Yellow Jacket

A smile captured him the instant he stepped into the room, halting his breath as though time itself had been caught in amber and stretched into something far longer than a moment should ever last. Wren stood bathed in soft sunlight spilling through the window, her wild red hair catching each golden thread of light until it seemed aflame, a living crown of fire that set her apart from the world. Her beauty struck him with such staggering intensity that the moment fractured into something endless, each heartbeat expanding into an eternity. In her arms rested a small bundle, swaddled in cloth, the weight of their shared future held carefully against her chest as if it were the most precious thing in existence. She turned toward him, her eyes bright with warmth and recognition, and in that instant, she was the most lovely woman he had ever known. The sight nearly brought him to his knees, and for a moment he thought he might never breathe again.

He stepped forward, unable to keep his distance any longer, and folded her into his arms with trembling care. The feel of her, solid and alive, undid him more than any battle ever had. The beating of her heart against his chest carried more weight than the pounding of war drums or the roar of combat. She tilted her head up, smiling in that way that always stole the strength from his chest. "Hello, my lovely Wasp. It's been too long, my love." Her words wrapped around him, sinking into places he hadn't realized had grown hollow in her absence.

He stared into her eyes, drowning in their color, caught in the undertow of memory and promise. Words failed him entirely. He stood there, suspended between past and future, between all that he had endured and all that might yet come. Then another sensation broke through his reverie, the sharp, undeniable smell that belonged only to this new life, earthy and raw and real. He blinked, and the corner of his mouth pulled into a sheepish grin that he couldn't stop. The absurdity of the timing somehow made the moment even more real.

"Oh. Oh, yeah… I was in the middle of changing her. Maybe we should wait for our emotional reunion until after she's clean?" The words tumbled out awkwardly, yet they cracked the heaviness with humor.

Wren laughed softly, the sound brushing against his ears like a balm, easing him more than any reassurance could. "Fair. Do you need any help?" he asked, though his voice carried hesitation, as though he already knew what her answer would be.

"No, no, you probably don't know what you're doing yet. And I've been doing it well enough," she replied, her voice full of teasing certainty, her eyes shining with the quiet confidence of someone who had learned to carry more than her share.

He nodded, stepping back a little, his gaze finally dropping to the bundle in her arms. His daughter. He had a daughter. The thought alone nearly broke him open, made his heart stutter as though it couldn't keep up with the enormity of it. The weight of it pressed into his ribs until his chest ached, but it was an ache he would never trade away. His hands twitched with the urge to reach forward, to confirm she was real, to touch her tiny fingers and anchor himself in her existence. His voice came low, reverent, almost trembling, as though afraid the question itself might shatter the fragile moment. "So… what's her name?"

Wren's smile deepened, tender as sunrise breaking over mountains. "Belthea."

The name slammed into him like a herd of stampeding mossbacks, unstoppable and overwhelming, crashing into every memory and every shadow he carried. His chest tightened as though the air had been knocked from him, and his breath stalled. "What did you say?" he whispered, not because he hadn't heard but because he couldn't believe.

"Her name," Wren said gently, her eyes never leaving his. "It's Belthea. Isn't it beautiful? Florence said it was your grandmother's name." Her words carried careful pride, but also the weight of someone hoping she had chosen well.

Warren's eyes widened, his pulse hammering as the name reverberated in him with painful clarity, dragging half-buried memories up into the light. "Is that right?" he managed, though his voice was hoarse.

"Yes, my love. Is there something wrong? I mean, I've grown attached to Belle, but if it bothers you, we can change it…" Her voice softened, uncertain, offering him a way out.

"No. No, it's not that." His voice cracked with the weight of everything unsaid, truths buried under too many layers and secrets heavy enough to bend his spine. "I have so much to tell you, Azolde. I don't even know where to start. There's just… so much happening."

Her eyes softened, searching him but not pressing, giving him the mercy of patience. She shifted the bundle slightly in her arms, careful not to wake the child. The baby stirred anyway, a small hand slipping free of the blanket, fingers flexing against the air as though reaching for something unseen. A faint sound, not quite a cry, not quite a sigh, filled the space, and it struck him harder than a blade.

