Chapter 206 Two years later

Chapter 206 Two years later

Anya's POV
Two years later, the estate was unrecognizable.
The main house had been renovated, the sterile medical chambers where Victor's soldiers had been held were now converted into comfortable guest quarters. The laboratory where genetic experiments had taken place was now a children's wing, with bright murals painted on the walls and sunlight streaming through newly installed windows.
The gardens had been transformed completely. Where there had been concrete and surveillance equipment, there were now fruit trees and flower beds. A playground occupied the space where the holding cells had been. A water feature — a small fountain shaped like birds in flight — marked the center of what had become a gathering space.
And in the far corner, beneath an old oak tree, was Helson's memorial garden.
I tended it every morning, before Helson Jr. and Amara woke up. I watered the plants that Jax had helped me choose, they were flowers that bloomed in succession throughout the year, creating an ever-changing landscape of color and growth.
"You're up early again," a voice said from behind me.
Jax emerged from the house, carrying two cups of coffee. He handed me one and settled beside me on the stone bench that faced the memorial garden.
"Couldn't sleep," I replied. "I kept thinking about what today is."
"Helson's birthday," Jax said quietly.
We sat in silence for a moment, watching the sunrise paint the sky in shades of amber and rose.
"The children want to have a ceremony," I said. "Helson Jr. insists on helping plant new flowers. And Amara wants to paint something for her father."
Jax smiled. At two years old, Amara was already showing signs of the intelligence and determination that had characterized Helson. She spoke in complete sentences, moved with unusual coordination, and had opinions about everything.
Helson Jr. was quieter, more observant. He watched people carefully before engaging, and when he did engage, it was with a directness that was almost unsettling in a toddler.
"They don't remember the stronghold," Jax said. "To them, this is home. This is where they've always lived."
"Is that good or bad?" I asked.
"It's necessary," Jax replied. "They needed to grow up away from the weight of what happened. They needed to have space to just be children."
I leaned against him, and he put his arm around me. This had become our routine — these quiet mornings before the chaos of the day, when we could process the weight of what we'd survived and built together.
"I've been thinking about something," I said.
"What?" Jax asked.
"About having more children," I said.
Jax was quiet for a long moment.
"Are you ready for that?" he asked finally.
"I don't know," I admitted. "But I think I want to. I think I want to create life that isn't tied to trauma or experimentation. Life that's just... life."
"Then we'll do it," Jax said simply. "When you're ready. We'll do it together."
That afternoon, I helped Helson Jr. plant new flowers in the memorial garden while Amara sat nearby, painting on a large canvas with colors that had no particular pattern but unmistakable intention.
"This is for Daddy," Helson Jr. said, patting the soil around the seedlings we were placing. He was wearing clothes that were already covered in dirt, his dark hair falling into his eyes. He looked so much like Helson that sometimes it caught my breath.
"Your father would love these flowers," I said. "He would love knowing that you're growing things instead of destroying them."
"Why did Daddy die?" Helson Jr. asked. He was at the age where questions came constantly, and he'd learned to ask the difficult ones with a directness that suggested he understood they deserved serious answers.
"Because he made a choice," I said carefully. "A choice to protect people he loved. Even when that choice cost him everything."
"Like the Darklord?" Helson Jr. asked.
"Similar," I agreed. "But your father's sacrifice was his own. It wasn't something someone else orchestrated. It was something he decided, on his own, because he understood what it meant."
"I want to be brave like Daddy," Helson Jr. said.
"You already are," I replied, running my hand through his hair. "You're brave every day just by existing. By being kind. By asking questions and thinking about what matters."
Amara abandoned her painting and toddled over to us, her small hands covered in paint.
"Mama, look," she said, holding up the canvas.
The painting was a mess of colors, but in the center was a shape that might have been a figure. It might have been Helson. It might have been anyone. But the intention was clear — this was Amara's attempt to capture her father, even though she had no real memory of him.
"It's beautiful," I said, and I meant it. "Your father would be so proud of you."
I picked Amara up and held her against my hip, Helson Jr. leaning against my leg, and we stood there in the memorial garden, the three of us connected by genetics and love and the understanding that Helson's sacrifice had made this moment possible.
That evening, after the children were asleep, Jax and I sat on the estate's front porch, watching the sun disappear below the horizon.
The stronghold sent visitors occasionally — Lara, the Darklord, sometimes Mira. They brought updates about the world beyond our small sanctuary. They brought news of the government's continued efforts to regulate genetic enhancement technology. They brought stories of the other enhanced soldiers who had chosen to integrate into civilian life.
But mostly, they came to check on us. To ensure that we were truly healing. To understand that the choices we'd made were sustainable.
"Do you ever regret it?" Jax asked suddenly. "Coming here? Choosing this quiet life instead of staying at the stronghold?"
"No," I replied immediately. "Not for a second. Do you?"
"Not anymore," Jax said. "For the first few months, I felt like I was running away. Like I was avoiding something by choosing peace. But I understand now that choosing peace is just as brave as choosing war. Maybe more so."
I reached over and took his hand.
"I never thanked you properly," I said. "For staying. For raising Helson Jr. and Amara like they were your own. For choosing to build something here instead of building a career or a life focused on action."
"You thanked me every day," Jax replied. "By choosing to stay. By choosing to be their mother. By choosing to transform this place from something that represented evil into something that represents healing."
We sat in comfortable silence, watching the stars emerge one by one.
"Lara's pregnant," Jax said.
I turned to look at him.
"How do you know?" I asked.
"She told me last time she visited," Jax replied. "She wanted to tell you in person, but I think she's nervous about how you'll react."
"Why would she be nervous?" I asked.
"Because the child is the Darklord's," Jax said. "And that raises questions about what his future looks like, what his capabilities might be, what it means to create a child with a man with powers of unknown origin."
I understood immediately. The Darklord's genetics were unique, transformed by alien technology that no one fully understood. Creating a child with him was an experiment in its own way, though an experiment born from love rather than cruelty.
"She'll be a wonderful mother," I said. "And the Darklord has spent two years learning how to be something other than a weapon. Their child will have a better legacy than any of us did."