Page 36 of Aries

Within hours, we develop a system, deciding that I’ll handle feeding preparation while he’ll manage temperature regulation, we’ll alternate sleep shifts, and both of us will maintain constant vigilance against their suicidal tendencies.

We discover that the adorable fluffballs can’t regulate their body temperature, requiring us to take turns holding them against our skin. The feeding schedule means one of us is awake every two hours, around the clock.

Spark has appointed itself as an auxiliary guardian, creating soft warning lights whenever one of the zorlings approaches danger and even attempting to herd them away from hazardous areas with gentle pulses of illumination.

“Behind you!” Aries calls as Trouble makes a break for the edge of our bed. I snatch the fuzzy escape artist just before it tumbles to the floor.

The next day blurs into a cycle of feeding, cleaning, warming, and preventing the zorlings from killing themselves through sheer curiosity. By the end of the second day, exhaustion is testing our patience. When Trouble—we’ve named them Trouble, Chaos, and Mayhem—makes its fifth escape attempt of the morning, I snap.

“How did these things survive evolution?” I mutter, snatching the fuzzy escape artist.

“Barely,” Aries replies dryly, catching Chaos mid-leap toward the hot stove. “And only with very attentive parents.”

The observation hangs between us—a reminder of what we’re really being tested on. Not just our ability to care for vulnerable creatures, but our potential as partners, as a family unit.

“Your turn,” I mumble at 3 AM, gently transferring the smallest zorling to Aries’ chest.

“They’re finally settling,” he mouths, arranging all three against his bronze skin. The sight of this powerful warrior cradling tiny, vulnerable creatures with infinite gentleness does something profound to my heart.

By the final day, something has shifted. The constant cooperation, the shared responsibility, the way we’ve learned to anticipate each other’s needs and movements—it’s created a new layer of intimacy. When Mayhem falls asleep in my palm while Aries holds the other two, we’re functioning as a perfect unit.

“The trial is complete,” the Committee announces as they retrieve the now-thriving zorlings. “All three offspring have gained weight and show excellent socialization responses. You have succeeded.”

As the tiny creatures are taken away, chirping contentedly, an unexpected emptiness settles over our cottage.

“I’m going to miss them,” I admit, surprised by the depth of the feeling.

Spark performs a melancholy loop around the now-empty warming nest, its colors shifting to a wistful blue-green that perfectly captures our shared sense of loss.

“So am I.” Aries moves closer, almost reaching to touch my hand. Spark drifts between us, its color brightening slightly as if reminding us that while the zorlings are gone, our own bond remains. “We make good partners, Callie. In everything.”

The word “partners” carries new weight now, tested by sleepless nights and shared purpose. Whatever comes next, we’ve proven we can care for something precious together—and keep it safe.

Chapter Twenty-One

Aries

The Sanctoran Temple’s vast dome stretches above us, its crystalline surface reflecting a wash of color across the walls. Dozens of iridescent spheres hover at waist height—simple tools of light and energy, nothing like our sentient Spark, who watches anxiously from the sidelines near the Committee members.

“The Sanctoran Sphere Trial will begin,” the Committee member announces to the assembled crowd. “Each participant must guide twelve light spheres through prescribed patterns using focused mental energy. Think of it as telekinesis, but only with these specific spheres.”

They gesture, and twenty-four perfect orbs of light rise from recessed floor panels, hovering at waist height. Twelve align before me and twelve before Callie.

“The spheres respond to mental commands from their assigned guide,” they continue. “Participants must move their spheres in perfect mirror patterns of their partner while maintaining the prescribed physical distance. The patterns will appear as light traces in the air—you must guide your spheres to follow these pathways exactly. Any collision between spheres results in immediate failure.”

To demonstrate, they create a simple geometric pattern in glowing lines between us. “These are your paths. Guide your spheres through them in synchronization. Begin with one sphere each, advancing to all twelve for the final sequence.”

I glance at Callie. This is different from anything we’ve practiced. The spheres are just tools, machines that respond to mental focus—but coordinating twelve each while matching movements exactly? While maintaining our physical distance?

A protester’s voice bursts through the anxious silence: “Stop wasting sacred traditions on killers!”

The spheres begin to pulse in sequence, creating the first basic pattern we must mirror. Like a simplified star chart, the lights trace paths we must follow in perfect unison.

“Ready?” I ask softly.

Callie’s answering smile holds surprising warmth despite the circumstances. “Together.”

We begin the dance of light and shadow. Though this is telekinetic in nature, I find my hands moving in precise gestures that guide my spheres. When I glance out of the corner of my eye, I see Callie is doing the same thing. We look as though we’re engaged in a graceful dance.

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