The words nothing seemed to echo endlessly in Violet's ears as she relived them—and this time, she wasn't alone. Starfania's breath stuttered as Violet spoke. Her hands trembled where they rested on Violet's shoulders, nails biting into her own palms as she fought to keep herself grounded. Every instinct in her screamed to do something, to erase that pain, to tear the memory apart and replace it with safety. Seeing Violet like this—small, broken, bleeding in places no one could see—felt unbearable. Her jaw clenched so hard it ached.
Inside her chest, something dangerous stirred. Atlas felt it. His body shifted, scales faintly shimmering as a low, thunderous growl rolled from his chest—not playful, not curious, but furious. His wings flexed slightly, stirring the leaves around them, his glowing eyes fixed on Violet as if memorizing every word…every hurt. Drogo reacted just as strongly. The moment Violet described the bottle shattering, Drogo's tail slammed into the ground with a dull thud, cracking the stone beneath him. His nostrils flared, smoke curling faintly from them as he forced himself to remain still beside Violet, his massive form a living barrier. Aeron, however, nearly lost control. The instant Violet described the blow, he lurched forward, breath ragged.
" She—" His voice broke, raw and dangerous. " She hit you."
His hands shook violently at his sides, every muscle screaming to move, to act, to protect. His vision blurred—not with tears, but with red-hot rage. That was his baby sister. The girl he used to carry on his shoulders. The one who laughed too loud and loved too hard. He wanted to leave marks. Permanent ones. Starfania felt it too—the shared fury, the shared grief—and she hated how close she was to losing herself in it. When Violet described collapsing onto her bed, bleeding and alone, Starfania's composure finally cracked. A sharp breath escaped her lips, her eyes burning. She pressed her forehead against Violet's hair, arms wrapping tighter around her as if she could physically shield her from memory.
" I'm here," she whispered fiercely, voice shaking. " I've got you. I won't let anyone ever make you feel like that again."
Her fingers brushed Violet's scalp, gentle—too gentle—when she found the tender lump beneath her hair. The moment she felt it, her chest constricted. A lump rose in her throat.
" This…" Starfania swallowed hard. " This should have never happened to you."
Aeron saw the injury then. Everything in him went still. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white, shoulders rigid as stone. For a terrifying second, it looked like he might turn and storm straight out of the garden—straight toward blood and consequence. Drogo sensed it immediately.
With a deep, grounding rumble, Drogo shifted closer to Aeron, pressing his massive head gently—but firmly—against his chest, forcing him to stop. The dragon's warmth radiated through him, anchoring him to the moment. Not yet. Not like this. Atlas mirrored the motion on Starfania's side, lowering his head beside Violet and Starfania, his presence steady and ancient. His eyes softened—not weak, not passive—but understanding. He leaned in, allowing Violet to rest against his neck if she needed to, a silent vow of protection written in every careful movement.
Starfania inhaled deeply, forcing the air into her lungs, counting her breaths as she struggled to keep her magic, her anger, herself in check.
" I hate this," she admitted softly, voice trembling. " I hate that you had to survive something like this."
Aeron finally spoke again, quieter now—but no less intense.
" She will never touch you again," he said, every word carved in stone. " I don't care what it takes."
Starfania lifted her head, meeting his eyes—not to stop him, but to steady him.
" We protect Violet," she said firmly, " Together. Smartly. No one hurts her anymore."
Violet trembled between them, tears stroking into Starfania's sleeve—but for the first time, she didn't feel alone in the memory. Surrounded by warmth. By fire and stars. By people—and dragons—who loved her fiercely. And though the pain still lingered, it no longer owned her.