Epilogue 2 – Earth Date
Due to their tireless efforts in halting the invasion and preventing even greater devastation, Umbra and Farah were awarded a tidy sum of money by a grateful government that was still attempting to quantify exactly how much they owed the two of them. It was not an outrageous fortune, nor anything that really compared to her wealth back home, but it was more than enough to afford a few days of comfort.
One of Wellington’s finer hotels had even insisted on hosting them free of charge, citing gratitude, publicity, and what the manager had called “historic goodwill.” Umbra had not entirely understood what that meant, but the suite had been large, the bed soft, and the bath large enough that even she could sit in it without too much issue.
As for the money itself, Umbra could think of no better use for it than spending it on her wife. Farah had expressed curiosity about Earth’s fashion and so they now found themselves stepping into one of the higher-end women’s boutiques in central Wellington. The displays were elegant and minimal, with mannequins posed in flowing fabrics and carefully tailored silhouettes that seemed almost fragile compared to the two beings entering the shop.
Umbra herself had little interest in clothes for her own sake. Nothing in such stores would fit her without extensive alterations, and she didn't want to spend days waiting for something when they would return home by then. She remained dressed as she usually was: dark trousers reinforced at the seams, heavy metal boots that rang softly against the tiled floor, and her well-worn gambeson fitted snugly over her powerful frame. She looked less like a shopper and more like a visiting war monument.
Entering the boutique was, as always, a mildly complicated affair. Umbra had to angle her horn just so and fold her shoulders inward to avoid knocking over the tasteful glass display near the entrance. For once, however, she managed to clear the doorway without cracking plaster or shattering anything delicate, which she considered a modest triumph.
At the back of the shop, the clerk behind the counter looked up, froze for half a second, and then audibly gasped.
“Oh! Hello! You’re Umbra and Farah, right?”
Umbra offered a practiced, diplomatic smile and straightened to her full and rather imposing height. “It would appear our names travel faster than we do,” she replied smoothly. “My wife has taken an interest in Earth clothing. We were hoping you might assist her in finding something to her liking.”
The clerk blinked once, then twice, clearly attempting to process the sight of a tall, horned Nighthaunter calmly discussing fashion while the winged angel stood beside her examining a rack of dresses with open curiosity.
“Yes, of course,” the clerk said quickly, recovering her professional composure. “I would be delighted to help. We may just have to… consider the wings if she intends to try anything on.”
Farah glanced back at her wings thoughtfully, flexing them just enough to make the surrounding fabric displays flutter.
“Do not concern yourself,” Umbra said. “Anything we purchase will be altered when we return home.”
The clerk nodded, still visibly stunned but now clearly excited at the novelty of it all. “In that case,” she said, stepping out from behind the counter, “let’s find her something extraordinary.”
“These ready-made clothes are fascinating,” Farah murmured, her fingers lightly brushing the fabrics as she moved along the racks. “I am far too used to everything being tailored for me,” she added..
“Tailored clothing is still very much a thing,” Umbra replied, watching her carefully as she stepped around a low display, “but it is incredibly expensive for the commoners here. Some things can cost less than a loaf of bread, but this boutique is… well, it is more high end. You will notice the difference in the feel of the fabrics, the cut, the way they fall.”
Farah hummed, a soft sound of agreement or perhaps amusement, as she continued to browse, occasionally lifting a garment and holding it against herself, turning it in the light to see how it shimmered and how it draped over her hand. Umbra hovered close, silently acting as translator whenever the clerk asked questions, explaining sizes, fabrics, or how certain pieces could be altered back home if necessary. When Farah had finally chosen a handful of dresses, skirts, and blouses that made her eyes light up with satisfaction, they paid and offered thanks and exited the store, the faint scent of fresh cotton and polished wood trailing behind them as the door chimed closed.
“Are you hungry, my love?” Umbra asked once they were outside, eyes scanning the flow of pedestrians around them.
“I could eat, dearest,” Farah replied, tilting her head toward a nearby restaurant, her expression brightening. “Is that place an eatery? It smells… curious.”
Umbra followed her gaze and frowned. “It is, yes, but I would recommend almost any other option over that one,” she said cautiously, noting the familiar golden arches looming over the street corner.
“Why?” Farah asked, cocking her head slightly, her wings flexing with the motion.
“That is a fast-food joint,” Umbra explained, her tone almost instructional, “a particular franchise that exists by the thousands all over the world. Their food… has never been good. It used to be cheap and palatable enough, but now it is just bad. Flavorless, synthetic, and heavy with additives. You would be better off elsewhere.”
“I admit,” Farah said, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous curiosity, “I am still intrigued. I wish to taste this… curious food.”
Umbra exhaled slowly, her patience mingled with amusement. “Very well, if that is your desire. Do not say I did not warn you, however.”
