Esther Andoh

Your newborn son was crying again. The sound was loud, but constant, his little cries filling every corner of the house. You were lying under the thick furs, instinctively trying to sit up.

The moment you moved, pain shot through your body. A fever had settled over you two days ago, leaving you weak, dizzy, and barely able to stay awake for more than an hour at a time. The healer had assured both you and Kwei that you would recover, but your body needed rest.

Rest.

It was the one thing you could not seem to have. Before you could force yourself to sit up, a hand rested against your shoulder.

“No. You stay.”

“Our son…”

“I know.”

“You do not know how to…” You looked at him with tired eyes. This was not his duty by Yautja law. It was yours.

“I will learn.” His answer left no room for argument, law or not.

He pulled the fur back over your shoulders, tucking it around you before getting out of the nest.

Your eyes followed his every move. 

Your enormous husband, the one feared by countless warriors, respected throughout the clan, moved toward a cradle no bigger than one of his hunting packs.

The baby cried harder. Kwei frowned.

“I am here.”

His deep voice filled the room. Nothing changed. The crying only grew louder. He carefully lifted your son into his arms. It looked almost ridiculous, the size of Kwei’s hands compared to the tiny body he held so carefully.

“There.” The crying continued. “You are safe.”

But your son was still crying. Kwei adjusted his hold. He had seen you cradle the baby countless times. He tried copying you. 

Didn’t work.

“Our little hunter.” The baby screamed. Kwei blinked. “…You are not hunting.”

More crying.

He glanced helplessly toward the nest. You were watching him with half-open eyes. He looked back at the baby.

“I have defeated creatures larger than this house. I once fought three warriors. You are a lot more difficult.”

He checked the blanket. Dry. He reached for the bottle.

The baby refused it. 

He paced.

Still crying.

He bounced him gently.

More crying.

Every solution he knew failed. His breathing grew slower. Not because he was calm. Because he was trying very hard not to panic.

He had faced death. He had watched hunters fall beside him. He had stood against creatures that could tear him apart. None of those moments had made his heart race like this. Because he understood battle. He did not understand this.

“Kwei…”

Your voice was barely more than a whisper. He turned immediately.

“I think…” You smiled weakly. “He wants you closer.”

“I am holding him.”

“You are.” You patted the place beside you. “Come here.”

Kwei sat on the edge of the nest, still holding the crying baby. You shifted with obvious effort, every movement making him wince more than it seemed to hurt you.

“You should rest.”

“I will.”

You reached out slowly.

“May I?”

He carefully lowered the baby, the little one immediately stretched his tiny hands toward you. 

“There you are.”

The baby quieted slightly. Not completely, but enough.

“You smell different from me. He knows your scent too, but mine has been with him since before he was born.”

Kwei watched closely.

“He remembers?”

“He does.” You rested one gentle hand over the baby’s back. “But…” You looked at Kwei. “…he needs to learn yours too.”

Kwei remained completely still.

“What do I do?”

“Talk to him.”

“I have.”

“Not like you would speak to another hunter.” A tiny laugh escaped you. “Speak to him like he is your son.”

Kwei looked down. The baby had grown quieter, though little sniffles still escaped him. He hesitated, then spoke again. His voice had changed.

It was no longer the commanding tone he used with warriors, it wasn’t filled the certainty he carried into every hunt.

What remained was something gentle.

“My little one.” The baby blinked. “I know you are upset.”

His large thumb brushed against the baby’s tiny hand.

“I do not know why. But I am trying.” Your heart melted. “I have never done this before.”

The confession came so quietly you almost missed it.

“I know how to hunt. I know how to fight. I know how to protect. But this…” His eyes lifted to yours for only a moment. “…this is much harder.”

“You are doing wonderfully.” You smiled warmly.

“I am failing.”

“You are learning.”

“Is there a difference?”

“There is every difference.” You reached over, laying your hand gently against his arm. “He does not need perfection. He only needs his father.”

The baby made another tiny sound.

Not a cry. A sigh.

Kwei looked down. His son had curled one small hand around one of Kwei’s fingers. Holding on with all the strength his tiny body possessed. This action caused Kwei to freeze.

“He…”

Your smile widened.

“He chose you.”

The little grip tightened, Kwei swallowed.

“I have held spears with less determination.”

