Elowen didn't run after the sniper.
Not because she couldn't.
Because the moment I went wobbly in her arms, the bond shoved one blunt truth into her chest:
I was empty.
Not "tired after practice" empty.
More like "if you push her one step further, she goes quiet again" empty.
So Elowen made the hardest choice a Heroine can make.
She stopped.
"Seal the upper windows," she ordered, voice carrying down the corridor. "Two squads on roof access. Nobody goes alone. Heal-team to the hall—now."
Knights snapped into motion.
Maera's eyes tracked the flow like she was counting mistakes. "Good. You didn't chase."
Elowen didn't look at her. "Don't start."
Maera didn't. She only said, "You'll get another chance. Assassins like that don't come once."
I swallowed, which felt ridiculous because I was still not used to having a throat. My head was on Elowen's shoulder, and I could smell soap and steel and sun-warmed fabric. Her cape was softer up close than it looked.
I tried to sound normal.
"I'm fine."
Elowen's reply was immediate and flat. "No."
"I'm fine-ish."
"No."
"Okay, I'm a little—"
Elowen adjusted her hold and slid one arm under my knees like I weighed nothing, the other supporting my back, lifting me fully.
Like I was a child.
Like I belonged there.
My face heated so fast it was basically a spell.
"Hey— I can walk."
Elowen started walking anyway, calm stride, protective posture. "Your legs are shaking."
"They're… short."
"That too."
I glared up at her. "I'm not a baby."
Elowen's eyes flicked down, soft but firm. "You just cast a corridor bulwark. You're not walking until your core stabilizes."
I opened my mouth to argue.
Nothing came out—because she was right, and we both knew it.
Maera followed a step behind, silent for once.
We passed a cluster of servants and junior squires gathered at a corner. They stared openly.
One young squire whispered, "Is that the Heroine's… kid?"
Elowen didn't miss a beat. "No."
Then, after half a second:
"Not biologically."
My soul attempted to exit my body from embarrassment alone.
I buried my face against her shoulder. "You're making it worse."
Elowen's voice dropped so only I could hear. "Good. Then you'll stop trying to stand up out of spite."
…Annoying. Effective.
We reached a smaller room off the main hall: a resting chamber used for injured trainees. Clean cot, fresh water, warm light from a brazier that smelled faintly of cedar.
Elowen kicked the door shut with her heel.
Then she set me down on the cot like I was something valuable, hands lingering to make sure I didn't tip over.
I sat up, stubborn. "I'm okay now."
Elowen crossed her arms. "You're pale."
"I'm… a spirit. Do spirits get pale?"
Maera answered from the doorway, voice clinical. "Your manifested form is a mana construct anchored by a soul. When the reservoir dips, the construct destabilizes. Symptoms will mimic physical exhaustion to force compliance."
I pointed at her. "See? It's basically my body scolding me."
Elowen's gaze didn't soften. "And are you going to listen to it?"
I hesitated.
Because the truth was… I didn't like the idea of going dormant again. I didn't like the idea of suddenly not being able to speak to her.
Not after the first time she'd laughed.
Not after I'd felt what it was like to protect people with her.
"I'll… rest," I muttered.
Elowen's shoulders lowered by a fraction. She sat on the edge of the cot, close enough that the bond felt warm instead of stretched.
Maera stayed by the door, arms folded. "I'll inform the Sanctum head. And I'll put a ward sweep on the hall."
Elowen's eyes sharpened. "You're not reporting Rin as a 'relic asset.'"
Maera paused. "I'll report her as 'an awakened partner-weapon with autonomous speech and a tendency toward self-sacrifice.'"
I blinked. "Hey!"
Maera's mouth twitched like she wanted to smile but refused on principle. "Rest. You'll need control. Bulwark again at the wrong time and you'll disappear for days."
Elowen's jaw tightened. "Then teach us."
Maera nodded once. "At dawn."
She left.
The room went quiet.
Too quiet.
The kind of quiet that lets fear crawl back in and start whispering what if.
Elowen reached for the water cup, held it to my lips without asking, because apparently she'd decided I was not capable of basic tasks right now.
I drank, grudgingly comforted.
Then she set the cup down and stared at her hands for a moment.
"They aimed at the crowd," she said.
Her voice was steady, but the bond showed the real edge beneath it—anger with a thin layer of dread.
I swallowed. "Yeah."
Elowen stared at the brazier like she wanted to burn the memory out of the air. "If you hadn't—"
"I did," I said quickly. "It's done. People are okay."
Elowen looked at me.
Not at the child shape.
At me.
"Rin," she said quietly, "you can't do that again."
My throat tightened. "You mean… protect people?"
"I mean burn yourself out," she corrected. "You cannot throw yourself away."
I bristled. "I'm not throwing myself away. I just—"
Elowen leaned closer, voice low. "You don't have to prove you're legendary by hurting yourself."
