Khiva growled out a frustrated sound and paced to the end of the dark room they were in, taking deep breaths.

The patching connection wasn’t working.

It hadn’t been working since the moment Khiva and Kavik had arrived to the deserted communication base on the southern tip of Dumera. The base was only used during the export season, which was still moon cycles away. Kavik had learned of its existence from a fellow miner in his unit, that it had the best transmitting connections in all of Dumera.

If only the connector worked.

They’d been trying to repair it for over a day but the wires were old and fraying and desperately needed replacing. And over and over again, their attempts had been unsuccessful.

“I do not know what else to try,” Khiva said quietly. “The way the connectors were wired…it is inefficient and careless.”

“Next to building an entirely new model,” Kavik said, “I do not know if this will work. We do not even have the supplies here for that.”

Khiva crouched low once again to inspect the wiring. They only needed the connection to work for a couple moments. There had to be some way of reviving it, if only for a brief amount of time.

One patching call. That was all they needed.

And then he could return to his female.

Restlessness ate at him. Guilt chewed at his insides. And desperation to connect with Dhrika only intensified these emotions.

Kavik had seemed to sense his foul mood during their travels. It had been over three days since they’d left and even from the beginning Kavik had seemed to give him a wide berth.

“We do not have time to rebuild it,” Khiva said, checking to make sure all the wires were in place. The communication base still had power. It ran on similar fuels that powered vessels and while not as dependable as firestones were, the lighting and heating systems worked, as did the water pumps.

“We should try re-running power to it,” Kavik said. “Maybe we did not allow enough time for the model to cool.”

Khiva exhaled a sharp breath. He was never one to grow frustrated, but everything about him had felt wrong as of late. His emotions were high and mercurial and all he could think about was returning to Evelyn, though another part of him would not leave until they contacted Dhrika. He owed that to his family, to himself. He would exhaust all leads until he knew for certain what had happened to them.

It did not prevent the memory of the disappointment, the sadness on his female’s expressive features from haunting him, however. From tearing him up from the inside.

“Let us try,” Khiva said. All the wires were in place. While rusty, he had a working knowledge of engineering and technological mechanisms, as did Kavik. It should work. And yet, it didn’t.

They cut off the unit once more and went quiet as they listened to the hum of the power die. Khiva crouched against the far wall, the cold stone pressing against his back, as Kavik blew out a tired breath. Neither had had much sleep since they’d left Dumera’s center. Travel to the southern tip had taken them longer than anticipated, almost two full days, and since they’d arrived to the empty communication base, they’d been working on getting the systems up and running.

Hunger was beginning to gnaw at him—at both of them—and they were both sleep-deprived. And all Khiva wanted was to hold him female in his arms, feeling her soft warmth against him, and apologize to her, for the way they’d parted, for the way he’d reacted to her pregnancy. He would apologize until she forgave him because he knew that he’d hurt her with his dismissive words and actions.

And he’d left.

He’d left his pregnant female, after a fight, on her own. While he was confident that no harm would come to his female during his absence and that he was confident in her abilities to take care of herself, it didn’t soothe the part of him that needed to protect her, to provide for her.

He never should’ve left.

To Kavik, he murmured in the quiet, “If we cannot patch through by morning, we will return to Dumera’s center. I cannot stay here any longer. I must return to my female.”

Kavik insisted, “We have come all this way, Khiva. I am confident we can patch through, but it might take more time.”

Kavik didn’t have a female, so he didn’t understand the pressing need Khiva felt to return.

Khiva shook his head, “Kavik, I cannot—”

“We are possibly so close to knowing what happened. You would truly turn back now, knowing we could be days away from knowing? Your female will understand.”

Khiva growled, “My female is pregnant.”

Kavik stilled, the silence growing even more.

Khiva blew out another breath. “She told me the night before we departed. And I…I did not react favorably. She was upset and hurt.” His fists clenched against his thighs. “No, I need to return to her soon. We have already been gone too long.”

“You did not say anything,” Kavik commented, watching him carefully. “I wondered about your mood.”

“I know,” Khiva replied, his tone low.

“You…” Kavik started, before he trailed off. Then he tried again with, “You are not pleased with the pregnancy?”

Khiva swallowed. “It is not that.”

Kavik asked, “Then what? I know many males who would be pleased with this knowledge, though we are Keriv’i.”

Khiva squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment before looking down at the stone flooring. The communication base was small, empty, and cold. He pitied whoever was stationed there throughout the export season, as there were minimal luxuries and it was such a long way from the center.

“Pleased is not the word I would use,” Khiva finally said. “I am pleased, but I am also honored, happy, and terrified, all at once. I worry. I worry every moment about my female, about the change this will bring to our lives, about what I would do if something happened to her or the offspring, about whether I will be a good father. I worry about disappointing her, about failing her. And we have much still unsettled in our lives.”

Khiva didn’t know why he was telling these things to Kavik. It was simply because he felt as if he could. Keriv’i were not generally so forthcoming with their inner thoughts and emotions, but Khiva trusted him.

Khiva said softly, “I want a family with her. I have always wanted one with her.”

“Then why do you worry about these things?” Kavik asked him.

“I feel guilty,” Khiva said, knowing it was the root of everything. “I feel guilty being so happy with her. I feel blessed, when so many I have known have not been, when my brothers on Everton are still in that brothel, when my mother and blood brother and so many Keriv’i fates are uncertain and unknown. I help bring new life into the universe when so many have died, when so many do not have that blessing, that opportunity.”