You laughed a little and for several long minutes, neither of you spoke.

The baby slowly drifted back to sleep, his breathing evening out against Kwei’s chest. The room became peaceful once more. Only the rain and the fire remained. Kwei continued looking down at his sleeping son.

“I was afraid.”

The admission was almost swallowed by the crackling flames. You turned your head toward him.

“Afraid?”

He nodded once.

“When he cried… I believed something was wrong.”

“You checked everything.”

“I did.”

“And when none of it helped…” His shoulders lowered slightly. “I could not fix it.”

There was frustration in his voice.

Helplessness.

“I have spent my life believing that every problem could be solved. A sharper blade.A better plan. A stronger arm.” He looked at your son. “None of those things matter to him.”

“No. You protected him tonight.”

“I did not stop him crying.”

“You stayed. You kept trying. You loved him through it.”

“So that is enough?” 

“It is more than enough.”

Kwei let out a long breath, shaking his head with the smallest smile.

“I believed becoming a father would be similar to hunting.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“You did?”

“Hunting is considerably easier.”

“I could have told you that.” you laughed. 

“I would not have believed you.”

“I know.”

“I believe you now.”

Still smiling, you rested your head against his shoulder, watching your son sleep peacefully between you. For the first time since your fever began, you did not feel alone. And for the first time since becoming a father, Kwei understood that not every victory came from knowing exactly what to do.

Sometimes, it came from refusing to give up until the people you loved finally felt safe enough to rest.

~Masterlist~

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.

The dual moons burned crimson above the jungle canopy of Yautja Prime when your mates returned from the Great Hunt.

This was no ordinary world. Yautja Prime was the ancestral cradle of the Yautja clans, a planet of endless equatorial jungle where the trees rose like living cathedrals hundreds of meters tall, their trunks armored in iridescent bark that drank the rain and glowed faintly at night. Bioluminescent vines draped the canopy in veils of violet and acid green, while the undergrowth teemed with creatures engineered by nature and the Yautja themselves over millennia—serpentine drakes with venom that could melt bone, pack-hunting felids the size of shuttles, and the occasional feral xenomorph drone that had escaped an old hunt and gone native. The air itself was thick, humid, alive with the metallic tang of ozone from constant lightning storms and the sweet-rot scent of fallen prey. Two moons ruled the sky: the smaller Silver Claw, a cold blade of reflected starlight, and the vast Blood Moon, whose crimson face only fully ignited during the rare alignment known as the Claiming Cycle. When the Blood Moon burned at its zenith, the jungle itself seemed to hold its breath; ancient rites long whispered in the blood-oaths of the clans were performed without question. Honor demanded it. Desire demanded it more.

You had learned all of this the hard way. Three Earth years ago—though time blurred here under alien stars—you had been part of a colonial survey team on a backwater moon when a Yautja hunting party descended. What began as terror ended in survival. K’vok, the massive elder brother whose shoulders could block out a sun, had spared you after you drove a scavenged plasma cutter into the eye of a charging drake that had already killed two of your companions. R’thak, younger, faster, with a mind as sharp as his wrist-blades, had laughed—a rattling, approving sound—and declared you “worthy prey that fights back.” Instead of a skull on their trophy wall, you became their living trophy, their shared ooman mate. At first it was captivity. Then it became training. Then it became need. You learned their guttural language. You learned to move silently through the undergrowth, to skin a kill with their curved daggers, to wait naked on the furs exactly as ordered. And you learned pleasure—raw, overwhelming, alien pleasure that no human man could ever match.

The shared den was carved high in the fork of a world-tree whose roots plunged into a glowing river valley. Inside, the space was vast yet intimate: woven mats of dried razor-grass covered the floor, piled with layered hides from every hunt the brothers had ever won. Trophies lined the curved walls—polished xenomorph skulls, the elongated cranium of a rival clan leader K’vok had bested in single combat, and a single human skull from a coward who had begged for mercy. Weapons hung in neat racks: the combi-stick, the plasma caster, the twin sets of wrist-blades etched with clan runes. Vents in the living wood allowed moonlight and jungle air to flow through, while hidden thermal netting kept the interior warm enough for your softer skin. The scent of the nest was constant—dried grasses, your own warm skin, and the deep, masculine musk of your mates that never quite left the furs no matter how many times you aired them. Tonight the air felt heavier, charged, as if the Blood Moon itself pressed down through the vents and painted every surface in strips of cold silver and hot, demanding red.

