The first light of morning crept through the wide windows of Berthold Manor, casting golden streaks across the polished oak floor. The world outside still carried the hush of dawn, a fragile peace before the bustle of the day. Inside, warmth had replaced the unease of the night before—the hearth crackled steadily, its flames scattering amber light across the long breakfast table laden with fresh bread, golden honey, soft cheeses, and ripe fruit from the orchards.
The house smelled of woodsmoke and rosemary. The air was calm, though beneath that calmness, each of them carried their own hidden thoughts—threads of worry, hope, and quiet affection that wove between them more tightly than any words could admit.
Gessa moved about the room with practiced grace. She set the dishes with deliberate care, her every movement precise, as if arranging soldiers before a march. It was the same discipline that once commanded battalions, now transposed into the domestic rhythm of home. To any other eye, it might seem a simple act of service, but Lyra recognized it for what it was—a manifestation of her sister's relentless will to protect and provide.
Lyra's gaze lingered, quiet admiration softening her stern features. This was the woman who had once carried her through the grueling years of training, who had shouldered burdens that Lyra herself could barely remember without feeling their weight anew. Yet here she was, tending to bread and honey with the same ferocity as she had once wielded a blade.
Vivian, who had regained more vitality in these days than she had shown in years, sat straighter than before. Her eyes, once dulled by illness, now glimmered with their old liveliness. She cast a teasing glance toward Lyra, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
"I trust you managed some sleep?" she asked, her tone light and playful, though her eyes searched Lyra for honesty.
Lyra smirked faintly, the weariness still lingering in her eyes. "Enough to be ready for today," she answered, her voice carrying a familiar pride that bordered on defiance. She reached for the tea but paused when her gaze drifted toward Selene.
The younger woman sat quietly, arranging herbs beside the steaming cups of tea. Her hands moved with a reverence that seemed instinctive, as though each sprig she placed was a prayer of its own. There was no flamboyant flourish, no ritualistic spell, just a grounded gentleness that felt profound in its simplicity. It was this very quietness, Lyra thought, that revealed more about her than words ever could.Lyra found herself leaning ever so slightly closer, drawn by the quiet intimacy, by the careful, reverent motions that somehow felt like an unspoken dialogue between them.
"You always take care of others, even when no one notices," Gessa murmured suddenly, though her words were meant for Vivian. Her chin tilted subtly toward Lyra, who sat just opposite. "Look at her with Selene—shielding her from the world without even realizing it."
Vivian followed her gaze. A knowing warmth lit her expression, her lips curving into a soft, mischievous smile. "It's subtle, almost imperceptible," she agreed. "But it's there. The pauses, the way she lets Selene move first, act first. They're connected… and they barely notice themselves."
Selene's fingers froze for a heartbeat, caught in the undercurrent of attention. Her eyes flicked briefly to Lyra, hesitant. Lyra's jaw tightened slightly, but her gaze softened with unspoken acknowledgment—concern, admiration, something unnameable.
Before the moment could stretch too long, Rory's small voice broke the stillness. He had been fidgeting nervously with his spoon, bouncing it against the edge of the table like a drumstick. His eyes darted between the adults before he finally blurted out, "Um… so… we're really going to eat now?" His voice wavered with nerves, though the eager smile that slipped through betrayed his excitement.
Gessa turned her head sharply toward him, her soldier's composure giving way to something softer. She tilted her head and grinned, playful in a way that made her seem younger than her years. "Yes, little knight. Sit, eat, and enjoy it. Even generals and healers need breakfast." She glanced sidelong at Lyra. "I trust you'll keep him in line?"
Lyra brushed a hand across Rory's shoulder with a firm yet gentle touch. "I will," she assured. "Though truth be told, he may have more patience than I did at his age."
Rory perked up, his chest puffing with pride. "The general trained with a stick too," he blurted, as though sharing a great secret. "She told me"
Gessa barked a laugh, her eyes glinting. "Really, the hypocrite," she teased. "I trained your general here when she was barely seven. Stubborn as a mule, swinging a wooden sword far too heavy for her little arms. She used to stomp her feet and curse because I made her practice with a stick."