Farah grinned, a playful glimmer in her eyes. “Terrible experiences are more memorable when experienced in company,” she said.
Umbra rolled her eyes with half-hearted exasperation, but took her hand, and they crossed the road together after waiting for a bus to pass.
“I was run over by one of those large horseless carriages when I first arrived,” Farah said with a grin.
Umbra blinked at her, a small laugh escaping her. “Truly? That happened to me as well!”
They shared a moment of laughter, their eyes meeting and reflecting mutual disbelief and amusement, before entering the restaurant. Inside, the smell hit Umbra first, her enhanced senses immediately noting the overwhelming sweetness, the artificial oils, and the faint acrid tang of fried food.
“It smells so… synthetic in here,” Farah remarked, wrinkling her nose slightly.
“Mhm,” Umbra murmured.
Several patrons stared openly as they approached the counter, whispers following their passage, phones subtly lifting for pictures and videos, though no one dared approach them directly. The young clerk behind the counter stared for a few tense seconds, caught somewhere between awe and professional composure, before finally regaining herself.
“Welcome… um, how can I help?” she asked, her voice hesitant, almost trembling.
Umbra glanced at Farah, offering a reassuring nod. “Pick what you would like to try based on the pictures,” she said gently, “but be prepared for it to look less impressive in person.”
Farah’s brow furrowed slightly. “Would that not be… a form of deception? To promise one thing and deliver another?”
“You would think so,” Umbra said dryly.
Once Farah made her selection, Umbra placed the order for her and for herself, keeping it simple: three burgers with everything but the meat and sauce removed, then paid and retrieved their ticket, stepping aside to wait. Moments later, their food arrived, steaming and oddly fragrant, and before the growing attention of curious onlookers became uncomfortable, they left and made their way to a small park just down the street. Umbra knew she would never fit comfortably in the chairs inside, so the grassy slope was a far more suitable alternative.
She unpacked the food and handed Farah her fries and drink.
“This… smells curious,” Farah admitted, eyeing the fries with a mix of suspicion and delight. “I did not ask for these.”
“I purchased the combo for you,” Umbra explained. “At least the fries are decent. The rest… we will see.”
Farah delicately picked one, biting down with careful precision. Her eyes widened. “This… is delicious! Crispy, salty, perfect!”
Umbra smiled, pleased by the reaction, then handed her the soda. Farah drank cautiously, scrunching her face at the fizzy, overly sweet taste.
“It is a soft drink,” Umbra explained patiently. “Weak, watery, not much to it. Later, I will get you something better.”
Farah looked at her with mock suspicion but returned to her fries with renewed enthusiasm. They ate together mostly in silence, the sort of comfortable quiet they shared, until the meal was finished. Farah looked up, her eyes softening, and offered an apologetic smile.
“I agree. This was not the finest meal I have eaten,” she admitted, a touch of humor in her tone.
“I did warn you,” Umbra replied, smirking.
“But it was shared together,” Farah said earnestly, “and that makes it memorable. I shall remember it. Though I doubt your claim that the food here could rival that of our queen, or the meals we shared in Ganymede.”
Umbra chuckled softly. “That was the worst this world has to offer, but the bar is far lower than you imagine. Tonight, however, I have a proper meal reserved.”
“If you so wish…” Farah said, unconvinced but intrigued, as Umbra led her on.
Their stroll continued, and Farah’s mood brightened when they stopped at a small hole-in-the-wall shop for a freshly made waffle, the sweet scent drawing her in. Umbra abstained, content to let her wife indulge a little. After dropping Farah’s newly purchased garments at their hotel, they set off for the next destination Umbra had chosen: the local cinema. Farah did not understand much English, but Umbra hoped the experience would at least be novel and entertaining. After a brief deliberation, she selected an action film that promised explosions, daring stunts, and a spectacle that she felt would leave Farah wide-eyed.
They made their way to the back of the theater and claimed a small aisle seat, Umbra settling herself on the floor beside it to accommodate her unusual height and form so she wouldn’t block anyone’s view while still keeping close to Farah. As the lights dimmed and the movie began, Umbra found herself paying little attention to the screen itself, instead observing her wife’s reactions to the moving images, the flicker of wonder and astonishment in her eyes, the way she leaned slightly forward during tense moments, and how her wings twitched unconsciously at particularly dramatic scenes. It was endlessly entertaining to watch, and she allowed herself a small, amused smile at each expression.
When the credits finally rolled, Farah erupted into animated conversation, unable to contain her excitement. “It looked all so real! When that man jumped off the building, I was certain I had to leap up and try to save him!” she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of awe and worry.
“And you would have crashed into the wall,” Umbra said dryly, suppressing a laugh, “which would have been quite amusing, though perhaps embarrassing for you. I held you down to prevent you from making a fool of yourself.”
Farah frowned, her brows knitting slightly. “It was also terribly violent. I do not know if I liked that very much.”