You had obeyed their final order before they left for the Great Hunt. Naked. Aching. Waiting. You lay stretched across the central mound of hides, back arched, thighs already parted, skin glistening from the sacred oil they had left you—a thick, spiced balm that sank into your pores and made every nerve sing. Hours had passed. Your nipples were tight, aching peaks. Your cunt throbbed with empty need, slick coating your inner thighs. You had not allowed yourself release; they had forbidden it. “The moon will watch you burn for us,” K’vok had rumbled, mandibles flaring as he traced one claw down your sternum. R’thak had smiled with that sweeter, sharper edge and added, “And when we return drenched in the blood of worthy prey, we will quench that fire together under the rite.” So you waited, pulse hammering, body a live wire of anticipation.

The jungle outside fell silent in stages—the night calls of drakes quieting, the wind itself seeming to still—as heavy footfalls approached the den’s wide, arched entrance. Not the silent stalk of hunters on the prowl, but the deliberate, victorious stride of conquerors coming home. Your breath caught. The dual moons framed the opening perfectly, their intersecting light turning the threshold into a gateway of blood and silver.

K’vok entered first. He was a mountain of muscle and scarred green hide, broader than any human you had ever seen, his armored shoulders filling the entire doorway. Fresh alien rain and darker streaks of prey blood glistened across his chest and arms; the deep gashes from the hunt were already sealing, thanks to the regenerative mesh beneath his skin. His dreadlocked tendrils, heavy with bone beads and trophy rings, swayed as he moved. Golden eyes—cool, commanding—locked onto you instantly. Behind him came R’thak, leaner but no less deadly, his frame a swift echo of his brother’s. Amber eyes glowed warmer, almost playful, yet the blood painting his mandibles and chest spoke of the same savage success. Both still wore their partial armor, but their postures were loose now, satisfied, predatory.

They found you waiting on the furs exactly as they ordered—naked, and aching.

The heavy air of the nest, thick with the scent of dried grasses, your own warm skin, and the lingering musk of your mates, seemed to pulse around you. You were naked, stretched across the woven mats, your back arched against a mound of soft hides, your entire body a map of aching need. The two moons outside—the smaller silver crescent and the vast, crimson Blood Moon—cast intersecting bands of pale and lurid light through the open vents, painting your flesh in alternating strips of cold clarity and hot, demanding shadow.

They shed their gear without words, the clatter of weapons and trophies set aside a ritual you’ve witnessed many times. But tonight, under the Blood Moon, the ritual felt different. It felt final. It felt like a claiming.

K’vok approached, the heat of his body radiating towards you as he knelt on the mats. His large, clawed hand—the one that can crush bone—came to your cheek, the touch surprisingly gentle, the rough pads tracing the line of your jaw. “Our little prize,” his voice was a graveled rumble, translated through the device on his wrist. “Aching for us. The moon watches. It demands the rite.”

R’thak crouched at your other side, his hand sliding down your belly, his fingers splaying over your skin. “We have missed this warmth,” he said, his tone softer, sweeter, but the intent behind it was just as fierce. “We have missed this softness between our hands.”

You couldn’t speak. You simply nodded, your head tilting back, offering your throat. It was an instinctual gesture, one they taught you. K’vok’s mandibles flared, then closed, the hard, chitinous edges clicking softly against the skin just above your collarbone, a promise of pressure, of possession. He didn’t bite, not yet. He merely tasted the pulse there with that strange, alien mouth.

Meanwhile, R’thak’s journey continued. His hand slid lower, parting your thighs which you’d already spread wide in anticipation. His fingers, so much longer and thicker than any human’s, found the slick heat between your legs. You gasped as two of those fingers glided through your folds, gathering your wetness. “So ready,” R’thak murmured, his head dipping down. “So open for us.”

He didn’t just push in. He investigated. His face, with its complex mandibles and tusks, lowered between your thighs. You felt the cool, smooth exterior of his brow against your inner knee, then the surprising, velvet-soft interior of his mouth as it opened. His tongue was not a human tongue. It was longer, thicker at the base, tapering to a more pointed tip, and it was hot. It slid out, and the first contact with your cunt was a slow, deliberate sweep from the very bottom of your slit up to the top, parting your lips, exposing your clit to the humid air of the nest.