Lyra groaned, rubbing her forehead. Her eyes flicked toward Selene, who now watched her with a faint, imperceptible smile.
Vivian leaned forward, her eyes bright with memory. "I think I still have that very wooden sword," she mused. "I must have accidentally brought it here from Oakhart when we moved."
"There you go," Gessa said triumphantly, reaching for the fire-stirring stick at her side and thrusting it toward Rory. "A wooden sword for you, little knight."
The boy's eyes widened as he accepted it, his face alight with wonder. Lyra froze mid-bite, a faint smile betraying her irritation.
"I am not your younger sister," she protested, though the words held no real sting.
"Oh, but you are," Gessa replied smoothly, her laughter threading the air. "And as your older sister, it's my duty to make sure you don't get yourself into trouble—or lose patience with these one."
"Oh, but you are," Gessa replied smoothly, her laughter threading the air. "And as your older sister, it's my duty to make sure you don't get yourself into trouble—or lose patience with these ones."
The table erupted with soft laughter. Even Selene, usually hesitant in the face of such lively exchanges, allowed a shy smile to break through. Her gaze met Lyra's for the briefest of moments, and though no words passed between them, something in that silence spoke volumes.
When the laughter had subsided, Gessa's gaze shifted toward Selene, sharp yet kind. "Lyra mentioned you lost your memory… any developments?"
Selene hesitated. Her fingers traced the rim of her cup, her eyes downcast. "Nothing substantial," she admitted softly. "Just small flashes. And… well, I can heal. Then I… accidentally revived someone."
The room stilled. Rory froze, mouth agape. Although he had witnessed Selene's magic before, it still caught him off guard every time—the silvery glow was something beyond what his young mind could fully grasp.
Vivian and Gessa's eyes widened, the weight of her confession settling like a storm cloud over their morning ease.
"Amazing," Vivian whispered, awe threading her voice. "Mages and witches alike cannot do what you describe. That silvery glow—it's not learned, not incantation. It's… innate. Pure. It's just you."
The hush deepened. The fire popped in the silence, as though punctuating the enormity of her words.
Vivian leaned forward, her eyes bright. "Magic has always lingered in our world. Once, Mages flourished—but they were hunted, their kind nearly erased. Some hid in the safety of the kingdoms like Avalon"
"They say they have dragons there" Rory enthuastically asks "oh and elves, are there griffins?"
Vivian nods her head. Gessa shook hers "Avalon borders are very strict, one of the reason why they are one of the Kingdom or only kingdom with the most multthical creatures and much magic left."
"Wow" Rory said then eating again.
Vivian continued "And then theirs the gods and goddesses, that still walk among us, in ways both subtle and profound. Did you know… two of the same gender may only conceive if blessed by the goddess Akna?"
Her words hung fragile in the air, like a delicate glass orb that might shatter if spoken of too loudly. Lyra, Gessa, and Vivian all knew the truth of it—Gessa and Vivian had once prayed to Akna themselves, each journeying to her temple. But Vivian's frailty had dimmed their hopes. What had been once desire had long been buried as an impossible dream.
Now, hearing Selene's revelation, the spark of that old hope threatened to rekindle.
"What do we do?" Gessa whispered, her strong voice breaking with rare uncertainty. "I cannot abandon Berthold again."
"We don't go to the temple," Vivian said firmly, her tone gentle but resolute. "The goddess's blessings are not confined to stone and mortar. They reside in the heart of her creation. Your power, Selene… it feels like a divine spark. Perhaps Akna's blessing is not something we chase. Perhaps it is already here—waiting, nurturing the life you've already touched."
Moon Weaver. The word stirred in Selene's mind, echoing like the faintest thread of memory. She remembered Shawn speaking it once, in reverence and awe. Her lips parted, and she whispered aloud, almost as if testing the sound on her tongue.
"Then… is it the goddess of the moon… did Diana bestow her gifts?"
Lyra's head snapped up, her gaze suddenly sharp, intensity cutting across the room. The words struck her like a hammer upon a bell. "Might be related to the Moon Weaver," she finished, voice low, tension creeping in.
