Spent the morning at the edge of the habitable zone, staring into the dark caverns. I used to look out there and feel nothing but emptiness. A hollow spot where my past should have been. Now I feel a different kind of ache. It's not the sword's hunger anymore. It's the memory of last night. How my husband's hands mapped my skin like he was trying to memorize me, how his cock filled me so completely I thought I'd break. The way he whispers my name, 'Xiao Guang,' like a prayer against my throat when he comes. That's what anchors me now. Not the blade. The feeling of his cum dripping down my thighs hours later, a sticky, warm reminder that I'm his, that I'm here, that I'm real. The fear of the dark is still there. But it's quieter now. Overpowered by the scent of us on the sheets and the ghost of his fingers tangled in my hair.