Umbra shrugged, leaning back against the seat. “Better to indulge in fictional violence than real violence,” she replied calmly, “and there are also games that use similar technology to simulate conflict without any real harm. They can be entertaining, in their own way.”
“Horrible! Absolutely horrible,” Farah muttered, shaking her head.
Umbra grinned. “Perhaps you would enjoy a different sort of game. There is one I played long ago that is very peaceful, centered on farming, tending to animals, and watching the land flourish. It is quite relaxing.”
Farah eyed her with mild suspicion, tilting her head. “This world is strange. Very strange indeed.”
“It has its quirks,” Umbra replied, taking her hand and gently guiding her toward the exit. “Come, love, let us go to the restaurant. I made a reservation for us.”
“Fine, fine,” the angel sighed, relenting with a playful roll of her eyes, “but only because I trust you.”
Umbra led her through a few city blocks, careful to avoid the denser traffic and clusters of curious onlookers, until they finally stood outside her favorite Thai restaurant from her human days. The familiar smells and ambient warmth made her heart tug with nostalgia, though she knew she would soon regret some of the indulgences she planned to order. That, however, was a problem for future Umbra to contend with.
They entered, navigating the doorway carefully so as not to disrupt anything with their larger-than-human forms, and were immediately met with the wide-eyed stare of the hostess, who froze as if the two of them had stepped out of a storybook and into reality.
“Reservation for two, please,” Umbra said politely, her voice calm but firm, “under the name Steelblight.”
The hostess blinked several times before flipping through her reservation book and nodding. “Ah, yes, right… there was a special arrangement made for you, as requested. Please, follow me this way.”
Umbra exchanged a brief glance with Farah, who responded with a soft, curious hum as though she were being led into some ceremonial hall rather than a restaurant, and together they followed the hostess deeper into the establishment. The air was warm and fragrant, rich with spices and herbs that curled pleasantly around Umbra’s heightened senses, and the low murmur of conversation filled the space in a way that felt intimate rather than overwhelming. Diners paused mid-sentence as the pair passed, eyes widening, forks hovering in midair, though to their credit most attempted to resume their meals as though a horned Nighthaunter and a winged angel were not threading carefully between the tables.
“Here are your seats, Mrs. and Mrs. Steelblight,” the hostess said politely, gesturing toward a slightly more secluded table near the back where space had clearly been arranged with care.
Each side of the table had been fitted with a cushioned couch rather than standard chairs, likely in anticipation of wings and unusual proportions. Umbra lowered herself cautiously onto hers, and despite the reinforced frame, it emitted a creak beneath her weight. She pretended not to notice.
“Here are your menus,” the hostess added, placing them gently on the table before retreating with one last fascinated glance.
Umbra picked up both menus and handed one across to Farah, who accepted it with interest and immediately began studying the glossy pages.
“This menu is far more appealing than that fast-food place earlier,” Farah observed, scanning the photographs with growing intrigue. “From these paintings at least.”
“Photographs,” Umbra corrected gently, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “And yes, this place is significantly better. I used to treat myself here from time to time. It was one of my favorites.” She folded her own menu closed almost immediately. “Just choose whatever looks appealing to you. I already know what I intend to order.”
Farah looked up at her instead of back down at the page. “I shall have whatever you are having, dearest. I would like to share your favorite dish with you.”
Umbra’s grin widened, warmth flickering across her otherwise stern features. “Then so be it. Would you care for wine?”
“I would be delighted,” Farah replied without hesitation.
A waiter arrived shortly thereafter, managing admirable composure as Umbra placed their order. Not long after, a bottle of wine was brought to the table along with two glasses and a small entrée to begin. The deep red liquid caught the light beautifully as Umbra poured.
Farah lifted her glass carefully, inhaled the aroma as she had seen others do, and took a measured sip. Her eyes closed almost immediately, her expression melting into contentment.
“This is the finest wine I have ever tasted,” she murmured softly. “How can it be so smooth?”
“Millennia of refining the craft,” Umbra replied, swirling her own glass before drinking. “Earth has had a very long time to perfect fermentation. I always found the alcohol of Ganymede somewhat lacking. It was thinner… watered down.”
Farah nodded thoughtfully. “I understand now. I may need to bring several bottles back with us.”
Umbra chuckled. “If that is your wish, then we shall.”
Farah’s attention shifted to the small plate between them. “And what is this?”
“A spring roll,” Umbra explained. “A traditional snack. The ones here are particularly fresh.”
Farah picked one up delicately with her fork, examining it for a moment before taking a bite. Her eyes widened again.
“There is so much flavor,” she said through her chewing, her tone somewhere between delight and astonishment. “It is almost overwhelming.”
Umbra laughed softly. “That is precisely why I enjoy this cuisine. The flavors are bold and entirely unapologetic. Perhaps I should have ordered you the pad thai if you preferred something gentler.”
