The silver sun sat at its zenith, bathing the garden in a strange warmth—soft, luminous, almost unreal. The light painted everything in shifting hues, turning leaves to glass and shadows to ink.
We sat beneath the gazebo, lunch laid out between us.
"So… you'll be discharged soon?" Rhea asked.
Her nurse stood a respectful distance away, close enough to intervene, far enough to pretend she wasn't listening.
"Yup," I replied, fiddling with my fingers. "I've been cleared to perform Cognitive Partitioning… and I can walk without aid now."
"That's good."
Her eyes drifted—not to me—but to Malakai.
He was currently attempting to climb a tree he clearly had no intention of climbing properly.
"As energetic as ever," I muttered.
"Hmph."
The teapot lifted.
No gesture. No chant. Just will.
It tilted mid-air, pouring tea into both our cups before settling gently back onto the table like nothing had happened.
I leaned closer. "Is it okay for you to use your psychic abilities?"
A quick glance at the nurse. No reaction.
"I have my bracelet," she said calmly. "And I'll take my medication later."
"Oh… thank you."
My cup slid toward me. I took it carefully.
"How long have you been here?" I asked.
I'd been circling that question for days.
She smiled faintly. "Still curious?"
"Yeah."
A small bite of biscuit. Waiting.
"…Since I was fourteen."
Her tail slowed.
That said enough more than her words would.
Ten years, I calculated silently.
Ten years in here.
Ten years… in a place that smiles too much.
"What are you two talking about?"
Malakai's face appeared on the table—
sudden, bright, too close.
His amber eyes locked onto mine.
I didn't answer.
My gaze shifted to Rhea.
Her hands had already withdrawn. Shoulders tight. Breathing shallow.
"Malakai," the nurse said, already approaching, "you're bothering Rhea."
"But I wasn't even talking to her!"
"I understand. it's Rhea."
That was enough.
He clicked his tongue, annoyed, and let himself be pulled away.
"I'm sorry," Rhea whispered.
I looked down.
"…He singed the table."
A faint burn mark spread across the wood.
I rubbed it absentmindedly.
"A psychic with dystychiphobia…" I murmured, resting my head on my folded arms. "That's… ironic."
A presence.
Warm.
Anaita.
She appeared behind Rhea and gently patted her hair.
Rhea didn't react rather her body relaxed.
I glanced up.
"He's not upset," I said softly. "She says so."
A pause.
"He really isn't. It's Malakai. He's probably already forgotten."
Rhea didn't respond immediately.
So I nudged the teapot slightly.
"Here… have some tea."
I didn't pour.
Didn't need to.
She wiped her eyes.
"…Thank you."
The teapot rose again—this time again hers.
It hovered, steadier than before.
"Do you want more?" she asked.
"I do," I replied, raising my cup.
"A pretty sorry sight, right?" she said quietly. "I made him feel bad."
"I don't think you did anything wrong."
I tilted my head slightly.
"And it's Malakai. He's already over it. Probably chasing another tree."
A weak sound left her.
Not quite a laugh.
But close.
By the time we were called back inside, the silver sun had begun to fall.
The sky softened—bleeding into shades of pink and quiet violet.
Even the air felt slower.
We walked back together.
And near the entrance—
Malakai.
Awkward. Scratching his head. Not meeting her eyes.
A pause.
Then—
Words.
Short. Clumsy. Honest.
Rhea also apologized, even going as far as to take her glove off to shake his hands. Although her attempt to mask her fear was none exist so the pride she was trying to mask was raw for bear eyes.
Enough.
Things settled.
Not perfectly.
But enough.
Dinner was suggested.
Agreed to.
Not because everything was fine—
But because… it was getting there.
And sometimes, that's all you get.