"And I have things to tell you as well," Wren said, her voice steady but touched with unease. "Some odd things have been happening. But maybe we should talk after the party. Tonight isn't the time for heavy truths."

He nodded, swallowing the storm that threatened to spill over. "After the party, then," he agreed, though the words carried the weight of promises he wasn't sure he could keep.

For now, he lowered himself into a chair, his body weary yet his gaze unyielding, fixed on her and the fragile life in her arms. He simply sat, simply watched, letting the weight of everything else fall away. He traced every detail, the angle of sunlight in her hair, the tiny shifts of Belthea's breath, the faint rhythm of their daughter's movements, as if memorizing a truth, he had long dreamed of but never thought he would hold. His chest tightened with every motion, every sound, every small confirmation that this was real.

He waited patiently for Wren and Belthea to be ready, clinging to the fragile, glowing moment as though it were a treasure carved from the marrow of his soul. Soon they would step downstairs, into noise and celebration, into the inevitable weight of the world waiting to close its hands around him. But here, in this fleeting stillness, he allowed himself to believe that nothing outside the room could matter more than this. The future could wait. The world could break itself against him again tomorrow. Tonight, all that mattered was that he was here, with them, and that they were real.

Warren and his small family stepped down the stairs, and Florence and Car were waiting for them at the bottom. Warren smiled, and they all embraced, the warmth of the moment washing over him like sunlight after a long winter. Car clasped his shoulder, his grin broad. "So, kiddo," Car said, "what's it like to be a father?"

"Honestly," Warren said, his voice almost breaking with a strange mix of pride and disbelief, "I don't have the words to describe what I just felt. She's so perfect."

"That's wonderful to hear," Florence said, her eyes misting just a little as she looked at the baby. "Now let's go eat before food gets cold and the baby needs to go back to nap while she's still awake. Everybody is here. The kids, Anza, Nanook, Muk-Tah, all of the heads of the tribes, and... well, everybody's here." She spread her arms to emphasize the sheer scope of the gathering.

"Honestly, we didn't have enough tables at first, so we had to have them made specifically for today," Car said, chuckling at the memory of the last-minute scramble.

"You didn't have to do that for me," Warren said, taken aback by the effort.

"Yes we did, my boy. It's not every day the ghost in the mist comes back to his home, is it now?" Florence said with a smile that warmed the whole stairwell.

"I guess not. So what's been going on in my absence?" Warren asked as they began to walk.

"Oh, well, many things have changed. We've rebuilt most of the city now."

"I can see that. I had to run here from... I think it was the East Gate. I don't know why I was dropped there, but I was." He laughed softly, shaking his head.

"Yeah, so I saw most of the city on my way here."

"Wait, doesn't that mean you would have had to double back? So did you not hear anybody telling you to come here?" Grix said from somewhere nearby, her voice half exasperated, half amused.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"No, I just ignored everybody and ran to the pharmacy," Warren admitted.

She slapped her head dramatically and said, "God damn it, Warren. I went through the streets and told everybody that if they ever saw you, to let you know that we'd be at Car's house, and you just ignored them."

"Well, when I got to the pharmacy, they told me that you were here." He smirked. "I guess that works too."

Florence laughed softly. "It does. Somehow."

They entered the dining room, which was packed with people. Tables lay end-to-end in a U-shape with a spot for him and Wren, Car, and Florence at the head. The smell of freshly cooked food filled the air, heavy with spice and warmth, and the sound of voices rolled like a tide. Warren took it all in, feeling a strange combination of belonging and disbelief.

"I have so much to tell you all, but let's eat. I miss your food so much, Florence," Warren said.

"That's because it's good," Florence replied with a grin.

"Yeah, that and it's real. I mean, don't get me wrong, Citadel food is good, especially when all you eat is bug bars for months, but there's nothing that can beat the real deal."

"Nope. You can taste the love," she said.

He smiled and said, "Yes, you can."

