The days after Theo woke up were… weird.
Not the tragic-weird you'd expect— more like an awkward we're-all-pretending-to-be-fine brand of weird.
For one, Father decided breakfast was now held in Theo's room.
Every morning.
Which would've been sweet, if he didn't always show up half–buttoned and messy haired.
{At least he's sleeping alright I guess.}
"Pass the jam," Theo said, leaning back against a pillow like he owned the place.
"That's mine, you have your own." Gia snapped.
"I'm sick and recovering, I need it more." he reminded her for the eighth time that morning.
"And I'm almost deaf hearing about it," Mia muttered, cutting her toast like it had offended her.
Father cleared his throat, that noble please behave for five minutes sound. "Theo, less talking. More eating."
Theo grinned. "I will, as soon as someone passes the jam." he turned to Gia.
"Go get some more from the kitchen, your legs are working perfectly fine" Mia shot.
I froze mid-sip. "You can have mine Theo." I got up, handing the small plate of jam to him.
"Thanks Iris," he said, shrugging. "You're the best." He scooped a finger of jam, put it in his mouth — then stuck out his tongue at Gia. Kinda like saying In-your-face.
Father laughed. Mia and Gia gagged disgusted. And I just giggled "Keep talking, Pyromancer," I said sweetly, "and she'll dump your tea in your lap." going back to sit.
I was seeing a side of everyone I'd avoided looking at over the years,
Theo was actually a kid, snarky, sassy and full of excitement.
The twins weren't a shy and hard-headed duo I thought they were, they were ... mature.
And Father. Let's just say he can look not-so-beautiful too, I mean put together. Lately he was different.
He smiled more. Stayed longer. Listened when we bickered — like the noise was a kind of comfort.
That I could relate to, except I didn't find comfort in noisy children.
After breakfast, I'd slip off to his study.
Not because he asked, of course. I just… showed up.
"Again?" he asked, walking in on me going through ledgers, for the second time in a row.
"Yes," I said, dragging a chair beside his. "I enjoy the thrilling world of estate expenditures."
He sighed, too tired to argue. But I know he was a little impressed by the audacity.
It was our quiet thing — working side by side, the scratch of quills filling the silence we didn't know how to break otherwise.
In the afternoon I'd visit the green house, the gardeners were the ones doing the real work though. But I didn't want to neglect it for anything.
By nightfall, I'd retreat to Theo's room again.
Tea time. Our ritual. The only sane routine we kept.
Except now it wasn't just Theo and I.
Gia found excuses to join, dragging Mia along— "guard duty," "hydration supervision," she said.
Father even started appearing too, pretending he "just happened to be passing by."
"So," Gia began one night, handing me a cup, "do we still call this 'Iris and Theo's NightlyTea' or 'A family debrief'?"
"The latter," Father said dryly.
"The first one sounds cooler." Theo countered.
"I second that notion" Mia said reluctantly.
I took a sip. "I vote for 'Everyone Please Shut Up Til I Finish My Tea.'"
Silence followed. Then I snorted.
And just like that, everyone burst into laughs.
The maids hanged around by the door, spying – smiling. For the peace found in small moments.
It wasn't perfect — none of us were — but for the first time in a while, no one felt like something was missing.
.><><><.
The pale morning light dawned on the Barony of Allthais, some residents slept under the light — soft and gold, others were up and at it, in the fields, down the streams. A beautiful small village of hard workers.
Two children ran through the street paths, greeting the neighbors as they passed.
"Good morning Mister!" Their vioces echoed
"Hurry back this time, don't go too far, it's still a forest!" One of the traders shouted after them.
They wandered the edges of the Oayai border forest: Oia and her older brother Lenn.
He was fifteen, scrappy, all elbows and attitude.
She was five, with curls too bright and a voice that could melt stone.
"Come on, slowpoke!" she called, skipping ahead on the dirt path.
"Stop shouting," he said. "You'll scare the birds."
"They like me!" she grinned.
A flock of doves suddenly burst from the trees, flapping wild into the air.
She screamed, clutching his sleeve.
Lenn sighed, steadying her. "See? Now who's the one scaring the birds."
"They were loud," she muttered, pouting.
He rolled his eyes, but smiled. "You're annoying."
"I'm cute."
"Annoyingly cute."
They walked deeper, into the patch where sunlight broke through like glass shards between branches. The air was still — too still.
Lenn paused. His skin prickled. Something in the trees shifted, just barely — a movement that didn't quite seem to a normal animal.
He caught it from the corner of his eye: a shadow between the trunks, too tall, precise.
"Alright," he said quietly, taking Oia's hand. "We're going home."
"But—"
"No arguing."
She frowned, eyes glossy. "We just got here!, I won't be annoying anymore, promise. Please, Lenn? I know you don't wanna go back yet."
He didn't answer. Just lifted her up and started walking fast.
The air changed suddenly. Heavy—Pressing.
Birdsong vanished completely. Panicked and fear wrapped over him like second skin. Heart drumming.
Oia noticed his dismay, she still.
Then. It all happened in an instant. A sound — whistle-thunk.
A spear tore through his flesh, piercing clean through his back.
He froze mid-step. Blood bubbled from his mouth. Lenn fell to his knees, clutching the young girl tighter. His eyes flickered red — deep, burning, unnatural. Then he gave up.
"Sorry."
Oia screamed. "Lenn! Lenn, wake up!" She shook him, over and over, tears streaking her face, her voice echoed in the quiet forest.
Something moved towards her. A low growl.
It stepped into the light — huge, hunched, breathing beastly. The shadow hovered over her.
She wailed, but the screams didn't come. Her brother's blood soaking her dress.
She could only whisper his name in her head, again and again, as the creature leaned closer.
The forest swallowed her cry.
.><><><.
The morning sun was alarmingly alive, stabbing my eyes in sleep even through curtains.
I woke up to a stiff neck, I'd fallen asleep on the windowbed.
The book was still open where I left it last night, between scribbles under my arm, and my quill had rolled off somewhere. A blot spread across my nightgown, dark and upsetting. {Well I'm never hearing the end of this} .Just what I needed to start the morning.
I got up, groggy, stretching. Rubbing my eyes. There were papers everywhere—notes, terrible drawings, half-thoughts that probably only made sense last night. I picked one, then froze.
Right in the middle of the chaos pages, written so deep the quill must've nearly torn through the page.
RUNEBLOOD WAR.
I yawned. "Great, morning ruined."