Page 76 of Stars in Nova

‘Almost there,’ she murmured, soothing his fraying endurance.

Glowing orbs suspended from the ceiling lit the room, their radiance casting shadows on the smooth stone walls.

Samira steered him toward the bed, layered with plush, woven blankets. He collapsed onto the edge of the divan, his head falling forward as he caught his breath.

Samira knelt before him, her hands gentle as she removed his armor, leaving him in his undersuit.

Her fingers brushed against his sweat-slicked skin. His ink flickered, and their glow was dim and unsteady.

‘Lie down,’ she murmured, pushing on his shoulders as she urged him back into the pillows. He resisted for a beat, his pride flaring, but the exhaustion won. He sank into the bed with a groan, his body relaxing into the softness.

Samira straightened, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead. His eyes fluttered open, meeting hers with a vulnerable intensity that tightened her chest.

‘Sante,’ he said, his voice rough but sincere.

‘Stay still,’ she insisted, her tone brooking no argument. ‘Rest, heal your metanoids.’

‘Fokk—.’

His growl broke off as a surge of agony tore through him.

His spine arched, every nerve alight with pain and power.

A golden light emanated from his skin, soft at first, then brighter, until the entire room glowed with an ethereal radiance.

His wounds sealed, the torn flesh knitting itself back together with almost surgical precision.

The scars of battle faded, replaced by smooth, unbroken dermis.

The luminosity intensified, pulsing like a heartbeat. The heat radiating from him warmed the air around them.

Samira gazed at him, her breath caught in her throat.

He appeared otherworldly, a phoenix reborn in the heart of her humble home.

The light was blinding, yet she couldn’t look away.

The golden cocoon enveloped him, a dramatic and visceral reminder of the power he carried—and the cost it exacted.

Finally, the glow began to fade.

His body relaxed, his breathing evening out as the energy dissipated.

He blacked out, and his face, once tense with pain, was now slack in sleep, his chest rising and falling in shallow, measured breaths.

With a sigh, Samira pulled a blanket over him.

She lingered, her fingers brushing against his wrist to check his pulse. Her gaze traced the sculpted lines of his face, softened now by sleep.

Despite his strength and power, he seemed so vulnerable in this moment—so achingly mortal.

Samira sat in the quiet dimness of her chamber, her eyes fixed on Kisan as he slept.

The bioluminescent glow from the walls painted his features in a soft, otherworldly light.

His face, most times so intense and guarded, was now relaxed.

His jaw and cheekbones mellowed in repose. Dark hair clung damply to his forehead, a few strands curling against his temple.

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