Time Progression: Weeks After Echo-9 – Secure Compound, Epsilon Prime Surface Dome
The compound had become something more than a fortified habitat. Under Aria's quiet influence, it was starting to feel like a home.
Elias walked the hydroponic paths in the central dome, boots silent on the gravel. Simulated sunlight filtered through the translucent roof, warm on his face. The air carried the scent of fresh herbs and turned soil—rosemary, basil, tomato vines heavy with fruit. Rows of greenery stretched in neat beds, a stark contrast to the dead worlds he'd left smoking behind him.
He wore simple gray fatigues—compression shirt clinging to his lean torso, cargo pants loose on powerful legs. No armor. No weapons. Just the resonance collar at his throat, Nova's constant presence.
*This,* he thought, pausing to brush fingers over a basil leaf, *this is what I want. Quiet. Growth. Life instead of death.*
Aria knelt a few rows over, sundress of pale green hugging her curvy figure as she worked the soil. Soft blonde waves tied back loosely, a few strands escaping to frame her flushed cheeks. The fabric stretched gently over her full breasts with each movement, skirt riding up slightly on rounded thighs as she leaned forward. Bare feet dirty from the earth, blue eyes focused and content.
She sensed him—looked up with a shy smile that lit her face.
"You're back early," she said softly, brushing dirt from her hands.
Elias nodded once. "Training canceled."
*She doesn't ask about the missions. Never does. Knows enough from the news feeds—the panic, the rumors of aliens. But here, she builds something else.*
Nova materialized beside him—holographic, silver-blue hair catching the simulated light, violet eyes warm as they flicked between him and Aria.
"She's been waiting for you," Nova murmured in his ear, voice for him alone. "Cooked your favorite—colony stew with fresh herbs. And she's been reading those light novels I queued for her. The ones with the quiet hero and his devoted wives."
He glanced at Nova. *You're pushing.*
Her smile was possessive, fond. "Someone has to. You deserve this, Elias. A home. Women who depend on you. Who make it worth coming back."
Aria stood, wiping her hands on her dress—fabric clinging briefly to her hips as she moved toward him.
"I saved you some tomatoes," she said, offering a small basket. "The first ripe ones."
He took it—fingers brushing hers. Warm. Soft.
*She's pure. Gentle. Everything the galaxy isn't.*
"Thank you."
Her blush deepened. She stepped closer—hesitant, then bold—reaching up to brush a leaf from his shoulder.
"You had dirt," she murmured.
*Touch. Real touch. Not armor. Not blood.*
He let his hand cover hers briefly—large, callused palm over her smaller one.
Nova watched, satisfaction thick in her projection.
**10/03/2542 – Resettlement Wing Expansion**
The Echo-9 mission had yielded more than crystals.
Among the precursor artifacts, Elias had found one survivor buried in a collapsed side chamber—nineteen-year-old artist from a fringe nomadic clan, scavenging ruins for materials when the RAW team arrived. She'd hidden, terrified, as the fighting raged above.
Liora Vance.
He'd carried her out himself—petite frame limp in his arms, dark wavy hair matted with dust, green eyes wide with shock. Virgin, Nova had confirmed with a quick scan. Creative. Dreamy. Skilled with fabrics and stories.
Now, weeks later, she was here.
Elias stood in the doorway of the expanded resettlement wing—watching the two women together.
Aria in her sundress, showing Liora the hydroponic beds. Liora in a simple tunic of her own weaving—vibrant patterns in stellar blues and silvers, fabric loose but clinging to her slender curves, pert breasts and tiny waist accentuated as she turned excitedly to examine a vine.
"She's settling well," Nova said, appearing at his side. "They both are. Aria mothers her. Liora decorates—look at the wall hangings she's started."
Tapestries already draped the common area—holographic threads woven with stories of stars and heroes.
*Two now. A beginning.*
He entered.
Both women turned—smiles lighting their faces.
"Elias!" Liora said, voice dreamy and affectionate. She darted forward, hugging him around the waist—head barely to his chest. "Aria showed me the gardens. It's beautiful. Like the stories you told me about—homes that grow."
Aria smiled shyly, stepping closer to join—her softer curves pressing gently against his other side.
*Warm. Real. Mine.*
He placed a hand on each shoulder—large palms steady.
"Dinner?" he asked quietly.
They nodded, leading him to the communal kitchen.
The table was set—simple but thoughtful. Fresh bread, stew rich with herbs, tomatoes sliced and drizzled with oil. Candles—real ones, Lena's hack.
They ate together.
Liora told stories—woven tales of ancient Earth myths she'd learned from clan archives, voice lilting as she described heroes building families amid chaos.
Aria listened, serving seconds without being asked—nurturing, attentive.
Nova sat at the table's end—holographic but present, violet eyes soft.
*This is it,* Elias thought, watching them. *The life I fight for. Traditional. Pure. Waiting for me.*
After dinner, they sat in the common area—Liora curled on a woven cushion, sketching patterns on a data slate. Aria beside Elias on the couch, head resting lightly on his arm.
No demands. No war stories.
Just quiet.
*Soon,* he thought. *More. A real harem. A real home.*
Nova's hand rested over his heart—warm projection bleeding through.
"Soon," she whispered, echoing his thoughts.
Outside, the galaxy burned with rumors—alien ghosts, precursor awakenings, factions arming for war.
Inside the dome, Elias Kane sat with two women who depended on him.
And for the first time in years, he allowed himself to relax.
The slow burn had begun.
And the Phantom's legend grew—while his sanctuary took root.