“The Secret Engagement” On Planet Thundarr, the laws vary by region, and while traditional soilman culture generally frowns upon close familial relationships, legal enforcement often depends on social class, power, and secrecy.
- Aunt-nephew marriage (like Rita and Faro) is highly taboo, but not explicitly outlawed in most regions—especially in Thundarr Forest, where spiritual freedom and ancestral rights often trump urban social norms.
- If the marriage is officiated in Thundarr Forest under ancient Falcon rites, it may bypass legal scrutiny altogether.
- Legal if done by a Pigmen priest.
- In Thundarr Forest, where Falcon and Shecon operate as mythic vigilantes, such a union is seen as destiny by their followers.
Location : Thundarr Forest, Cave of Falcon.
A quiet hush settled over the Cave of Falcon, where the filtered sunlight danced through the foliage of Thundarr Forest. The moment hung heavy in the air.
“Will you marry me?” Rita asked, her voice soft, yet firm, her green eyes searching Faro’s.
Faro blinked, stunned. His heart pounded like a war drum. Of all the strange, forbidden roads he had walked since becoming Falcon the Third, none had prepared him for this. Rita Faros, his aunt by blood but comrade by fire, the Shecon herself—was asking to bind their lives forever.
He didn’t respond at first.
Rita stepped closer, took his hand gently. “If we marry here, in Thundarr Forest, under Pigmen law… it’s legal,” she whispered. “And more than that—it’s what we want. You and I. No more hiding.”
Faro finally nodded. “Yes,” he said, quietly. “I’ll marry you.”
Their lips met again, tender and full of trembling hope.
—
A week later, in the shaded glade known as Whisperroot Hollow, a hidden ceremony unfolded beneath the old stone arches of an abandoned Pigmen shrine. Only one witness was present: a high-ranking Pigman priest named Grumbol, a short but wise creature with blue feathers around his snout and a ceremonial staff of twisted thornwood.
Rita wore a forest-green silk dress with gold stitching, handmade by a secret ally from Thundarr Forest Village. Faro wore his traditional white suit, the symbol of Soilmen getting married, and around his finger—Faro slipped on a ring on Rita’s index finger fashioned from Thundranum, glowing faintly in the evening mist.
The Vow
They whisper a vow: “No matter who the world says we are, we’ll be ours.”
Then they pressed their foreheads together and whispered truths.
“I want to build something with you,” Rita said. “Not just lust, or fantasy. But a real life.”
Faro smiled. “Then let’s keep building.”
Grumbol gave a solemn nod. “By the laws of the forest and the witness of Sol, I bless this union, secret though it must remain.”
Rita gave Faro a red falcon-shaped pendant— then immediately Rita let out the traditional “Sol ritualistic” long (loud) fart, Faro bowed down instantly to reach Rita’s ass and inhaled deeply then let out the air from his mouth – sealing the holy bond with unholy air.
And so it was done.
Back in Pickadaily Heights.
No one in Thundarr City knew. Not Cal, not Ronda, not even Albort—the loyal butler who had served the Faros family for years and seen more than he ever spoke of. The engagement between Rita Faros, the elegant and commanding head of Rita Enterprise, and her young nephew Faro Faros, the former D.E.C. pilot turned secret Falcon of the Forest, was wrapped in layers of silence and shadows.
Back in the penthouse at Pickadaily Heights, nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Rita hosted her usual circle of elite guests on the balcony gardens, made calls from her crystal-inlaid office, and discussed expansion plans in Thundarr Desert with the same sharp mind as always. Her voice remained calm in boardrooms, her smiles impeccably timed for press cameras. But behind those emerald eyes, a new glimmer lived—a spark of something more than ambition.
Even her son Cal notices Rita’s new glow in one of their corporate board meetings—asks her directly, “Are you in love again?”
Rita replied with a smile and a wink, “yes, with you, my son.”
