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Un bebé mordelón

The Weight of Gold and Sapphire

The following morning on Odym did not bring the usual serenity that Saint Walker relied upon. Instead, it brought a headache that throbbed in time with the rhythmic snoring of the hatchling curled up at the foot of his meditation mat. Kilo was a restless sleeper, his tiny claws occasionally twitching as if he were hunting phantom prey in his dreams.

Walker sat cross-legged, attempting to center his thoughts. He focused on the mantra: *In fearful day, in raging night...* But every time he reached the line about hope, his mind betrayed him. It conjured the image of Arkillo’s massive, scarred hands. It replayed the sensation of that rough, terrifyingly possessive grip on his waist.

"He is a creature of instinct," Walker whispered to the empty room, his voice echoing off the crystalline walls. "He does not mean to be so... primal."

"He means exactly what he says, Brother."

Walker nearly jumped out of his skin. Sister Sercy stood in the doorway, her blue robes flowing around her like water. She carried a tray with a bowl of nutrient-rich fruits and a small flask of water. Her expression was one of gentle concern, though there was a mischievous glint in her eyes that Walker found deeply unsettling.

"Sister Sercy," Walker said, smoothing his robes and regaining his composure. "You are up early."

"The temple echoes, Walker. And your heart is beating loud enough to wake the sleeping suns," she replied, setting the tray down. She looked at the sleeping Vengarian baby. "He is growing. I can see the scales hardening already. He will need more than just fruit soon. He will need meat. And he will need a father."

Walker groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Not you too, Sercy. I have spent the last twelve hours trying to convince myself that Arkillo was merely suffering from a temporary lapse in judgment due to the stress of seeing a hatchling."

Sercy sat down across from him, her movements graceful. "Arkillo does not suffer from lapses in judgment. He suffers from a surplus of honesty. Vengarians do not have the luxury of subtle courtships. Their world is harsh. When they find something they value—something they wish to protect and build a future with—they claim it. It is not an insult to your gender, Walker. It is a tribute to your soul."

"He called me his mate," Walker hissed, his face turning that telltale shade of indigo again. "He spoke of... of pinning me down. It was barbaric!"

"And yet," Sercy leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "you did not use your ring to blast him into the next sector. You used a construct to push him away. A gentle push. You are a priest, Walker, but you are also a living being. Do not let your devotion to the Blue Light blind you to the light that burns in your own heart."

Before Walker could formulate a rebuttal, a shadow eclipsed the doorway. The air pressure in the room changed, growing heavy and charged with the scent of ozone.

Arkillo didn't knock. He simply occupied the space. He had shed his Sinestro Corps armor, wearing only the dark, form-fitting bodysuit beneath. It did little to hide the sheer, terrifying scale of his musculature. In his hand, he carried a large, raw haunch of some unfortunate creature he had hunted in the wilds of Odym.

"The whelp needs to eat," Arkillo stated, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the floorboards.

Kilo snapped awake at the scent of blood. He scrambled across the floor, his tiny nostrils flaring. He let out a joyous shriek and dove at the meat, his small fangs sinking into the flesh. He dragged the prize to Walker’s feet, looking up with a bloody grin.

"Mama! Eat!" Kilo chirped, offering a piece of the raw meat to Walker.

Walker looked at the gore, then at the proud baby, then up at the towering warrior who was watching him with an intensity that felt like a physical weight. "I... I do not eat raw flesh, Kilo. But thank you."

Arkillo stepped further into the room. Sercy stood up, giving Walker a knowing pat on the shoulder before gliding past Arkillo. "I believe I have duties in the gardens. Try not to break too many crystals, gentlemen."

The silence that followed Sercy’s departure was thick enough to choke on. Arkillo watched the baby eat for a moment before turning his yellow gaze back to Walker. The aggression from the previous evening had settled into something more calculated, more permanent.

"I reflected on your words, Blue," Arkillo said. He didn't sound apologetic. He sounded like a general delivering a report. "You found my approach... 'crude.'"

"That is one word for it," Walker replied, standing up to meet him. He felt tiny in Arkillo’s shadow, but he refused to back down. "Assaulting my dignity and making demands of my person is not the way to foster a friendship, Arkillo."

"I have enough friends," Arkillo growled, taking a step closer. "I have soldiers. I have enemies. I have allies. I do not come to Odym for friendship. I come because this planet holds the only thing in the universe that makes me feel like I am not a relic of a dying race."

He reached out, and this time, Walker didn't flinch. Arkillo’s hand was massive, his skin like sandpaper, but as he rested his palm against Walker’s cheek, his touch was surprisingly light.

"You rescued a son of Vengar," Arkillo whispered. "You brought him to a place of peace. You are soft, Walker. You are small and you talk too much about hope. But you have more courage in your smallest finger than half the cowards in my Corps. On my world, a male who can protect the young and defy a warrior like me... that is a prize beyond gold."

Walker felt his heart hammering against his ribs. The fear was there, yes, but beneath it was a strange, soaring heat. "I am not a prize, Arkillo. I am a person. If you wish to... to be a part of this, of Kilo’s life and mine, you must learn to walk beside me. Not over me."

Arkillo’s thumb traced the line of Walker’s jaw. "Beside you?" He let out a short, dry bark of a laugh. "The universe is not built for us to walk side by side, little Blue. You are Hope. I am Fear. We are the friction that keeps the stars turning."

"Friction creates warmth," Walker countered softly, his own hand rising to rest on Arkillo’s wrist.

Arkillo’s eyes flared. He leaned down, his face inches from Walker’s. "Is that an invitation?"

"It is a reminder," Walker said, though his voice wavered. "That if you truly wish to be the 'sire' to this child, you must respect the 'mother' you have chosen."

Arkillo’s grin returned, sharp and predatory. "I can do respect. I can do honor. But do not expect me to be tame, Walker. Vengarians do not kneel."

"I would never ask you to kneel," Walker said, a small, brave smile finally touching his lips. "I would only ask you to stay."

"Mama! Papa!"

Both Lanterns froze. They looked down to see Kilo standing between them, his face covered in juice and blood, looking back and forth with wide, shimmering eyes. He grabbed Walker’s blue robe in one hand and Arkillo’s dark sleeve in the other.

"Family?" the baby asked, his voice filled with a pure, unadulterated hope that neither of them could resist.

Arkillo looked at the child, then back at Walker. The tension in his shoulders seemed to bleed away, replaced by a grim, silent resolve. He reached down and scooped the baby up, settling him on his massive shoulder. Kilo immediately began chewing on Arkillo’s ear.

"Yes, whelp," Arkillo grunted, his eyes never leaving Walker’s. "Family."

Walker let out a long, shaky breath. He knew this was only the beginning. There would be arguments, there would be cultural clashes, and there would undoubtedly be a very awkward conversation with the Guardians of the Universe eventually. But as he looked at the monster and the baby, he realized that hope hadn't just brought them a child. It had brought them a bridge.

"Come," Walker said, gesturing toward the balcony that overlooked the sapphire valleys of Odym. "The suns are high. We should show Kilo the Great Battery. He should know the light that protects his home."

Arkillo followed him, his heavy footsteps echoing Walker’s lighter ones. As they stepped out into the brilliant blue light, the Yellow Lantern reached out and caught Walker’s hand. His grip was firm, possessive, and entirely unyielding.

Walker didn't pull away. He simply entwined his fingers with the warrior’s, the blue and yellow light of their rings mingling to create a soft, vibrant green glow between their palms.

"All will be well," Walker whispered.

"It had better be," Arkillo replied. "Or I’ll burn the stars until it is."