A long silence lingered.
The steel door quivered, then slowly creaked open—emitting a faint groan like the weary sigh of an old machine. A soft wave of warmth seeped out from within, in stark contrast to the arid cold of the artificial Martian atmosphere. That gentle heat swept over me like a fragile sunbeam breaking through a ruthless winter. In that fleeting moment, it felt as if I had stepped out from the endless gloom of life as a police officer in Hadus City, into something else—into a sanctuary.
Then, like a silver bell ringing through the static chaos of my soul, a voice called out, clear and bright:
"Uncle Lionel's here, Mom!"
Tiny footsteps pattered across the tiled floor. Jeanne bolted toward me, her small feet thumping with excitement. Her twin red braids danced behind her like little flickering flames. Without hesitation, she wrapped herself around my leg like a baby koala hugging a tree—innocent, warm, and grounding.
That single gesture unlocked a distant memory—faded echoes of Earth. A younger me clinging to my father's leg during a sunny weekend at the zoo. That child with fiery hair had been me. But now... I was the adult. Jeanne was the spark in my life.
"Good evening, Jeanne," I said softly, lifting her effortlessly with one arm. She was light—no heavier than a spring breeze—but the warmth she carried felt like home. Her hair released a delicate scent of lavender, washing the Martian dust from my spirit.
"Hi, Uncle!" Jeanne beamed, her smile as radiant as the morning sun. My heart melted.
From deeper within the house, Rose emerged—my sister. A woman who had weathered the years with the quiet strength of a mother and the calm grace of a sister. Her thick grey sweater embraced her like a second skin. Simple. Subtle. Yet radiating warmth and trust.
"You made it," she said, her eyes glowing with that familiar tenderness. "Come in—don't stand out there in the cold."
"Thanks for having me, Rose," I replied with a small smile, emotion rising in my chest as I stepped inside, gently closing the door behind me to trap the warmth within.
"No need to be so formal, Lio," she chuckled. The way she said Lio—my childhood nickname back when I was a wild, reckless brat—stirred something deep and unspoken in me.
I smiled, unable to answer. Some feelings couldn't be captured by words alone.
"You're still my little brother," she added, with a teasing but heartfelt tone. "Even if you're a badass space cop now, to me you'll always be that scrappy kid who used to climb the roof chasing starlight."
"Of course," I said, my voice thick. My eyes burned, but I held it in. I wouldn't ruin this holy night with tears.
Out there in the cold, merciless expanse of Mars, I was a soldier—a hunter of criminals stalking the neon-lit slums of Hadus. But here, in this modest home, I could lay down my badge, holster my ion blaster, and be... just a man. A brother. An uncle. A piece of a small but unbreakable family.
Still holding Jeanne in my arms, I stepped fully into the house. The door sealed behind us with a soft hiss, locking out the void.
The living room was small and cozy, bathed in golden ambient light. The scent of cinnamon candles drifted through the air, mingling with the lavender from Jeanne's hair, painting the room with a nostalgic warmth.
In the corner stood a modest artificial Christmas tree. Though not grand, it was adorned with love—glittering lights, crimson orbs, and a tiny angel perched proudly at its crown. Holiday spirit hummed softly here, not loud, not extravagant—but sacred and serene.
"You two go hang out for a bit," Rose said, resting a gentle hand on my shoulder. "John and I are finishing up dinner."
"Yay! Uncle, come play with me!" Jeanne chirped, her eyes shining like twin stars.
"Alright, alright," I laughed, setting her down and collapsing onto the pale brown sofa. "What shall we do first, m'lady?"
"Hmm..." Jeanne tapped her cheek like a tiny knight considering her next quest.
"If you don't decide soon," I warned in mock exhaustion, "I might just fall asleep right here..."
"Nooo! Don't sleep!" she shrieked, tugging at my jacket.
"Okay okay—how about a story?" she gasped, eyes sparkling with glee.
"Deal," I said, lifting her gently onto my lap.
I adjusted my posture, one hand resting gently on her head.
"Once upon a time, in a land filled with radiant light, there was a kingdom of peace and plenty. The King and Queen were blessed by the divine with a little angel—their only daughter, a Princess…"
Jeanne listened, eyes wide, breath soft. I spun the tale with a steady, soothing tone—half knight, half father.
The story unfolded: darkness rising, the fall of the kingdom, the Queen's final act of love—sending her daughter away with a loyal knight.
"And then what?" Jeanne asked, her voice hushed, concern and wonder mingled in her gaze.
I ran a hand through her soft hair and smiled.
"The knight took the princess to a distant land, raised her with honor and care. She grew up brave, wise, and kind. One day, she gathered five noble warriors—people called them the Five Dashing Princes…"
Jeanne clapped her hands with delight, her imagination alight.
"Together, they rose up, defeated the darkness, and brought peace back to the world."
"That was amazing!" she cheered.
At that moment, Rose called out, knocking lightly on the wooden frame:
"Dinner's ready, you two!"
"Yes, ma'am!" we chorused, springing up like a synchronized duo.
We stepped into the dining room, aglow under warm pendant lights. John, Rose's husband, was placing the final forks on the table. He looked up and greeted me with a calm nod.
"Hey, good to see you." His voice was deep, gentle—reassuring.
"Evening, John," I replied, genuinely grateful for his quiet presence.
The table was set with care—and the aromas made my stomach rumble in protest.
There was braised pork leg in pâté, a family recipe passed down from our father, perfected by Rose. The rich scent of liver and slow-cooked meat filled the room. Next to it, steamed greens, freshly baked bread still warm, smelling of toasted flour.
Golden fried potatoes, crispy fish balls, all arranged neatly on white ceramic plates, steam rising like prayer.
We joined hands around the table. Jeanne closed her eyes and whispered a blessing, soft and sweet.
I closed mine too.
And in that silence, I made a silent vow:
If there is a God watching from beyond the stars, all I ask is this—keep them safe.
They are the reason I breathe. They are the warmth that saves me from the cold, the breeze that soothes the burn of duty, the fragrant blossom of peace in the springtime of my soul.
I swear this: no matter what pain this body must endure, no matter what I must sacrifice—even if it costs me my life—I will protect them. No enemy, no force in this galaxy will ever touch them.
I opened my eyes.
Jeanne giggled beside me. Rose passed a plate with a gentle smile. John poured the wine.
And I realized—
In the cold night on Mars, it didn't matter if we were on Earth or not. Politics, war, all the ugliness I saw in the underbelly of this planet... it had all faded.
Because right now, I was living in something truly miraculous:
Family.