“No, no,” Farah insisted quickly, taking another bite despite her earlier hesitation. “I shall acclimate. It is simply… intense.”
They lingered over their wine and appetizer for a while, the warmth of the restaurant and the layered aromas creating a pleasant cocoon around them, and for a brief stretch of time Umbra felt something close to peace settle into her chest.
It was then that a young girl, no older than seven or eight, approached their table hesitantly, her hands clasped in front of her as she peered up at them with wide, uncertain eyes.
“Umm, hi.”
Umbra lowered her gaze to meet hers. “Hello, young lady. How may I help you?”
“Are you the one from the TV? Mum says you saved New Zealand.”
Umbra glanced briefly toward a man nearby, presumably a parent, who was watching with cautious interest, then looked back to the child. “I am,” she said evenly. “Though I did not do it alone. Many people were involved.”
“Oh. Okay.” The girl tilted her head. “You look kind of scary… but you seem nice.”
Umbra offered a careful, sharp-toothed smile. “Even when I smile?”
The girl giggled. “Yeah.”
“And what is your name?”
“Kilarney.”
“What a lovely name. I am Umbra. It is a pleasure to meet you, Kilarney, but if you do not mind, I would like to return to my dinner with my wife.”
“You got married to the angel? But she’s a girl.”
Farah paused mid-sip of wine, watching curiously. Umbra’s tone remained calm. “Yes, she is. Is that a problem?”
“Well… girls are supposed to marry boys.”
Umbra rested an elbow lightly on the table. “Farah and I are both women, and we are very happy. Sometimes people marry someone different from what you expect. What matters is that they care for each other.”
The girl considered this with intense seriousness. “Oh. So… if I grow up and want to marry a girl, that’s okay?”
“If you grow up and choose someone kind who makes you happy,” Umbra replied, “that is what matters.”
Kilarney broke into a grin. “That’s cool! Okay, bye!”
She darted back to her table, leaving Umbra staring after her for a moment in faint bewilderment. Farah leaned closer, wings shifting slightly behind her.
“You handle children surprisingly well,” the angel murmured.
Umbra picked up her wine again. “I have faced cosmic horrors and ancient warlords,” she said dryly. “Nothing is quite as unpredictable as a child.”
Their meals arrived soon after—two generous plates of panang curry, Umbra’s favorite, the rich red sauce brimming with seafood and fragrant herbs. Steam curled upward in inviting spirals, thick with coconut and spice, and Umbra felt her mouth water almost painfully at the scent alone.
“This is… quite pungent,” Farah remarked delicately, leaning back a fraction as the aroma reached her.
“Mm. It’s perfect,” Umbra replied with clear reverence.
She gathered a careful spoonful of rice, pressed it lightly into the curry, and took a bite. Her eyes closed for the briefest moment. Sweet, salty, heat blooming at the back of her throat—it was exactly as she remembered.
“What is that grain again?” Farah asked, studying her own plate.
“Rice.”
“And it will not make you ill?”
Umbra swallowed and allowed herself another bite before answering. “That is a matter for future me to contend with. Present me intends to enjoy this.”
Farah shook her head but began eating as well, tentative at first, then with growing confidence as the flavors unfolded. Umbra watched with visible satisfaction as her wife’s initial caution gave way to genuine enjoyment.
When they finished, a second serving was brought—part of the “special arrangement”—and neither protested. They ate that as well.
“I believe you now,” Farah said at last, setting down her fork.
“About what?” Umbra asked.
“That the food of this world is fit for a queen.”
Umbra huffed faintly. “This is not even considered high class. Perhaps middle of the road. I was never fond of truly high-class dining. Small portions, extravagant prices. I have always had a… substantial appetite. I prefer something hearty and flavorful.”
Farah smiled knowingly. “Yes, I have noticed. At banquets, you barely touch what is served. Even the meat.”
“Because the ‘finest chefs in the queendom’ do not understand the meaning of rare,” Umbra muttered. “If one must request that a steak still resemble the animal it came from, something has gone wrong.”
Farah laughed softly at that, and the rest of the evening passed in comfortable conversation, wine shared between them, their earlier adventures fading into the background. It felt, for once, ordinary. Peaceful. A perfect ending to a good day.
Once outside, however, Umbra made it precisely three steps down the street before bracing a hand against the side of the building and violently reconsidering her culinary choices.
Farah hovered anxiously nearby, wings half-spread. “Is this the seafood?”
Umbra straightened slowly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, what little dignity she had left clinging on stubbornly. “No,” she said hoarsely. “The seafood was fine. It is the grains and vegetables. My body still refuses to accept that plants can be a meal.”
Farah blinked. “You ate two servings.”
“Yes,” Umbra replied gravely. “And I regret nothing.”