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The morning light spilled into the kitchen like warm honey, slanting through the tall windows of the mansion and pooling across the gleaming marble countertops. Caelan stood barefoot, sleeves rolled up, a mixing bowl in hand as he tried—yet again—not to burn the pancakes. He could hear birds chirping beyond the glass and the gentle hum of enchantments keeping the indoor air perfectly crisp. It should've been just a typical morning.
But for Caelan, nothing felt typical anymore.
"Don't use too much stardust powder," Kai called from the dining room, voice groggy but affectionate. "It fluffs the batter too much. Remember what happened last time?" Caelan grinned, cheeks warming. "That wasn't my fault. Rhydian startled me by showing up shirtless out of nowhere." Lucien, lounging against the kitchen doorway with a cup of tea in hand, smirked behind the rim of his mug. "That sounds like a Rhydian thing."
"I heard that," came the gruff voice of Rhydian from the hallway. "And I wasn't shirtless. I was… tactical." Caelan snorted, trying to focus on whisking. The kitchen smelled like maple and vanilla, and his fingers tingled faintly from channeling the magic that helped fold the ingredients together. Since moving into the mansion, they had found small ways to blend their supernatural lives with mundane domesticity. Spells for better tea. Charms to keep bacon crispy. Even Lucien had enchanted the fridge to hum a soft lullaby when opened—though he refused to admit it.
Caelan glanced toward the dining table where Kai sat, hair still tousled from sleep, reading a parchment sealed with golden celestial ink. His presence had always been a calming one for Caelan, but lately… it was more. Not romantic, no. But deeper. Caelan's heart pulled toward Kai like roots to light. He wasn't just a guardian anymore—he was something like home.
Kai caught him staring. "What?" "Nothing," Caelan said quickly, flipping the pancake and accidentally summoning a small flame in the pan. "I just… I burned the fifth one. Sorry." Kai chuckled. "They're still edible." "I'm starting to think the stove hates me." Lucien raised a brow. "That, or the stove is smarter than it looks and objects to your… creative process."
The teasing felt warm, familiar. They had settled into a rhythm here—despite the tension simmering just below the surface. Rhydian, always protective. Lucien, always watching. Caelan, trying to belong without unbalancing something fragile. Because no matter how much they all cared for each other… there was always the quiet undercurrent of emotion they didn't voice aloud.
Especially when it came to Kai.
—
By late morning, the four of them had gathered in the main living room. Kai leaned against a window, bathed in golden light, as he spoke softly about celestial alignments and the upcoming solstice. Lucien stood nearby, arms crossed, his eyes trained on Kai even as he pretended to be interested in the notes sprawled across the table. Rhydian sat beside Caelan, legs stretched, but his gaze kept flicking between Lucien and the way Caelan hovered near Kai.
"According to the bloodline codex," Kai explained, gesturing to a half-translated scroll, "this house was built at the intersection of three ley lines. That explains the surge of power we've felt lately." "Especially in the east wing," Rhydian added. "I walked through it yesterday and my runes started glowing."
"That's not normal," Lucien muttered. "No," Kai agreed, "but it could mean something is awakening." Caelan fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve. "Do you think… it's connected to the prophecy? The one we saw in the mirror room?" Kai's expression softened as he looked at Caelan. "I do." And that answer sent a strange chill of anticipation down Caelan's spine.
The mirror room. The prophecy. Kai's celestial bloodline. It was all swirling together again, like the calm before something great. Or something dangerous. Lucien must have noticed the way Kai looked at Caelan—affectionate, warm, unguarded—because his jaw ticked slightly, and he moved a bit closer, as though to insert himself into the space between them.
Caelan didn't miss it. Neither did Rhydian, whose hand tensed on the armrest beside him.
"Maybe we should investigate the east wing again," Lucien said, too quickly. Kai nodded. "Good idea. Caelan, would you come with me?" Before Caelan could answer, Rhydian stood. "I'll go too." Lucien said nothing, but his eyes darkened slightly. And Caelan… well, he just blinked at the three of them and wished someone else would decide for him.