“That is the way of things,” Kavik told him softly. “Life brings death and death brings life. We all know this basic principle and it is not a cause for guilt.” Kavik paused and then said, “I used to envy you, if I am being truthful.”

Khiva’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“You were the Prince of Firestones. Even your brother envied you. You were the direct heir to everything. You never had to worry about wealth, or food, or females, or honoring your family. You had it all and more. You had Kerivu’s undying respect. Many males would have liked to be in your position.”

Khiva’s jaw clenched. Hadn’t Tavak and Ravu said something similar when he’d tried to convince them to come to Dumera with him? They’d told him that he’d never known what it was like to be hungry or cold.

“There was pressure with that position,” he said softly. “Crushing pressure, sometimes. I do not miss it.”

“Over time, I realized the same,” Kavik said. “I envied you, but after a while, I realized I would not want to be you. You were born into a position of leadership, of power. I cannot imagine the stress that that must’ve brought with it and the sacrifices you had to make. And I think you feel guilt now because you have always been that leader. Many have relied on you, all your life, and so you believe you are responsible for these things. Khiva, you are not responsible for these things.”

Khiva took a sharp inhale through his nostrils, his immediate reaction was to deny Kavik’s words.

“If you bear the burden of all this responsibility alone—of the Keriv’i on Everton, of your family, of the United Worlds, of your female’s pregnancy—it will drive you to madness. It is natural you want to help, but is it worth it at the cost of your female’s and your own happiness?”

No, he thought, immediately. And he felt guilt for it. A constant battle within himself.

Khiva raised his gaze to meet Kavik’s and said, “My brother was fortunate to have you as a friend. You are wise and it would be beneficial for me to take your advice.”

“No doubt it will take time,” Kavik said quietly. “But soon, I hope you find the peace you are looking for.”

“In a way, I have found it,” Khiva admitted. “Evelyn brings me peace. She is what I have always wanted, what I have always needed. And now, she is giving me a child too.”

“You have much to be thankful for,” Kavik said. “And you are deserving of it, despite what you may think.”

Khiva let those words sink in, so deep he felt them running through his blood, pumping through his veins, nourishing his entire body. They were quiet for a long while, though it did not feel as heavy as it had before.

“Can I ask you something, Prince?” Kavik asked softly.

Khiva grunted at the name but said, “Yes.”

“Have you ever thought of making them again?”

The question seemed to fill the room like water, rising higher and higher until Khiva thought he would suffocate from it.

“No,” he finally said, like he was gasping for air. “Never.”

“Why not?”

“Because they caused the destruction of our planet,” Khiva said. “Because they cost so many lives.”

“Ah,” Kavik said, blowing out a long breath. “Another thing you worry about, you bear on your shoulders, no doubt.”

“It is true.”

“Firestones did not cause the destruction of our planet, Prince. It was greed and politics and war that destroyed Kerivu.”

“And firestones played a large part of greed and politics and war,” Khiva countered. “You cannot deny that.”

“They were also a source of prosperity and happiness for our people,” Kavik argued. “They became a large part of our culture, of the celebration of it. They brought wealth in a time of poverty and hope in a time of darkness. You, Prince, cannot deny that.”

Khiva went quiet, for Evelyn had said something eerily similar to him once.

Kavik continued by saying, “You loved making firestones.”

“How do you know that?” Khiva challenged.

“Because your brother told me. He said he’d never seen you happier than when you were in the labs.”

The mention of his brother squeezed at his chest. Because his brother had always known him best of all.

He remembered everything about making firestones. He remembered the process, the forge, the heat, the way the finished stone shimmered and glinted in the light, as if he had captured flame itself within.

“I did,” Khiva said softly.

“And you do not want to make them again?” Kavik asked. “Ever? I’m sure it can be done here on Dumera. The minerals and metals are similar.”

His answer came slower. “No. I do not.”

“You want to remain a miner?” Kavik asked, pressing. “Live the life of hard labor? I am sure you have realized your body can only take so much. We will age. We will weaken. Then where will we be?”

Khiva’s jaw clenched. “As long as my female and offspring are well and cared for, I will work until all my bones are broken, until I cannot any longer.”

“Then where will they be?”

Khiva made a sound of frustration. “Did my brother ever tell you that you have an irritating habit of pressing too much?”

“Often,” Kavik replied. “Yet, he still remained my friend.”

Khiva shook his head. “What do you gain from it? To challenge me to make firestones again?”

Kavik rolled his shoulder. “I can set up exports. Unlike you, I have no intention of mining until my body is broken. I am seeking other paths.”

“So you want me to create firestones again so you can profit off the exports?”

“Yes,” Kavik said.

Khiva almost laughed. At least the male was honest. He found that…refreshing.

“Think about it,” Kavik said. “I plan to make Dumera my home, as you have. There is much time to think about it.”

“There is nothing to think about,” was all Khiva said in reply.

Kavik rolled his shoulders again.

Khiva went quiet, as did Kavik. He didn’t know how long they sat there, in silence, in that small communication base room.

But eventually, Khiva said, “We should try to reboot the system now.”

So, both of them stood from their places and did just that. And Khiva waited with bated breath, because in his mind, this was their last chance.

“It is connecting,” Kavik said, in a hushed tone as they watched the wires fire up, as the power generator began to churn.

Khiva’s heartbeats sped up until they were pounding in his chest, until he felt like he couldn’t breathe because of it. This was it. This was what they had been waiting for.

“The patch number,” Khiva said hurriedly, seeking the control console, where he quickly thumbed in the number Kavik had been given.

And after a few more breathless moments…the patch number connected to its intended receiver.