There were laughs and jokes and storytelling as everyone began to settle. Warren caught up on a lot of the gossip as plates filled and cups were passed. He became aware that Grix and Cassian were on again, apparently, they were on and off all the time, but right now they were on, and the look in their eyes made it obvious. When he told a story about Jurpat having a companion, Calra seemed rather pleased to know that. She was holding on to Batu fiercely enough that you could tell there was something between them, and Nanook and Deanna were in a similar situation, their closeness as obvious as sunlight.

Though one of the things that kind of bothered him was that Tasina and Mel were seated so far away, their small figures lost at the far end of the table. He asked Florence to make room for them, motioning with his hand. "I know I didn't promise your parents this, your brother either, I guess. Your family, sorry. I know Mel accused your brother, but it seemed like they raised you. I don't know how you feel about this, Wren, but these two deserve a family, and they deserve to know that I took theirs. And if they would have me, I would like to be their family." His voice was low but firm, carrying across the table like an oath.

Tasina and Mel looked at each other, and then Tasina giggled. "We know. Wren us told before," she said in a small child's voice. "We already a family, aren't we? We just sit at the kids' table with all the other kids."

Warren hadn't even realized there were more children there, but when he looked over, it actually made a lot more sense. A whole group of kids was gathered, their voices a soft counterpoint to the adults' conversation, their laughter like a thread tying the room together.

"You know," Warren said with a rueful smile, "I'm an idiot sometimes. But for tonight, could you just stay with me? Because I only have so long to stay here, and I want to be surrounded by all of the family that I've chosen."

Wren smiled and said, "Love, you have nothing to worry about. We are all going to be here, waiting for you to return."

The weight that had been settling on him through the months of grinding at the Citadel slipped away. With every word they spoke to one another, with all the love and joy they shared, all of the stories and all of the care that they said with every word spoken, he felt the tension in him unwind. The laughter and warmth at the table built into something almost tangible, a blanket of belonging that wrapped around him. For the first time in months, he allowed himself to believe he had truly come home.

"Oh shit, who let Styll get into the wine?" someone shouted, and the words rippled across the room like a spark, snapping every head toward the corner where the trouble likely started.

"Oh no…" Warren muttered, his voice caught halfway between dread and disbelief. "Warren cried." The whole room went silent at once, memories of Styll's past antics flashing across every face like lightning on a storm-dark horizon. They all knew what chaos could come from this. Someone was going to have to wrangle that disaster eventually, but Warren knew it wasn't going to be him, not now, maybe later, when the inevitable mess reached a peak. For now, he let it go.

He cleared his throat, bringing the focus back to him, his voice low but cutting through the quiet. "I have some things that we need to discuss as soon as we can. Because if we don't, we might not get another chance until the end of the year. Hopefully I'll be back by then. I'm not sure how it will work, but just know I don't have to do four years in the Citadel. I only have to finish the one. We did some things and there's a lot of story to tell."

As nighttime deepened, lamps flickered and the air turned warm with food and the soft lull of children's laughter. He began to tell the stories that needed to be told. Every eye fixed on him, every face drawn taut with curiosity and unease. The room grew still except for the clatter of cutlery now and then, or the small noises of the children at the far end of the table. Warren spoke for a long while, weaving through his tale with pauses heavy enough to press the silence deeper into everyone's chests. When he finally paused, Car leaned forward, his face set and thoughtful.

"Oh, we've been buying up property since you left," Car said at last. "Actually, since before you left. But that deed sounds like it's going to help a lot. Honestly, I've worked for PG&I, if you remember, and I think we can set up a structure that functions similarly. Their corporate structure was pretty easy to know. Even as security, I was aware of what I at least think was most of the day-to-day. And for instance, Dr. Morgan would probably be better at running it. Maybe Joanna. She's fairly business-oriented. I can think of a few people. Get some plans together. But yeah, this should work. Honestly, if what you're telling me is true, then Mara's going to be safer than ever, isn't it?"

Warren nodded slowly, feeling the weight of Car's words settling into his bones, as though the idea of safety was almost too heavy to carry. He turned to look at his daughter, his voice soft but carrying. "Florence, you said my grandmother's name was Belthea?"