The east wing was cooler than the rest of the house. Not cold, just oddly quiet, like the walls were holding their breath. They walked in silence, past old portraits and newer protective wards, until Kai reached a door that hadn't been opened in years. With a soft spell, the door creaked open.
Dust drifted in the air. Bookshelves lined the walls. And in the center of the room, a pedestal with a crystalline orb that pulsed faintly with inner light. The three of them stared at it.
"I didn't know this was here," Rhydian murmured. Kai looked unsettled. "Neither did I." Lucien stepped forward cautiously, his fingers glowing with protective energy. "It's magical. Ancient. Not dark, but… watchful." "Is it… a memory orb?" Caelan asked, inching closer. Kai ran his fingers along the edge of the pedestal. "No. This is older. It's a Starseer's Eye."
Lucien exhaled. "Those are rare." "Extinct, I thought," Rhydian said. Kai's voice dropped to a whisper. "They only activate in the presence of celestial blood. And look." The orb had begun to glow brighter. A constellation flickered across its surface—one Caelan recognized. From the tapestry in the prophecy chamber. The Hunter's Path.
"I think it wants to show us something," Caelan said. The orb pulsed again, and with a flash, it projected an image into the air. A room. A glowing circle. A group of people standing at the center, each holding an artifact. And one of them looked exactly like Kai. But younger. Before anyone could speak, the vision faded.
Silence followed.
Kai's hand fell away. "That was my father." Caelan felt the weight of the moment. He looked between Kai, Rhydian, and Lucien. All of them carried something heavy in their hearts. Some grief. Some memory. Some unspoken longing.
—
Later that evening, as the sun dipped low and painted the sky in pinks and golds, Caelan found himself alone with Kai on the balcony. The others had given them space—maybe intentionally, maybe not. Kai sipped tea. Caelan leaned against the railing.
"I've never had this," Caelan admitted quietly. Kai looked over. "Had what?" "This. A home. A family. People who argue about pancakes and magical orbs. People who… who care." Kai didn't speak right away. Then he reached out, gently placing a hand on Caelan's shoulder.
"You have it now,"
And something in Caelan broke and healed all at once. "I don't see you like they do," Caelan whispered. "Not like that. I just… I see you as…" "A father," Kai said softly. "And that's more than enough." Behind them, Lucien watched from the hallway. His expression unreadable. Rhydian stood beside him and muttered, "You see it too?" Lucien nodded. "Yeah. He's not competition."
"Then why are you still jealous?" Lucien didn't answer. But neither did he walk away.
And as the stars began to rise, the four of them found their way back together in the mansion's heart. The fire crackled. Laughter returned in quiet waves. A bond deepened—not perfect, not easy—but real.
Unbreakable.
Even as shadows gathered at the edges of their story.
___________________________________________________________________________
The city stretched quiet beneath a muted sky, golden light slanting across polished windows and blooming balconies. The mansion, nestled atop a gentle hill with ivy curling along its gates, pulsed with rare peace. It had been days—good ones—since the last ripple of chaos.
Lucien stood on the balcony adjoining their bedroom, shirtless, mug of lukewarm coffee in hand. The scent of fresh linen and Kai's warmth still clung to the sheets behind him. Below, in the sun-dappled courtyard, Caelan was laughing—his voice clear as glass—chasing butterflies that danced around the flowers.
Lucien's gaze softened. He never thought he'd feel this again. The quiet of it. The ordinariness. Not the sharp rush of battle or the brutal edge of jealousy—though those still lingered, especially where Rhydian was involved—but this... stillness. Morning breezes. Family.
Inside, Kai was humming in the kitchen. Soft. Off-key. Comfortable.
Lucien didn't move, only let his eyes trace the scene through the open glass doors. Kai's dark hair was tousled, the collar of his shirt slipping down his shoulder. He was stirring something—honey, maybe?—into tea, face turned toward the window where Caelan played. There was no performance. Just Kai as he was. Lucien set his cup down and padded inside.
"Tea?" Kai asked, not glancing up, but his lips curled at the edges. Lucien came up behind him, wrapping his arms around Kai's waist and resting his chin against the crook of his neck. "You sing like an injured cat in the morning." Kai elbowed him gently. "You say the most romantic things."
