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Un bebé mordelón

The Friction of Fear and Hope

The tranquil atmosphere of Odym was usually enough to soothe even the most turbulent of souls. The air was thick with the scent of blooming lilies and the low, melodic humming of the Blue Lantern Power Battery, which resonated like a heartbeat through the soil. But for Arkillo, the silence was becoming deafening.

A few yards away, Brother Warth and Sister Sercy were occupied with the hatchling. Kilo had discovered that Warth’s trunk was an excellent climbing frame, and the large elephantine Lantern was patiently allowing the toddler to scramble over his shoulders. Sercy hovered nearby, using her ring to create soft, glowing constructs of butterflies for the child to chase. Every time Kilo caught one, he would let out a triumphant shriek of "Mama!" and look toward Saint Walker for approval.

Saint Walker sat on a mossy stone, his hands folded in his lap, watching the scene with a serene smile. The late afternoon suns caught the pearlescent sheen of his skin. To anyone else, he looked like a monk in meditation. To Arkillo, he looked like something else entirely.

Arkillo paced behind Walker, his heavy boots crushing the grass. His yellow ring flickered with a jagged, restless energy. On Vengar, strength was the only currency, and lineage was everything. Seeing Walker rescue the child, care for him, and be claimed by the hatchling as 'Mama' had triggered a primal shift in Arkillo’s perception. In the brutal logic of his species, Walker had provided the sanctuary and the care; he had assumed the role of the life-giver.

"Walker," Arkillo growled, his voice low and vibrating with a frequency that made the nearby flowers wilt slightly.

Walker turned his head, his luminous eyes blinking slowly. "Yes, my friend? You seem restless. The peace of Odym can be... challenging for those used to the chaos of the front lines."

Arkillo stopped pacing and loomed over the smaller Lantern. The sheer physical disparity between them was immense—Arkillo was a mountain of muscle and scarred hide, while Walker was lean and ethereal.

"It is not the peace that bothers me," Arkillo rumbled. He reached out, his thick, clawed fingers catching the fabric of Walker’s blue uniform near the shoulder. "It is the order of things. You took that whelp. You claimed him. And he calls you his mother."

Walker felt a soft heat rise to his cheeks, a faint indigo flush. "He is a child, Arkillo. He doesn't understand gender roles or the biological specifics of my species. He simply knows that I was the one who held him first."

"Vengarians do not care for 'specifics,'" Arkillo countered, stepping closer until his chest plate nearly brushed Walker’s nose. The scent of ozone and raw power rolled off the Sinestro Corpsman. "We care for results. You have proven yourself capable of nurturing the next generation of my blood. You have the spirit of a mate, Walker. A female's spirit in a male's frame."

Walker’s smile faltered. He looked up, searching Arkillo’s face for a joke, but he found only a terrifying, burning intensity. "Arkillo, I believe you are projecting your cultural instincts onto a situation that requires... a more nuanced understanding. I am your comrade. Your brother-in-arms."

"Comrades do not look at each other the way I am looking at you," Arkillo hissed. He leaned down, his hot breath smelling of iron and smoke, whispering directly into Walker’s ear. "I want you, Walker. Not as a Lantern. Not as a 'brother.' I want to claim what is mine. You have the child; now you should have the sire."

The implication hit Walker like a physical blow. The indigo flush on his face deepened into a dark, bruised purple of pure embarrassment and sudden, sharp indignation. He stood up abruptly, forcing Arkillo to take a half-step back.

"Arkillo!" Walker’s voice was no longer the soft whisper of a pacifist; it carried the resonance of a high priest. "Control yourself. You are speaking of... of carnal desires in a place of sacred hope! And your terminology is incredibly offensive."

Arkillo let out a guttural laugh, his tusks baring in a predatory grin. "Offensive? It is nature! You want to raise a Vengarian? You must live like one. We do not waste time with poetry and soft touches. We take what we desire. And right now, little Blue, I desire to see you pinned beneath me until you forget that ridiculous ring on your finger."

Walker’s eyes widened. He looked over his shoulder nervously, making sure Warth and Sercy were out of earshot. Fortunately, Kilo had just successfully 'hunted' a construct bird and was currently being cheered on by Warth’s trumpeting.

"I am not a 'female,' nor am I your 'mate,'" Walker snapped, his fingers curling into fists. "I am a priest of the Blue Light! I brought you here to help mentor a child, not to be subjected to your... your barbaric courtship rituals!"

Arkillo stepped into Walker’s personal space again, using his height to intimidate. He reached out, his large hand cupping the back of Walker’s neck, his claws grazing the sensitive skin there. "Your anger only makes the scent of your hope sweeter, Walker. I can feel your heart racing. Is it fear? Or is it the realization that I am the only one in this galaxy strong enough to hold you?"

"It is exasperation!" Walker shouted, shoving Arkillo’s hand away. A flare of blue light erupted from his ring, acting as a small barrier between them. "You are being crude and incredibly disrespectful. I have treated you with nothing but kindness and friendship, and you respond by viewing me as... as property?"

"I view you as a partner!" Arkillo roared back, his own yellow ring sparking in response to the blue light. "A partner who has already taken on the burden of my kind! Why do you fight it? You care for the boy. You care for me. I see it in every look you give me when you think I am not watching."

Walker opened his mouth to argue, but the words died in his throat because, deep down, he knew Arkillo wasn't entirely wrong. There was an affection there, a bond forged in battles and quiet moments between stars. But the sheer bluntness of Arkillo’s demand—the raw, sexual aggression of it—was more than his modest sensibilities could handle.

