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The stars are just beginning to peek through the haze of sunset in the oasis, twinkling in the deep navy expanse above as the last bit of light leaches away from the sky. You've never seen the stars this clearly; the light pollution in Linkon barely allows you to see all but the brightest of stars, and the deepspace tunnel occupies a large portion of the sky anyway. But here, you can easily imagine space stretching into worlds far beyond your own.
“Mom!” A small, excited voice drags your attention back down from the heavens, “Come on! You’re taking for-ev-ver!”
You assure your daughter, who is practically vibrating with excitement, that you are coming. She's been waiting (impatiently) to try this for weeks now. Sylus had promised her that, once her little wings were strong enough, he would take her to practice real flying. However, doing so in the neon-bright nights of Linkon would be begging for a troublesome amount of attention. And despite the vast improvements of the state of affairs in the N109 zone, it still wasn't safe enough to let a child test out her brand new wings.
So, the three of you had taken a family trip to the oasis. It's relatively easy to monitor her safety here; most people you have met seem to buy the explanation that your daughter has a gene-modifying evol, so she has been able to keep her wings out. In Linkon and the N109, you are always on alert for any remaining presence of EVER, and you’re careful not to allow her wings out too frequently. With your memories now intact, you know what they did to you as a child, as well as Luke and Kieran, and you will be damned if any remaining shreds of EVER try to lay a finger on your child. Sylus, with memories of his previous life also intact, is just as cautious. Now and again, when he holds your daughter, you will see him stroking the tender, delicate membranes of her wing with an inscrutable face.
But tonight is not the night for old wounds and memories. Something new and wonderful is happening under these stars.
As it stands, the desert is peaceful. You watch as Sylus walks through the dunes ahead of you, your daughter clinging to his back, little wings fluttering instinctively as the cool night breeze fills them. She's so similar in her look to Sylus, both of their heads gleaming silver in the rising moonlight, both sets of sanguine eyes scanning the surroundings (one set with alertness, the other with boundless curiosity). He would claim, though, that your daughter is all you in spirit; courageous and determined to a fault, always wanting to help even a complete stranger on the street.
Sylus turns slightly to make sure you're still following, eyes sparking with a kind of excitement and unadulterated pride you’ve only rarely seen in him before, and always related to his little princess. It appeared first on the day she was born, and had shown up now and again afterwards, when she took her first steps, when she first said ‘dada’, and when she first dug a fang into Kieran’s hand.
“Getting distracted, sweetie?” he calls.
“The stars are gorgeous here, it's hard to not get distracted!”
“Mm,” his low, amused hum glides to you on the breeze, “and here I thought you were distracted by the handsome view in front of you.”
“Da-ad, ew.” Your daughter groans. Both of you laugh, the sound joyously loud in the quiet landscape.
Eventually the three of you come to a stop at the crest of a dune.
“The sand is soft here,” Sylus explains, as he gently returns your daughter to earth, “go ahead and try, the drop will give you some time to glide.”
Your daughter's feet shuffle restlessly in the sand, “You aren't going to show me how?”
Sylus gives her a slight smile, “My wings would cause a sandstorm here, princess. If that happened, you wouldn't be able to fly tonight.”
She gives a serious nod, the stories you've told her at bedtime of her father (though they are taken from another life) ring true to her.
“No monsters here, right, mom?” She looks to you for assurance.
You check your hunter's watch, as you always have done when she asks this. Though your daughter is unafraid of the dark and many other things children are usually terrified of, she's not immune to all fears. Wanderers, especially, seem to take the place of more traditional monsters in her mind. However, when she was three, you comforted her with your tales of being a hunter, and having a watch that could detect when they are near.
“All normal,” you report, giving her a thumbs-up, “perimeter secure.”
She gives you a bright smile. Soon, she will be too old for these sorts of platitudes to work. But for now, they give her comfort as she faces a new challenge.
“Okay,” she mutters to herself, wings stretching in preparation, sinewy young muscles testing their strength.
