The quiet corridors of the villa stretched ahead, the hum of the banquet retreating behind them, replaced by the softer sounds of nightfall. Moonlight slipped through arched windows, illuminating the marble floors as Luciana led Erebus through the familiar, winding halls—toward the nursery.
The faintest smile curved at the corner of her lips, though her posture remained composed, regal. Erebus walked beside her, his molten gaze drifting across the walls—the same gilded corridors he'd once left behind, when duty, conquest, and a realm in ashes had dragged him north.
Tonight, the path felt heavier.
They paused at an intricately carved door adorned with phoenixes and olive branches. Luciana pressed it open, revealing the nursery bathed in soft lamplight. Despite the hour, warmth lingered in the air. The vaulted ceilings were painted with celestial murals, winged creatures soaring amidst golden constellations. Toys enchanted with faint magic floated lazily, drifting like feathers through the room.
As Luciana led him inside, the faint scent of lavender lingering beneath the warm glow of enchanted lanterns. Shadows stretched long across the marble floor, their edges softened by the painted murals overhead—winged creatures and constellations drifting along the vaulted ceiling.
Augusta stood in quiet vigilance near the window, her arms folded, sharp eyes tracking every movement. Her presence brought an added stillness to the space—a protector's weight—but the atmosphere remained gentle, untouched by the world outside.
She immediately stood up in respect as both of them gestured her to keep seated.
Nemesis was the first to notice them. His silvery-ash hair was unkempt from play, his small wings shifting with excitement as he turned toward the door. His eyes—bright and curious—widened.
"Father!" His voice cut through the quiet, high with exhilaration.
Hades scrambled after him, still steadying his footing, his straight, ink-black hair falling into his round eyes. His small fists pumped with determination as he stumbled toward them, forming the word on his tongue with effort.
"Fa… Fath… Father… home…!" The syllables caught, but his face lit with quiet victory as he pushed them out, step by step.
Erebus dropped to one knee as both boys barreled toward him. Nemesis collided with his chest, wings flaring, arms latching tightly around his father's shoulders. Hades followed, pressing against his side, his tiny hands curling into the black fabric of Erebus' cloak.
Erebus' hand slid across Nemesis' silver hair, smoothing the unruly strands, while his other arm circled Hades with quiet steadiness.
"You've grown," Erebus remarked, voice low, sharp edges softened beneath the observation. His gaze drifted briefly toward Augusta. "You've been keeping them in line, I trust?"
Nemesis beamed, eager, already launching into an excited ramble about flight lessons and mischief, while Hades clung closer, repeating, "Father," his pronunciation stronger with every try.
Erebus' eyes lifted, drawn to the quiet figure standing by the far side of the room.
Luciana.
She held Ra'el carefully against her shoulder, her posture unwavering, her face composed—but her grip gentle, protective. The infant in her arms had changed since Erebus last saw him.
Pale silky white hair framed his small head, stark as moonlight—a clear inheritance from Luciana. His skin held the bronzed warmth of Erebus' own, faintly sun-touched beneath the soft silks wrapped around him. His ears, subtly pointed, peeked through the snowy strands, quiet evidence of his bloodline's tangled legacy.
But it was the boy's eyes—sharp, impossibly black, wide with quiet scrutiny—that fixed on Erebus with unnerving clarity.
The weight of Ra'el's stare lingered longer than expected as Erebus stepped closer.
"He's six months now," Luciana said, her voice measured but carrying a note beneath it—a reminder, perhaps, of how long he had been gone. "You left when he was still fighting for air."
Erebus said nothing at first, reaching out, his hand steady but coiled with hesitation as his fingers brushed along Ra'el's back. The child shifted slightly but did not resist, his small bronze hand curling instinctively into the fabric of Erebus' cloak.
Nemesis hovered nearby, his small wings twitching.
"He's strong, Father," Nemesis declared with conviction. "Stronger than Hades was at his age. Augusta says he'll be crawling faster than both of us."
Erebus adjusted his hold, Ra'el settling against him without a sound. The boy's sharp black eyes never drifted, never blinked, watching him with unsettling focus for one so young.
Erebus glanced toward Luciana. Her expression remained carefully composed, though the faintest trace of guarded exhaustion lingered at the edges of her eyes.
Nemesis' voice cut back in, bright, impatient.
"Father—when are we leaving for Krovzaryan? You promised we'd all be together when the banners were raised!"
Erebus shifted, his hand gently steadying Nemesis' shoulder.
"We will," he answered, quiet certainty anchoring his words. "Not before the arrangements are sealed. Your grandfather and I have terms to settle."
Nemesis' face wrinkled with impatience, his small wings flexing.
"But you're here now," he protested. "The soldiers are ready—the city's watching. Everyone knows."
Luciana's gaze flicked between them, unreadable. She adjusted the silk blanket over Ra'el's small frame, the child still watching Erebus without wavering.
Erebus' reply came after a pause, voice measured.
"I made a vow. We leave together—but on our terms, not theirs."
Nemesis frowned but nodded, clearly unsatisfied but choosing not to argue further. Hades, quiet beside them, repeated softly,
"Krov… Krovzaryan… home…"
Erebus glanced down, his hand resting briefly against Hades' dark head, smoothing the silky strands.
Luciana stepped closer, her eyes narrowing just slightly as she searched his expression.
"You'll tell me when you intend to force their hand?" she asked, quiet but direct.
Erebus didn't answer immediately. Ra'el's small grip tightened faintly against his cloak, those black, sharp eyes still watching.
"Tonight is not for politics," Erebus replied, shifting his gaze from her to the boys, to the infant nestled in his arms. "We'll speak of that soon."
Luciana held his gaze for a moment longer, then nodded, adjusting the blanket around Ra'el as she led them further into the nursery. Augusta quietly stepped aside, retreating to her usual station by the window, observing in silence.
The children settled near their toys, Nemesis still chattering about flights and soldiers, Hades curling close beside him. Ra'el remained silent in Erebus' arms, awake, alert, unblinking.
The hum of conversation, the glow of lanterns, and the faint sound of laughter filled the room—temporary, fragile, untouched by the negotiations still brewing beyond these walls.
The city waited. The court whispered. Krovzaryan's banners loomed.
But here, beneath painted ceilings and watchful eyes, the empire's true foundation lay—still breathing, still growing, still watching.