Elara Veyther wiped flour-dusted hands on her apron as she watched the trio barrel through the forge yard—her son bookended by the two whirlwinds that had crashed into his life last winter. The Lancaster girl marched ahead like a tiny general, her braid swinging with each purposeful step. Behind her, the Duskbane boy flickered at the edges, already half-transparent with restless energy. And between them, Ardyn—her quiet, too-pretty boy—laughed at something the girl had said, his cheeks flushed with a color Elara hadn't seen in years.
"Stop dawdling," the girl—Lyria, she remembered—snapped over her shoulder. "If we're late to the festival, I'm feeding your share of candied nuts to the ducks."
Kael's hammer paused mid-strike at his anvil, the blacksmith's dark eyes tracking the children's progress down the lane. "That girl's got a mouth like a rusted hinge," he muttered, though Elara saw the twitch at the corner of his mouth.
"She brought him home last month when the aether fever spiked," Elara reminded him, kneading dough with more force than necessary. "Carried him right to our door like he weighed nothing."
Her husband grunted, plunging a glowing horseshoe into the water trough. Steam hissed between them. They both remembered the winters Ardyn had spent shivering beneath every blanket they owned, the way his breath had frosted the air even indoors. The healers had shaken their heads, the neighbors had whispered about curses—but this sharp-eyed girl had simply bundled him up and bullied him into drinking some foul-smelling tea that actually worked.
Through the open window, they caught snippets of argument:
"—not my fault you phase through solid objects!" Lyria's voice carried.
"I was aiming for the roof!" the Duskbane boy protested.
Ardyn's softer interjection: "Technically, if you account for spatial drift—"
"Don't you start with your numbers, pretty boy."
Kael's calloused fingers tightened around the tongs. He'd spent twenty years tempering steel, knew the exact moment to quench a blade so it wouldn't shatter—yet this child with her thief's hands and stormy eyes had somehow forged his son into something stronger than any metal.
Elara watched as Lyria suddenly grabbed both boys' wrists, dragging them toward a sweetmeat stall. The way her son didn't flinch at the contact struck her like a hammerblow. That same boy who used to hide from touch during his worst episodes, now leaning into a scrappy girl's grip like it anchored him.
"She calls him an idiot," Kael observed, watching Lyria shove a honey cake into Ardyn's hands.
Elara smiled. "She makes him eat."
Duskbane had vanished—probably teleported onto the stall roof—but Lyria kept one hand fisted in Ardyn's sleeve as she haggled with the vendor. Protective. Possessive. Like she'd already decided he belonged to her.
Kael set down his tools with a sigh. "We should invite them for supper."
"Already planned," Elara said, nodding toward the extra loaves rising by the hearth. "The girl steals my good knives if I don't feed her regularly."
As twilight painted the forge in golds and purples, they watched their son walk home between his two unlikely guardians—Lyria chattering about festival games, Therion materializing just long enough to drop a stolen flower crown on Ardyn's head before vanishing again.
Elara's chest ached. Not from fear this time, but from the terrifying hope that maybe, just maybe, her fragile boy had finally found people who wouldn't let him break.
Elara wiped her hands on her apron as she set the table, the scent of fresh bread and roasted lamb filling their small home. The extra chairs—scuffed from years of use—had been pulled up close, and she had even dug out the good clay cups they usually saved for holidays.
Kael leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest. "You're fussing," he observed, though there was no real reproach in his voice.
"I'm not," Elara muttered, adjusting the position of a spoon for the third time.
Her husband chuckled, the sound low and warm like the forge's embers. "You are. But I suppose it's not every day our boy brings home a storm and a shadow."
Elara shot him a look. "Lyria is not a storm."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "She kicked a merchant's son in the shins last week for calling Ardyn 'too delicate.'"
"That boy deserved it," Elara said without hesitation.
Kael's laughter rumbled through the room. "See? You're already defending her like she's yours."
Elara opened her mouth to argue, but the sound of voices outside cut her off.
"—told you not to phase through the fence!" Lyria's voice carried through the open window, sharp with exasperation.
"It was an accident!" Therion's protest was muffled, as if he were halfway through a wall.
"And yet, somehow, it's always my job to explain to people why there's a boy-shaped hole in their property!"
Kael shook his head, pushing off from the doorframe. "I'll go fetch them before they argue their way into another brawl."
Elara watched him go, her husband's broad shoulders blocking the fading sunlight as he stepped outside. She could hear his deep voice mixing with the children's—Therion's quick retorts, Lyria's unimpressed snorts, Ardyn's quiet interjections—and something in her chest loosened.
When they finally tumbled inside, Lyria was mid-rant about Therion's "complete lack of spatial awareness," her cheeks flushed with indignation. Therion, for his part, was grinning like he'd won something, his dark hair sticking up in every direction. Ardyn trailed behind them both, looking equal parts amused and exhausted, his usually neat clothes slightly rumpled.
"Sit," Elara ordered, pointing to the table. "Before the food gets cold."
Lyria plopped into a chair without hesitation, already eyeing the spread with the calculating gaze of someone who'd gone hungry too often. Therion flickered—just slightly—before settling into his seat, while Ardyn hesitated, his fingers brushing the back of his chair.
Elara didn't miss the way Lyria reached out, quick as a striking snake, and yanked him down beside her. "Stop thinking so hard," she muttered, shoving a roll into his hands.
Kael took his seat at the head of the table, his dark eyes flickering between the three of them. "So," he said, slow and deliberate, "how many laws did you break today?"
Therion grinned. "Only two."
"Three," Lyria corrected. "You forgot the part where you teleported into the magistrate's garden."
"That wasn't illegal, just rude."
Ardyn sighed, long-suffering, and Elara bit back a smile.
The meal passed in a blur of bickering and stolen food—Therion swiping slices of lamb from Lyria's plate when she wasn't looking, Lyria retaliating by dumping extra vegetables onto his. Ardyn, as usual, got caught in the crossfire, his protests ignored as Lyria bullied him into eating seconds.
Kael watched it all with quiet amusement, his sharp gaze missing nothing. When the chaos lulled—briefly—he leaned forward. "Lyria."
The girl froze, a piece of bread halfway to her mouth. "Yes?"
"You're good for him," Kael said simply, nodding toward Ardyn.
Lyria's cheeks turned pink. "I—what?"
Elara hid her smile in her cup.
Therion cackled. "Oh, this is priceless."
Ardyn, to his credit, just sighed and stole a slice of apple from Therion's plate.
Later, when the dishes were cleared and the children had vanished into the night—Lyria dragging Therion by the wrist, Ardyn trailing behind like a resigned shadow—Elara stood beside her husband in the doorway, watching them go.
"They'll be the death of me," Kael muttered, though his voice was fond.
Elara leaned into his side. "But what a way to go."