Gessa frowned. "A Moon Weaver? What's that?"
Lyra leaned forward, her voice deliberate, steady, though a faint unease colored it. "Shawn told us of a legend. The Moon Weavers were said to walk among mortals—people who could heal even the incurable. But no proof of their existence has ever been found. Most say it's a myth."
Vivian's expression grew thoughtful, her scholar's mind racing. "And yet," she murmured, "unlike the other gods who reveal themselves in dreams or grant blessings through visions, the goddess of the moon… never answers prayers. Never appears. Never interferes."
A heavy silence fell, settling over them like a shroud.
Lyra's voice was quieter now, as though confessing something long unspoken. "The legends tell us Diana weaves the threads of life and death. Ravi, the Sun God, gives warmth and light. Nyx brings the night. Plutus brings harvest and abundance. Akna blesses fertility. Some gods intervene. Diana… she only watches. She never interferes."
Gessa's hand found Vivian's, tightening instinctively. "Then where does this power come from?" she demanded, her voice uncharacteristically raw.
"I don't know," Lyra admitted, her eyes fixed on Selene. The healer's hands trembled as if under the weight of their collective scrutiny. "This is not a blessing. It is something else entirely. Your power is tied to life and death. The very fabric of our existence. If it is not a gift…" Her words trailed into the stillness.
"…then what is it?"
The question lingered in the air, heavy, unanswered, and perhaps unanswerable.
The morning meal stretched on with laughter and shadows alike. The playful jests, the revelations of gods and legends—all wove together into something fragile yet strong. Bonds deepened, even as unspoken fears settled at the edges of their hearts.
Lyra's gaze swept across the room, lingering on each of them—Rory's eager eyes, Gessa's protective strength, Vivian's restored warmth, Selene's trembling resilience. A renewed sense of duty rooted in her chest. She had sworn secrecy for Selene's sake, but now the stakes had grown beyond her.
"My promise stands," Gessa said firmly, as though reading her thoughts. "And my debt to you… runs deeper than words. I will keep your secrets"
Selene said "Thank you"
Lyra nods her head.Their eyes met each other
Vivian nudged Gessa lightly, her eyes twinkling. "Notice how blind they are to themselves?" she teased, glancing at Lyra and Selene. "They move as one, yet remain utterly unaware."
Gessa squeezed her hand in silent agreement.
Clearing her throat, Gessa turned back to duty. "The town is in chaos. My knights are scouring the forests for herbs and healers to meet the two-week deadline I set. We are shorthanded, and the people grow restless."
"My knights are already on it," Lyra replied, steady and sure. "Captain Rita and Elise have secured the main square. Others hold the gates. I will go myself to check on the eastern patrol."
Gessa's brow furrowed. "The eastern forest is dangerous. They were the last to leave. I fear they may have been caught in the storm."
Lyra's gaze hardened. "We will deploy knights to retrieve the others, Then I will go east.The rest will maintain order. Rory—" she turned toward the boy, whose eyes widened—"you will train under Gessa while I'm gone."
"Me? Really?" he asked, astonishment mingling with joy.
"Yes," Lyra said firmly. "Learn from her. Her patience, her strength. She and Vivian once guided me—you will do well under her hand."
Rory beamed, gripping the fire-stirring stick like it were a king's blade.
The manor echoed with a rare harmony that morning—laughter, teasing, and newfound resolve. Outside, Berthold stirred back to life, its streets filling with cautious hope. Inside, around the oak table, they shared not only food but something far greater: trust, affection, and an unspoken promise that whatever awaited in the eastern forest—or beyond—they would face it together.
And yet, beneath that harmony, something more delicate lingered. As the group dispersed from the table, Selene hesitated, standing just within reach of Lyra. Her hand lifted, trembling slightly, as if to brush against Lyra's gauntlet, to claim the comfort she longed for.
But at the last moment she stopped herself, fingers curling back into her palm. Lyra felt the absence as acutely as if she had been touched, her chest tightening with the echo of what almost was. Their eyes met one final time, and though no words passed between them, the unspoken burned hotter than flame.