The sensation was shocking, overwhelming. It wasn’t a human lick; it was a coating. His tongue laid a thick, wet stripe of sensation over your entire exposed vulva. You cried out, a short, sharp sound, and your hips jerked upwards.

K’vok watched this, his golden eyes fixed on his brother’s work. Then his own head lowered. His mouth, larger, more dominant, found yours. He didn’t kiss like a human. His mandibles framed your face, the tusks brushing your cheeks, and then his own tongue—even thicker, hotter than R’thak’s—pushed past your lips. It filled your mouth, stretching your jaw, a heavy, invading presence that tasted of something foreign, mineral, and deeply masculine. It explored the roof of your mouth, the underside of your tongue, and you sucked on it instinctively, your own tongue trying to wrestle with the impossible mass of it.

You were split between them. R’thak’s tongue at your cunt became more focused. He found your clit and circled it, not with delicate flicks, but with broad, grinding passes of that muscular, alien organ. It was like being rubbed with a hot, wet stone. The pressure was immense, direct, and it sent violent shocks up through your belly. He then pushed deeper, the tip of his tongue probing into your entrance, not penetrating yet, but fucking you with just that tip, in and out, a shallow, maddening rhythm.

In your mouth, K’vok’s tongue retreated slightly, then pushed back in, fucking your mouth in a slow, mimicking sync with his brother’s actions below. You were being tongue-fucked in two places at once. Your hands flew out, one tangling in the dreadlocked cords hanging from K’vok’s head, the other gripping the smoother crest of R’thak’s skull as he worked between your legs. Your moans were swallowed by K’vok’s mouth, becoming guttural, choked sounds.

R’thak’s rhythm changed. He withdrew his tongue from your cunt, and you felt the loss, a cold emptiness. But then you felt his fingers again. Two of them, slick with your juices and his saliva, pressed against your entrance. They didn’t ask. They simply pushed. The stretch was immediate, glorious. His fingers were so thick, so long, they filled you in a way no human man could. He worked them in, deep, to the knuckle, and then began to move them, scissoring them, stretching your inner walls apart. “Look at this,” he growled, his voice vibrating against your thigh. “Look at how this soft human cunt opens for my hand. It is beautiful.”

K’vok released your mouth, his mandibles clicking near your ear. “She is ready,” he stated, his hand moving to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh, his thumb rubbing over your nipple until it pebbled into a hard, aching point. “The moon is high. We begin.”

R’thak withdrew his fingers, and you felt a gush of your own release follow them. You were already so close. But they weren’t letting you finish yet. This was just the preparation.

K’vok moved with a decisive power. He gripped your hips, his hands spanning almost your entire waist, and turned you. He laid you back flat on the furs, then climbed over you, his weight settling between your thighs. His own cock, which you’d only glimpsed before in moments of urgency, was now fully presented to you.

It was monstrous. A thick, dark green shaft, patterned with subtle ridges, emerged from a slit in his lower abdomen. The head was a pronounced, bulbous crown, wider than the shaft itself, and from its tip, a clear, viscous fluid already beaded. The sheer size of it—you knew it was longer than your forearm, thicker than your wrist—made your cunt clench in a mixture of fear and desperate want.

“You will take me first,” K’vok said, not a question, a decree. He positioned himself, the broad crown of his cock nudging against your soaked, stretched opening. “You will feel this fucking, and you will know who your primary mate is.”

He didn’t thrust. He pressed. The head began to enter you, and the stretch was beyond anything you’d ever known. It was a burning, glorious fullness that made you cry out, your back bowing off the mats. Your inner walls, already sensitized by R’thak’s fingers, struggled to accommodate the invasion. They spasmed, they clung, and then they relented, accepting the impossible diameter. K’vok growled, a sound of deep satisfaction, as he pushed forward, sinking inch by inexorable inch into your cunt.

You were being split open by him. Your vision swam. You could feel every ridge on his cock scraping along your sensitive inner flesh, a textured, dragging sensation that sent sparks through your nerves. He bottomed out, his huge pelvis meeting yours, and you felt the entirety of him inside you, a solid, heated column claiming your deepest space.

