Page 183 of Destined For Her Alien Daddy

Rolaev lowers her hand slowly. “In meaning?”

“Your internal continuity relies on preventing others from encountering origin-disruption.”

Her eyes blaze. “Because origin-disruption kills.”

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Her voice cracks open around the word. “I watched colonies tear themselves apart. I watched children starve while their parents debated whether care still mattered in an accidental universe. I watched soldiers become beasts because they believed morality was decorative. I built walls because your carelessness made truth poisonous.”

Echo’s form flickers.

The expression that crosses its almost-face now is not embarrassment.

It is grief learning itself too late.

“I did not know this happened,” Echo says.

Rolaev steps toward the rupture, shaking. “That absolves nothing.”

“No.”

The answer steals the next words from her.

I feel Ghar beside me, his warmth cutting through the impossible cold. His hand finally settles against my back, steady but not controlling. My anger does not vanish, but it changes shape. It spreads out until it touches grief, absurdity, and the terrible fact that Echo is not a god. It is not even a proper villain. It is an echo of something vast enough to be careless and now present enough to be ashamed.

That feels almost worse.

I look up at it. “The Precursors found your records.”

“Yes.”

“They built myths to contain the damage.”

“Some did. Some argued. Some wept. Some preserved what they feared future beings might need.”

The archive responds, showing faint images of Precursor councils again, not the sterile classifications this time but faces bent with exhaustion. Hands touching records. Heads bowed. Arguments held over eons. The myth-makers do not look like tyrants in this memory. They look like frightened custodians standing where I stand, realizing truth is heavier than discovery.

“They lied,” Ghar says.

Echo turns to him. “They translated.”

His face hardens. “A convenient word.”

“Yes,” Echo says softly. “Many convenient words hide violence.”

Ghar’s gold eyes narrow, but he does not answer.

Echo studies him with unsettling care. “You are grieving sacred architecture.”

Ghar’s hand presses slightly against my back. “I am grieving many things.”

“Your bond with this one caused distress because you believed its meaning depended on external design.”

I stiffen. “Let’s not poke the traumatized Vakutan with cosmic commentary.”

Ghar’s mouth moves faintly. “I am capable of answering.”

“Are you sure? Because I am very prepared to start yelling at pre-reality again.”