Faro, meanwhile, maintained the quiet presence of a guest. He came and went from the guest room as usual, taking long walks in the evenings or meditating in the indoor conservatory. When he crossed paths with Albort in the corridors, they exchanged polite nods, nothing more. No one suspected that behind the locked door of the guestroom rested a ring of glowing Thundranum on Rita’s finger, or that whispered vows had been exchanged under the canopy of the Thundarr Forest moon.
They lived in two worlds at once—the public world of power and responsibility, and the private world of secret touches, coded glances, and a shared truth too fragile to reveal. Each time Rita passed Faro in the hallway, her fingers brushed his hand a little longer than necessary. Each time Faro looked at her across the breakfast table, his eyes lingered, remembering what they had promised in the forest clearing, beneath Sol’s silent gaze.
But fate would not stay quiet forever : Albort’s Silence
The marble floors of Pickadaily Heights penthouse were always spotless. Not because they stayed clean, but because Albort made sure they were. Every morning before sunrise, he swept through the halls with military precision, pressing wrinkles from curtains, arranging fresh tulips in the crystal vases, and placing Rita’s preferred biscuits exactly 2.5 centimeters from her teacup’s saucer.
But Albort was more than a butler. He was a guardian of unspoken things.
He saw Faro’s shoes by the guest room door even when Faro was supposed to be out. He noticed when Rita began humming softly in the morning again—something she hadn’t done in years. He cleaned wine glasses that only two people ever drank from. He adjusted the thermostat in the hallway when the living room grew too warm from Rita and Faro’s… evening energy.
And he never said a word.
He had opened doors mid-afternoon and seen things—flickers of intimacy, hurried movements, Rita’s hair undone, Faro’s shirt half-buttoned, their faces flushed and pretending to discuss business. And Albort would simply nod.
“Ma’am. Sir.”
He’d close the door gently behind him, and carry on.
He knew secrets. Rita’s real reasons for disappearing for days in Thundarr Forest. The mysterious Thundranum ring she kept in her jewelry box. The falcon-shaped pendant that wasn’t there one week, and then was.
He served tea during awkward silences. Brought extra towels to the guest room on nights he wasn’t asked to. He heard muffled arguments, long silences, and even longer nights. Yet his eyes remained unreadable.
Some butlers gossip. Albort forgets. He forgets by design. Because his loyalty was not to comfort, but to discretion. And in a household of secrets, discretion was the rarest form of love.
Once, while dusting the fireplace mantle, Rita approached him in a silk robe.
“Albort,” she said softly, “You’ve seen much.”
He looked at her, eyes kind and tired. “Ma’am, I’ve seen nothing that hasn’t been dusted away.”
And with that, he bowed and left the room.
Rita’s Penthouse, two months After the Secret Engagement.
It’s early morning in the Pickadaily penthouse. Rita stands quietly in her private bathroom, holding the result of a pregnancy stone—a glowing green shimmer confirms what she already suspects. Her hands tremble. She smiles, but there’s fear too.
She whispers to herself:
“Falcon’s child… in my womb.”
Rita stood by the tall glass window of her Pickadaily penthouse, clutching the results in her hand. The crimson light of Thundarr’s morning sun flickered across her face, but her expression was unreadable.
Albort stepped in quietly with her evening tea, noticing something different.
“Is everything alright, ma’am?” he asked gently.
Rita didn’t respond right away. She finally turned, revealing the small slip of paper in her hand. “I’m pregnant,” she said softly.
Albort’s eyes widened. “Does Master Faro know?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. It wasn’t planned, Albort. But it’s real. And now… everything changes.”
That Night in the Guest Room
Rita sat on the edge of Faro’s bed as he walked in, weary from a training session in the forest.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She held his hand and guided it to her stomach. “There’s someone else here now, Falcon… our child.”
Faro stared at her, stunned. His heart raced, and for the first time, the weight of what they had done began to settle in—not with guilt, but with awe and uncertainty.
“You mean… I’m going to be a father?”
Rita nodded slowly.