Behind you, R’thak moved. You felt his hands on your shoulders, turning you slightly, guiding you onto your side. Then his body slotted against your back, his own heat enveloping you. His cock, similar to his brother’s but slightly less thick, though no less long, pressed against the cleft of your ass. You felt his fingers, slick with something—his saliva, your juices—probing your other entrance.

“This one is for me,” R’thak whispered into your ear, his voice a hot, sweet contrast to K’vok’s dominating growl. “My brother fills your cunt. I will fill this tight, perfect human ass.” His finger circled your anus, then pushed just inside. The intrusion was sharp, shocking, but the stretch was different. It was tighter, more resistive. He worked his finger in, gently, as K’vok began to move within your cunt.

K’vok’s first withdrawal was a slow, dragging pull, his cock seeming to suction against your walls. Then his thrust back in was faster, harder, a punch of fullness that made you scream. Your body was pinned between their two masses, a sandwich of alien heat and power. R’thak, behind you, added his own finger, then two, stretching your ass slowly, meticulously, while his brother fucking your cunt set a brutal, driving rhythm.

“You feel him,” R’thak murmured, his mouth near your ear. “You feel K’vok fucking your cunt so deep. Now feel me opening this other hole. You are ours. Every part of you.”

The dual sensations threatened to unravel you. K’vok’s cock in your cunt was a relentless, pistoning force, each thrust jolting your entire body. The head of his cock ground against your deepest spot with every inward drive, a pressure that bordered on pain but was drowned in pleasure. R’thak’s fingers in your ass were a counterpoint, a slow, deep burn of stretching that made you feel impossibly full, impossibly claimed.

Then R’thak’s fingers withdrew. You felt the cooler air on your stretched ring, and then the hot, blunt pressure of his cock’s crown replacing them. “Now,” he said, and his tone was no longer just sweet. It was hungry. “Now I take this.”

He pushed. The entrance to your ass was tighter, more resistant than your cunt. The initial penetration was a sharp, stinging blaze of sensation that made you gasp, your body stiffening. K’vok, feeling your reaction, pinned you more firmly, his hands on your hips holding you immobile as his younger brother worked himself into you. R’thak went slowly, with a patience that was almost cruel. You felt every incremental inch of his cock entering your ass, the stretch a searing, full ache that built and built. You were panting, your cries becoming a continuous, broken stream of sound.

He finally sank fully in, his pelvis meeting the backs of your thighs, and you were filled. Completely. K’vok’s cock was buried in your cunt, R’thak’s cock was buried in your ass. You were a conduit between them, stuffed beyond belief, held between their two bodies. The feeling was overwhelming, a pressure so immense it felt like your very skeleton might bend. But within that pressure was a pleasure so profound it whited out your thoughts.

They didn’t move immediately. They held there, both buried deep, their low growls harmonizing around you, vibrating through your flesh. K’vok’s mandibles clicked against the side of your head. “Bound,” he said. “Under the moon. You are ours.”

Then, in a unity that spoke of a lifetime of sync, they began to move.

It was not a chaotic, individual rhythm. It was a perfect, coordinated fuck. K’vok pulled back from your cunt, and as he did, R’thak pushed forward into your ass. Then K’vok thrust back into your cunt, and R’thak withdrew from your ass. They were moving in opposite directions, a seesaw of immense penetration that rocked your entire body between them. Each withdrawal from one hole was countered by a filling of the other. You were never empty. You were always full, just the source of the fullness shifting from front to back with every rocking motion of their powerful bodies.

The sensation was indescribable. It was a constant, rolling wave of being stretched, filled, and frictioned. K’vok’s cock in your cunt dragged against your sensitized walls with a rough, glorious texture. R’thak’s cock in your ass moved with a smoother, deeper slide, the tightness of the channel making every motion a bright, sharp pleasure-pain. Their bodies slammed against yours, the impact a physical drumbeat to the fucking. Their growls, their clicking mandibles, the wet, slapping sounds of their unions with your body, filled the nest.

K’vok’s hand moved to your breast again, squeezing roughly, his thumb rubbing your nipple in time with his thrusts. “This cunt is mine,” he grunted, each word punctuated by a deep drive into you. “I fucking claim it. I fucking own it.”

R’thak’s mouth was at your ear, his tongue sometimes licking the shell, his words a fevered contrast. “And this perfect ass is mine,” he whispered, then groaned as he pushed deep. “I love how tight it is around my cock. I love fucking it while my brother fucks your cunt.”