"Even if... even if there were feelings," Walker stammered, his dignity struggling to remain upright, "this is not the way! We are on Odym! There are children present! There is a decorum to be maintained!"

"Decorum is for the weak," Arkillo growled. He lunged forward, grabbing Walker’s waist with both hands. The strength in his grip was terrifying, lifting the lighter Lantern off his feet. "I am a Sinestro Corpsman. I take what I want, and I want the mother of my ward."

"Stop calling me that!" Walker’s temper finally snapped. He summoned a construct—not a weapon, but a pair of massive, ethereal blue hands that pushed against Arkillo’s chest, forcing the giant to drop him. "I am a man! I am Saint Walker! And if you do not cease this instant, I will have to ask you to leave this planet!"

Arkillo stumbled back, his boots digging furrows into the grass. He looked at Walker, seeing the sparks of genuine fury in those usually calm eyes. Instead of being deterred, the Vengarian looked even more impressed.

"There is the fire," Arkillo purred, his voice a low rumble of satisfaction. "I knew it was in there. You hide behind your prayers, but you have the soul of a warrior's queen."

"I am going to hit you," Walker whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of rage and mortification. "I am a man of peace, but I swear by the Light, Arkillo, if you say one more word about queens or mothers, I will forget my vows."

"Mama! Mama! Look!"

The tension was shattered as Kilo came sprinting across the grass, holding a clump of uprooted blue flowers. He skidded to a halt between the two titans, holding the bedraggled plants up to Walker with a toothy, proud grin.

Walker immediately exhaled, his blue aura fading as he forced his heart rate to slow. He knelt down, ignoring the heat still radiating from Arkillo’s gaze. "They are... they are beautiful, Kilo. But we must leave the flowers in the ground so they can grow."

Kilo tilted his head, then looked up at Arkillo. He sensed the lingering aggression in the air. The toddler let out a low, protective growl and stood in front of Walker’s knees, baring his tiny fangs at the massive Yellow Lantern.

"No hurt Mama!" Kilo shrieked, his tiny yellow ring—a toy construct Sercy had made for him—flashing weakly.

Arkillo stared down at the miniature version of himself. He saw the defiance, the protective instinct, and the sheer audacity of the hatchling. Then he looked at Walker, who was blushing furiously while trying to settle the child.

"See?" Arkillo said, his voice returning to a more normal volume, though the predatory edge remained. "Even the whelp knows the hierarchy. He protects his provider."

"He is protecting me from *you*," Walker pointed out sharply, standing up while keeping a hand on Kilo’s head. "Because you are acting like a beast."

"I am a Vengarian," Arkillo reminded him, crossing his arms over his massive chest. "We are all beasts. Some of us just have better jewelry than others."

Sister Sercy and Brother Warth approached, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. Sercy’s eyes darted between Walker’s flushed face and Arkillo’s smug expression. She was ancient and wise; she didn't need a telepathic link to know exactly what had just transpired.

"Is everything alright, Brother Walker?" Sercy asked, her voice like silk. "The energy levels in this sector of the garden became... quite intense."

"Everything is fine, Sister," Walker said quickly, his voice a pitch higher than usual. "Arkillo was just... expressing his cultural perspective on child-rearing. Very loudly."

Warth let out a low, rumbling chuckle. "Ah, the Vengarians. A passionate people. Truly."

Arkillo didn't take his eyes off Walker. "We haven't finished this conversation, Walker. You can hide behind the child and your brothers for now. but night falls even on Odym."

Walker felt a shiver run down his spine—one that wasn't entirely unpleasant, which only made him angrier at himself. "There is no 'conversation' to finish, Arkillo. Go... go find something to hunt. Or go polish your ring. Just stay away from me until you can behave with some semblance of civility."

Arkillo leaned in one last time, ignoring the others. "I’ll go. But remember, Walker... hope burns brightest in the dark. and I intend to be your darkness."

With a sharp crack of yellow energy, Arkillo took to the sky, leaving a trail of sulfurous light behind him.

Walker stood frozen for a moment, his hand still resting on Kilo’s head. The silence of the garden returned, but his mind was a whirlwind of confusion.

"He is a very... forceful individual," Warth observed, nudging a pebble with his trunk.

"He is an idiot," Walker muttered under his breath, though the indigo tint to his skin refused to fade.

"Mama?" Kilo asked, pulling on Walker’s robes. "Big scary man go?"

Walker looked down at the child, seeing the innocent concern in those yellow eyes. He sighed, picking the boy up and nesting him against his hip. "Yes, Kilo. The big scary man went to go think about his manners."

"He like Mama," Kilo stated matter-of-factly, resting his head on Walker’s shoulder.

Walker closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the hatchling’s cool, scaly brow. "I know, Kilo. That is exactly the problem."

As Sercy and Warth led the way back toward the temple, Walker looked up at the sky. He could still see the faint yellow streak of Arkillo’s flight path. He knew the Vengarian wouldn't give up. Persistence was the hallmark of Fear, just as much as it was of Hope.

He was a Blue Lantern. He was a priest. He was a man. But as he felt the tiny weight of the child in his arms and remembered the heat of Arkillo’s grip, Saint Walker realized that his life on Odym was about to become much, much more complicated than he had ever anticipated.

"All will be well," he whispered to himself, the mantra of his corps. But for the first time in his life, he sounded like he was trying to convince himself of a lie.