Chapter Text
Bernholt Residence, New Mira’s Capital Habitat — July, 2058 A.D.
“Oh geez…”
Al’s head shook in exasperation after Elma’s recount of H.B.’s and Eclipse’s brief babysitting duties at BLADE HQ.
“After all this time, H.B. can’t, for the life of him, remember our daughter’s name?” Al’s tone was full of snark. “Are you sure he’s up to the second-in-command role?”
Elma’s sigh was deep, completely done. “He’s convinced ‘Nova’ is short for de novo.” She scoffed before continuing. “Similar etymology, wildly incorrect application.”
Al muttered, almost to himself—no hesitation. “So we’re definitely not naming the next one anything he could turn into a dissertation title.”
Elma’s eyes widened.
“N–next one!?”
“NO—SORRY, I MEANT—hypothetical!“ His hands flew up in surrender, eyes brightening in sheer panic. “Extremely hypothetical! Like… ‘a-star-explodes-only-every-few-million-years’ hypothetical!”
Elma’s expression deadpanned, voice low.
“Alois.”
Al’s laugh was shaky as he rubbed the back of his head. “I’m digging up, aren’t I?”
“Spectacularly.”
“...”
“...”
“...”
“...”
“...I—er—I’ll go make tea.”
Al’s body stiffened as he got up from the couch. He made his way to the kitchenette, back militaristic and straight.
“Good. Bring me a cup too,” Elma’s chin tilted towards the teapot Al was setting up. A quiet clink of mugs followed.
She let out a single huff before she continued. “And stop panicking. I just wasn’t expecting you to jump straight to ‘second child’ while Nova still thinks her toes are a profound scientific discovery.”
With a soft gurgle, Nova’s eyes widened as she started kicking up a storm, bouncer shaking.
Al muttered under his breath. “Honestly, sometimes I think her toes are a profound scientific discovery…”
Elma’s eyebrow rose. “I heard that.”
“I meant it lovingly!” His voice called out.
Elma’s eyes softened JUST barely. Just briefly. Shoulders dropped a fraction, before a sigh. Her head shook with a smirk on her face, Nova’s flailing catching her attention.
“Your Dad’s too ambitious, don’t you think?”
Nova let out a raspberry, as if mocking him.
---
One Week Later
As she went back to BLADE HQ almost full time, the routine established—despite logistical nightmares with mission debriefs and diaper changes—she wouldn’t trade anything for the world.
Yet—
Why hadn’t the thought gone away?
A million things ran through Elma’s head—back and forth, bouncing like a constant echo.
She, being the last of her people.
Yet, Nova Prime… the first of the new.
Her mini-me, yet not her.
There’s only so much Al and I could teach her.
---
Meanwhile
Al, back to his Curators Division duties, continued on with recon and on-field resource missions.
All routine. All accomplished.
Although—
That hypothetical second kid…
Nagging in the back of his mind like a hammer on an anvil, ringing and humming.
He wasn’t against it, per se. Freudian slips-wise.
No…
And yet—
—he can’t.
Already destroyed Mira. The Ares Prime was with them.
Were there any guarantees that it won’t happen again… will it?
The pressure was there—constant and unforgiving. If not, then so much more since Nova’s birth.
To love all creation…
This now hammered in harder, when it was so close to home.
I love her so much, so much so I’m afraid for her.
---
Later That Night
“Hey, can we talk?”
Al looked up from his comm device to see Elma, arms crossed but eyes belying beyond contemplation. Almost…fear?
“Yeah? What’s up?”
Elma let out a soft sigh, bracing herself. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Al’s head tilted. “About what?”
Elma’s violet eyes dimmed for a moment. “...the second one.”
Al made one blink, taken back. “Elma… it was just a slip-up on my end. Don’t worry about it—”
“No Al. I am worried about it.”
Elma’s eyes hardened, before continuing.
“From what we know, I AM the last of my kind. Nova will never know and understand the history of my world… a part that makes her half of who she is… there’s only so much you and I can teach her…”
“Elma…” Al’s grounding and soft tone interrupted her before she spiraled.
He took one deep breath.
“I understand and I get what you mean… but aren’t we cutting it too close here?”
“What?”
Elma’s brows pulled tight, a faint glow sparking in her violet eyes.
Unfazed, Al continued, gaze steady.
“I’m not against it, just to be clear. But this world is still dangerous enough as it is, Elma. Do we have the right to bring someone again so soon into this?”
Al’s head shook, slow and steady.
“So no…”
“No?!”
Al’s eyes widened for a fraction. Not at the sudden outburst that bounced off the walls of their home.
But from her posture—rooted, unshaken.
Why is Elma taking this so lightly?
Elma’s head snapped up, eyes widening before narrowing in disbelief. Her jaw slackened as if the ground shifted beneath her.
“I thought you, of all people, would understand.”
She jabbed a finger at him—sharp, precise. “You’re the one who brought it up, not me!”
Al’s words tangled as soon as they left his mouth, his voice thin and unsure.
“I—I know I did, but that’s not—”
Elma’s stare flattened.
“...”
He threw his hands up.
“What!?”
He bolted to his feet, chair legs scraping the floor. His shadow cut across her as he leaned forward, eyes locked to hers.
“Can you guarantee it won’t happen again?” he demanded—voice cracking under the weight of something deeper.
Elma blinked. “What won’t happen again?”
A tremor slipped into his voice.
Soft. Ragged.
“Ever since she was born, I… I still think about what happened. How close I came to losing you back then.”
His gaze faltered toward the window—the Ares glinting just beyond.
“I know it’s irrational, but some part of me never stopped being afraid.”
Her expression shifted—just a fraction.
Then his next words slipped out, unintended and raw.
“It’s easy for you to say things will be fine, Princess.”
The nickname hit harder than he meant it to.
Her voice tightened. “What are you talking about? I’m trying to help—”
“Maybe this was a mistake,” he blurted—too loud, too sharp.
“Don’t you get it?!”
The temperature in the room dropped.
Elma froze.
Her knuckles went white as her fists tightened. Fingernails dug crescents into her palms. “What are you saying, Al?”
Silence stretched—thick, suffocating.
His shoulders locked. Breath uneven.
“Nothing,” he managed, barely above a whisper.
She waited. He didn’t take it back.
Silence thickened between them, heavy enough to bend the air.
“I… I’ll head out for a bit.”
Elma’s reaction was small—a soft, unguarded sound escaping before she could suppress it. Violet eyes trembling.
“Where are you going, Al?”
He stormed toward the door, yanking his coat from the rack—too fast, too forceful. Almost dropping it.
“I’ll be out,” he muttered. “You both can have dinner without me.”
The door slid shut with infuriating gentleness.
…
Elma stood there, breath caving inward as the hum of the empty room folded around her.
Alone.