You were lost in it. Your own cries had become a continuous, wordless keen. Your hands scrambled against them, gripping whatever part of them you could—K’vok’s corded arm, R’thak’s lean thigh. Your hips tried to move, to match their rhythm, but you were utterly pinned, a vessel for their shared use. The pleasure built in a terrifying crescendo. It wasn’t a single point of focus; it was a whole-body eruption brewing from both holes, from the crushing pressure of their bodies, from the filthy, possessive words they growled into your skin.

You felt your climax approaching, a tidal wave that had no single source but came from everywhere. Your cunt spasmed violently around K’vok’s cock, your inner muscles fluttering in a frantic attempt to milk him. Your ass clenched around R’thak’s shaft, the tight ring gripping him. You shook between them, your toes curling, your back arching as much as their hold allowed.

“She is breaking,” K’vok rumbled, his thrusts becoming faster, harder, more punishing.

“Let her break,” R’thak answered, his own rhythm increasing to match. “Let her scream for us.”

The wave crashed. It wasn’t a release; it was a demolition. Your body convulsed, a violent, uncontrollable shaking that started deep in your belly and radiated out to your fingertips. A scream tore from your throat, raw and shattered, echoing in the nest. You didn’t just cum; you exploded. Sensation flooded every nerve, a white-hot ecstasy that had no end, only a sustained, brutal peak. You felt your cunt gushing around K’vok’s cock, a flood of your own release. You felt your ass pulsing around R’thak’s, a rhythmic clamping that he groaned into.

They didn’t stop. They fucked you through your climax, their movements becoming even more relentless, driving you up into a second, even sharper peak before the first had even faded. You were sobbing now, tears mixing with the sweat on your face, your body completely surrendered, completely used.

K’vok’s growls became ragged, his thrusts losing their perfect rhythm for a final, frantic pounding. “Mine!” he roared, and you felt his cock swell even thicker inside your cunt, the ridges becoming more pronounced. Then, a hot, sudden gush deep inside you. His cum was not like human semen. It was hotter, thicker, a viscous flood that filled your cunt in a series of powerful, pulsating jets. You felt it, a scalding liquid expansion that pushed against your already overfilled walls. He pumped it into you, his body shuddering against yours, his mandibles locked wide in a silent roar of release.

The sensation of being filled with his cum, while still being fucked in your ass by R’thak, pushed you into a third, bewildering climax. Your vision blurred, your hearing dimmed.

R’thak, spurred by his brother’s completion, drove into your ass with a final, deep series of thrusts. “Take mine too,” he gasped, his sweet voice now cracked with need. “Take my fucking cum in this ass.”

You felt his own release, another flood of that hot, thick alien fluid, this time filling your ass. It was a stretching, burning, claiming sensation that mixed with the overwhelming fullness in your cunt. You were being filled in both holes, stuffed with their cum, a final, liquid claim under the Blood Moon.

They both remained buried in you, their bodies slumped against yours, their heavy breaths hot on your skin. Their cum continued to seep, a hot, internal leak that you felt pooling deep within you. The two moons watched, their light now bathing the three of you—a tangled, exhausted, claimed heap of flesh.

As the Blood Moon slowly began its descent and the first hints of silver dawn crept through the vents, K’vok and R’thak did not pull away. Instead they rolled you gently between them, still joined, their massive arms caging you in a living fortress of heat and muscle. K’vok pressed his forehead to yours, mandibles clicking softly in the ancient gesture of eternal bond. “The rite is sealed,” he rumbled, voice low and reverent. “Blood and seed and moon. You are no longer trophy. You are triad-mate. Ours until the stars burn cold.” R’thak nuzzled the curve of your neck, his tongue tracing the rapid flutter of your pulse. “And we are yours,” he whispered, sweeter, yet no less fierce. “We love our sweet little ooman.”

They stayed locked inside you as the jungle woke, their cocks softening but still plugging their claim, letting their combined release stay deep where it belonged. Outside, the Blood Moon faded to a ember glow, but inside the den the fire between the three of you only burned brighter—eternal, possessive, and forever. The Great Hunt would come again, but now you would stand at their sides, marked, mated, and unbreakable under any sky.

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.