Sylus gives her some reminders as he crouches next to her on one knee; let the drop fill your wings first, then flap to catch some air, angle them up as you come to land. She listens attentively, wings mimicking the movements to help her remember.
“What if I fall?”
“You probably will,” Sylus says somberly, and you can see the confidence in your daughter waver slightly, “are you going to let that stop you?”
You know he would accept it if she does want to stop. Sylus always gives her a choice when she faces something that intimidates her, or tests her limits. He never pushes, trusting your daughter to know herself. It’s one of the myriad things you admire about your husband.
Your daughter thinks hard for a moment, eyes narrowing, “No. I want to fly. Even if I fall a little.”
“That's my princess,” Sylus grins at her, eyes shining with pride once more as he stands.
You move to his side as your daughter stands at the crest, wings stretching once more. You take his arm as she backs up slowly, face set with determination, and then sprints to the edge. Your fingertips dig into Sylus's arm as you hold your breath, watching this insane, wonderful child you both created fling herself into the air.
She waits a moment too long to open her wings fully, and nearly crashes to the ground. But in the end, she does manage to catch a little air, and glides to a tumbling landing at the base of the dune.
Before you quite know what you are doing, you're hurtling down the slope too, losing victorious shouts as you slide down to your daughter. You help her up from the little pile she's landed in, showering her with praise for her glide.
She giggles, still young enough to be deeply pleased rather than embarrassed by all of your fussing (not that it will make you stop, regardless).
“Did you see, Dad?” She calls to the top of the dune.
“Of course, Princess.” He calls back, and you feel the delighted flutters of your daughter's wings against your arms.
“I want to go again!” She exclaims, pushing against you, so that she can run back.
You set her down, “I bet I'll beat you to the top!” she crows, and immediately begins running.
She’s every inch as competitive as you are, sprinting and pumping her little legs for everything she's worth. Even her wings beat against the air as she goes, granting a little lift to her steps. Most of the time, you let your daughter win these little races. Every once in a while, though, a prize catches your eye, and you simply have to win. This is one of those times. So the two of you race across the cooling sand, little puffs of it flying up in your wake under the newly-darkened sky. You round the corner of the dune where Sylus is still standing, racing up the incline, hunter-trained muscles giving you the lead over your daughter. You make it to the crest, but do not slow; instead you push yourself just a little harder in the final stretch. You can't see your husband's face well in the dark, but you can imagine it well enough. You have seen his look of affectionate amusement so often by now that it may as well be the back of your own hand. You collide with his chest in a rush, flinging the pair of you over the edge of the dune. Sylus, though, is just as familiar with you as you are with him. As your bodies meet, the misty tendrils of his evol are already wrapping around the pair of you, slowing the fall into a weightless sensation that may as well be flight.
You feel his arms wrap around you, strong and warm, and his deep chuckle rumbles through his chest to your ear.
“I didn't know you were trying to fly today, sweetie. You could have just asked.”
“What's the fun in that?”
He chuckles again as the pair of you land in the soft sand, giving you a dazzling view of the universe in the clear sky above. Though it becomes difficult to appreciate, as most of Sylus's weight settles on top of your body.
“Sy,” you grunt, wriggling to give yourself more room to breathe, “off, please!”
“I thought you liked me on top of you, kitten.”
“Sylus! She's-”
“At the top of the dune. She can't hear me.”
He presses a quick kiss to the shell of your ear, a promise of what will come after your daughter is deep asleep in her own room, before relenting and beginning to move off of you.
A large shadow blots out the sky above, and for a heart-stopping moment, your mind screams at you to prepare for a wanderer. However, when the shadow lands (heavily) on the pair of you with a squeals and a giggle, your fears quickly subside.
“Got you!” She yells triumphantly, and you can't help but laugh.
“Well done, princess,” Sylus says, tucking back the hair that's fallen out of your daughter's braid, “You saw your opportunity and seized it.”
Your daughter beams, again delighted at the praise.
The three of you remain for a time, until the chill in the air turns to a cold bite. You carry your exhausted daughter alongside Sylus as you walk back to the oasis town, your free hand entwined in his, under the watch of the stars.