"I try."
Their laughter folded into the warmth of the kitchen. Kai leaned back against Lucien's chest. "Caelan's been happy lately."
"You've been good for him," Lucien said quietly. "He needs that light." Kai turned in his arms, brows knitting just slightly. "I think... I need it too." Lucien's gaze flicked toward the small window. "You've got it. You've got him. You've got me." A beat passed. Their foreheads touched. Kai's hand curled lightly against Lucien's chest.
"I know," he whispered. "But sometimes, it still feels like a dream."
"It's not," Lucien said. "It's the life we fought for."
Later that day, they gathered in the great hall—Kai, Lucien, Rhydian, and Caelan—all seated on the low couch as sunlight spilled through the tall windows. Rhydian was helping Caelan enchant a floating book to turn its own pages, while Kai watched in amusement and mild horror as the book began flapping wildly and smacked Rhydian in the forehead.
Lucien snorted. "I told you," he drawled, "you gave it too much wind rune."
"You try explaining stability runes to a child with the attention span of a lizard," Rhydian muttered, rubbing his forehead as Caelan giggled beside him. Kai laughed, tossing Rhydian a cushion like a peace offering. "You're lucky it didn't explode this time." Caelan beamed, unbothered. "I think it's getting smarter!"
Lucien sat down beside Kai, arm draped lazily across the back of the couch. "Or more chaotic." For a moment, the living room buzzed with simple life—tea cups steaming on the table, soft magical glows from the bookshelf wards, the low sound of laughter and bickering. Lucien took it all in. The subtle ache behind his ribs had nothing to do with battle. It was the vulnerable, unwelcome twinge of knowing that this—this home—could be fragile. He had lost too much before to believe it would always last.
But Kai leaned into him. Quietly. Almost absentmindedly.
And that... that felt like everything.
That evening, Kai was brushing Caelan's hair while telling him a story—some sweet fable about moon spirits and sea wolves. Caelan's lids drooped by the end of it, curled under the blankets in Lucien's oversized reading chair. Kai pulled the blanket up over the boy's shoulder and pressed a kiss to his temple.
Lucien lingered at the doorway, arms folded. Watching. "You're good with him," he murmured. Kai turned. "He makes it easy." Lucien walked in, kneeling beside the chair and smoothing a hand over Caelan's hair. "You're the first person he's let in like that." Kai tilted his head. "Because I didn't try to fix him." Lucien met his gaze. "That's what you do. You... let people be."
A long pause settled. Lucien rose slowly and held out his hand. Kai took it.
They walked in silence toward the bedroom. The moment the door clicked shut, Lucien turned—gaze fierce, not angry, but burning with intensity. "I'm not good at sharing you," he said lowly. Kai blinked. "Lucien—"
"I see the way Caelan looks at you. And Rhydian. I know he loves you. But sometimes... I want to drag you away from all of them." Kai's breath caught. "Why haven't you?" Lucien stepped closer, lifting Kai's hand to his lips. "Because you're not a thing to possess," he murmured. "And because when you look at me like that—like I'm already yours—I don't need to fight for it."
Kai's eyes shimmered. His hands found Lucien's waist. They stood there, breathing the same air. Then Kai pulled him into a slow, deep kiss. No hunger. Just certainty.
The next morning, Caelan was in the garden, planting glowing lily seeds Rhydian had found in some arcane market. Lucien helped him dig a trench, sleeves rolled up, dirt on his cheek. Rhydian read aloud from the back of the seed packet, tone dry. Kai brought lemonade.
Lucien stood, brushing off his hands. Kai passed him the glass, raising an eyebrow at the dirt smudge on Lucien's jaw. "You're adorable," Kai said, laughing. Lucien growled playfully. "Don't say that where the kid can hear you." "I heard that," Caelan piped up, face smug. "Traitor," Lucien muttered under his breath.
They were happy.
Even with the echoes of danger behind them, and the weight of prophecy always whispering at the edges, they had carved something real. Solid. Home.
And Lucien—despite his dark blood, his scars, his guarded pride—was beginning to believe he deserved it.