forms and ways of moving.

We spend the next half hour walking among them, watching them play. A group of green willowy children invite us to see their art project—splashes of color that catch and reflect light. The two furry siblings show off their climbing abilities on the play structure. A small aquatic child demonstrates how she can create bubble shapes in her water tank.

But as time passes, something begins to gnaw at me. These children are wonderful, creative, full of life and joy. I smile and nod and participate, but with each interaction, the feeling grows stronger. That spark, that instant connection I was so sure would happen…it…it isn’t there.

My steps slow as I watch a caretaker help a young one with their meal. Shouldn’t I feel something more? That overwhelming sense of rightness I felt when I first met Tovan? These children deserve someone who feels that way about them. Someone who knows, deep in their soul, that this is their child.

I glance at Tovan, who’s letting a tiny reptilian child examine his claws with scientific curiosity. What if I don’t connect with any of them? What if this whole idea was a mistake? The thought sits heavy in my chest, making it hard to breathe.

Zyl’a must notice something in my expression because she touches my arm gently. “Would you like to see another part of the center?” she asks softly.

I nod, not trusting my voice. If I open my mouth, I’m afraid some other sound than words will come out. A whine, maybe, or even a choked sob.

As we walk away from the playroom, I try to push down the growing heaviness in my chest. I should be grateful, still, shouldn’t I? How many humans get to experience what I have? Freedom among the stars. Peace after so much chaos. A mate who loves me completely, unconditionally. I have more than I ever dreamed possible back on Earth. Maybe this is asking too much of the universe.

“Lira’an?” Tovan’s hand finds mine, and I force a smile, brightening my features. His concerned frown doesn’t shift. It sometimes still surprises me how well he’s gotten to know me. “We can do this another time, if you like.”

My heart heaves. He’s giving me an out. A reason to leave this place and never return, if I want to. Always if I want to. But what about what he wants? And me…I do want this. I’ve wanted this more than anything for as long as I can remember. I just…

I want it to feel right.

Zyl’a leads us down a quieter hallway where the sounds of play fade into a gentle hush. The air here is different—warmer, softer somehow. She pauses at a doorway, her expression gentle but unreadable.

“Take your time,” she says, and steps back.

I hesitate for just a moment, then step forward, the doors sliding open to reveal a…nursery. The room is bathed in soft, golden light. Several small curved vessels float gently above the floor. Cots. They line the walls, each surrounded by quietly humming monitors. But I barely notice any of it because my eyes are drawn immediately to one cot near the window.

I move toward it without conscious thought, pulled by something I can’t explain. My feet carry me forward until I’m looking down at a tiny infant wrapped in pale, silvery fabric. Her skin is the color of twilight, delicate ridges along her temples catching the light. She’s…perfect. Completely, utterly perfect.

And suddenly I can’t breathe for an entirely different reason.

The baby’s eyes flutter open, revealing irises the deep purple of evening stars. She looks right at me, and in that moment, everything else falls away. All my doubts, all my fears—they dissolve like morning mist in sunlight.

“Can I…?” My voice is a choked sound as I whisper, looking back at Zyl’a, who nods with a knowing smile.

My hands tremble slightly as I reach down, remembering everything I know about supporting a baby’s head. She’s so small, so delicate, but as I lift her, she feels solid and real in my arms. Warm. Present. She makes a soft cooing sound that brings tears to my eyes.

Tovan moves closer, his presence warm against my back, and I feel his breath catch as the baby turns those twilight eyes to study him. She reaches up with one tiny hand, fingers splayed as if trying to touch his face. Without hesitation, he lowers his head, letting her tiny fingers brush against his cheek.

“Hello, little one,” he rumbles softly, and she makes another happy sound that seems to vibrate through my entire being.

I begin to hum without thinking—Rock-a-bye Baby. The baby watches me intently, and I feel Tovan’s arms wrap around us both, creating a perfect circle of warmth and belonging.

“She doesn’t have a name yet,” Zyl’a says quietly from the doorway. “She came to us two cycles ago.”

“Mira,” I whisper almost immediately. My gaze shifts to Tovan and his eyes crinkle again.

“Mira,” he nods.

“Mira,” I whisper again. It feels right on my tongue, like it was waiting there all along.

The baby—Mira—reaches up again, this time catching one of Tovan’s claws in her tiny fist. She holds on tight, making those soft, happy sounds, and I watch as my mate’s expression melts into something I’ve never seen before. Something tender and fierce all at once.

When our eyes meet again, I know he feels it too. This rightness. This certainty. Like the universe has been guiding us here all along, from that first moment out in the fields where we first met, through all the moments between then and now, to this perfect instance.

“There are data tabs to complete,” Zyl’a says gently. “And processes we’ll need to follow…”

“Whatever it takes,” Tovan says, his voice firm but gentle. “She’s ours.”

Mira falls asleep in my arms, one hand still gripping Tovan’s claw, the other curled against my chest right over my heart. Looking down at her perfect face, I understand now why none of the other children sparked that connection. They weren’t her. They weren’t our daughter.

Everything we’ve been through, every step of this journey—it was all leading us here, to this moment, to her. To our family becoming complete.

“Yes,” I whisper, leaning back against Tovan as tears of joy slip down my cheeks. “She’s ours.”