"Yeah," Florence said, her voice warm but reflective, touched with the edge of memory, "and I thought it would be nice to have little Belthea to hear her little giggles that sounded so much like bells. I thought it was the perfect name."

"You're right," Warren said, though hesitation curled around his words. "But I have… so, I discovered some things yesterday when I was about to leave. I took a dive into myself with the help of some medical professionals at the Citadel. You would love her. She's terrifying, but you'd love her, Florence. Her name is Dr. Lambert, and she's insane, but she is a professional when it comes to medical science that I have not met the equal of. Wren you would probably also like her quite a bit. You're just as terrifying."

"Oh, is that the case? Maybe I will. Maybe I'll meet her in the future," Florence said with a faint smile that barely masked her unease.

Warren's hands curled against the edge of the table, knuckles whitening, his voice dropping low. "So anyways, I found out some things about myself and why I am the way I am. There is a giant wasp who is my soul."

"What are you talking about?" Florence asked, the whole table leaning closer, their breaths held as though the room itself had stopped.

"Okay," Warren said, letting the silence hang a moment. "This is a long story, and it'll take some time."

When he finally explained the story, the silence that followed was thick and heavy, almost unbearable. They looked at him oddly, each face caught between disbelief and wonder. Wren finally broke it. "So, you're saying that your soul, this Mondenkind, is a giant wasp that was sentient, and her mother… or the queen of her time was called Belthea, like your daughter, like your grandmother?"

"Yeah," Warren said quietly. "That's why it's such an odd thing that her name is Belthea, that I'm related to somebody named Belthea. It's not that uncommon of a name, but it's just older."

Florence folded her arms, her eyes narrowing in thought. "Maybe it's just a coincidence, but it's so much so that it bothers me. Not that I don't want her name to be Belthea. I love her, and it's perfect for her. It's just odd. Do you know what I mean?"

"Yes, I can see that," Car said, shifting in his seat. "But little Belle is the closest thing to a grandchild that I'll ever have. Unless…" He pushed his gaze toward Grix and Cassian, who were huddled together, conspiratorially talking, their heads bent close. "Those two could also have kids, which might happen. I don't know."

"Anyways, so, there are some things that have gone on since you've been gone," Florence said. "The Ark has asked about something called a Heart of the Forest and that has all it has been saying for months now."

Wren looked over, her eyes shadowed with something unspoken. "The moth came to me as well. At least I think it was the moth, but she spoke about you and me and our daughter. And the Red Widow…" Her voice dropped, the words curling like smoke in the silence, pulling everyone closer to the table without them even realizing it.

"What exactly do you mean the moth came to you?" Warren asked, the question cutting through the hum of conversation like a blade.

"Well, I'm not sure," Wren said slowly, her hands tightening around the edge of the table as all eyes shifted toward her. "One day, an old lady in rags appeared in the pharmacy. I'm not even sure how she got down there. She just… appeared, like she had always been standing there. And then she told me some things that I still don't fully understand, but hearing you say those things, Warren, it brought it all back again."

Wren's eyes flicked to Warren's, her voice dropping to a whisper. "She said, 'the queen is reborn, and he waits. The Red Widow rises, and she will be answered in screams, blood, and fury.' And then she was gone. Just… gone. I'm not sure who she was talking about, or which queen. And I'm really hoping it's not Belle. I can't… I don't want to deal with our daughter being part of a prophecy that has the Red Widow in it."

Warren's expression darkened as he listened, his jaw tightening. "I think we don't really have a choice if that's the case," he said at last, his tone grave. "The moth speaks truth, even if we don't understand it. But I can say that Mondenkind was reborn in me, so maybe that is the queen she speaks of. Hopefully that's the case. And maybe she meant me when she said 'he waits.'"

He exhaled slowly, glancing around the table, his voice low but firm. "And the Red Widow… that is terrifying news. When the Red Black Nights comes again, make sure all the doors to everyone in the city are locked. Make sure everyone is prepared to stay safe for days. Gather as many as you can to protect yourselves. Usually, the Red rising is not a good thing, but with the Red Widow, it is a much more deadly thing." He finished speaking and the words seemed to hang in the air like smoke, drawing the entire room into an uneasy silence.