That landed harder than it should have.
Because some part of me—some missing piece—had been running on instinct since I woke up. Like if I didn't protect perfectly, I'd lose my right to exist.
I stared at my hands in my lap.
Tiny hands.
Ridiculous.
But real.
"I don't want you to get hurt," I whispered.
Elowen's expression softened—not into weakness, but into something steady and protective. "Then we get stronger together. We plan. We don't panic-cast."
I huffed, half laugh, half sigh. "So you're saying… I need adult supervision."
Elowen's mouth curved. "Yes."
I squinted. "You like this."
Elowen didn't deny it.
The bond hummed with amusement again, and it startled me how much relief that simple warmth brought.
I shifted, trying to sit more upright, trying to reclaim dignity.
My body, traitorous, swayed.
Elowen's hand shot out and steadied my shoulder instantly.
The movement was automatic. Protective. Familiar.
Like she'd done it before.
That was the moment.
It was stupid.
It was small.
But my mouth opened before my pride could stop it.
"Mamma—"
Silence hit the room like a dropped shield.
I froze.
Elowen froze.
Even the brazier seemed to crackle quieter.
My brain caught up half a second late and screamed internally.
WHY DID I SAY THAT.
Elowen's eyes widened just slightly.
I stared at her, horrified, cheeks burning so hot I was pretty sure I was generating my own light source.
"I— I didn't— I mean— I'm not—"
My hands flapped uselessly. The exact opposite of legendary.
Elowen blinked once, then twice.
And then her face changed.
Not into laughter.
Not into teasing.
Into something… careful.
Like she was holding a fragile thing that wasn't made of mana or steel.
"You called me…?" she asked quietly.
I shrank into myself. "It was an accident."
Elowen's voice stayed gentle. "Why?"
I stared at the blanket. My throat felt tight again, and I hated that too, because it felt too close to crying, and I didn't even know if spirit-people cried.
"I don't remember my real parents," I admitted. "I don't remember… me."
I swallowed hard. "But when you caught me in the hall—when you didn't drop me—when you didn't treat me like a weapon—"
My voice came out small. "It just… happened."
Elowen didn't speak for a moment.
Then she did something that short-circuited my entire soul.
She reached out and gently tucked my messy bangs out of my eyes.
Her touch was warm. Patient.
And she said, very calmly, as if it were the simplest thing in the world:
"If it makes you feel safe… you can call me that."
My head snapped up. "What?! No— I didn't mean— I'm not trying to—"
Elowen's lips twitched. "Rin."
I stopped.
Elowen held my gaze, steady. "You're not alone. Not in this body. Not in that sword. Not with what you remember and don't remember."
Her thumb brushed my temple once, like a reassurance spell without magic.
"If 'mamma' slips out again," she added, voice a fraction warmer, "I won't be offended."
I made a strangled noise and shoved my face into the blanket.
"This is the worst day of my life."
Elowen's quiet laugh returned—soft, genuine, and relieved.
"No," she said. "It was the hardest day. But you did well."
I peeked out, suspicious. "Don't praise me. It'll go to my head."
Elowen's eyes softened. "Too late."
I was still dying of embarrassment when she stood.
"All right," Elowen said briskly, changing tone like she was putting armor back on. "Rest. I'm going to coordinate security."
"Okay," I mumbled.
Elowen moved toward the door.
And then I felt it through the bond—something sharp.
The memory of that black bolt sinking into stone.
The idea that someone out there wanted to kill her.
A cold fear crawled up my spine.
My mouth moved before I could stop it.
"…Mamma, don't go."
I regretted it instantly.
But Elowen paused.
She turned back slowly.
The bond flared with something that wasn't romantic, wasn't childish, wasn't simple.
It was protective instinct meeting protective instinct.
Elowen walked back, scooped me up again without hesitation, and settled me against her chest.
"Then you're coming with me," she said.
"What? No, I'll be in the way."
Elowen adjusted her hold like she'd done this a hundred times. "You're the reason I'm alive. You're not staying alone in a room anyone could breach."
I stared up at her. "You're really going to carry me around like—like—"
"Like you're mine to protect," Elowen finished, tone leaving no room for argument.
My face heated again.
But the fear in my chest eased, because the truth was obvious:
Being carried felt safe.
Felt… right.
We stepped out into the corridor.
Knights turned. Servants stared. Whispers followed like trailing ribbons.
Elowen walked anyway, unbothered, her cape swaying, her chin lifted.
And I—legendary sword spirit, defender of the Heroine, apparently a small child in her arms—rested my head against her shoulder and listened to her heartbeat.
Steady.
Unbroken.
Alive.
I whispered into the bond, so only she could hear.
I'll get stronger. So you don't have to carry me forever.
Elowen's answer came back the same way—quiet, warm, absolute.
Take your time. I'm not dropping you.
And for the first time since waking in cold velvet darkness, I believed it.