The warmth of their voices pulled me through the space before my feet even made sound on the stone. My ribs ached, and my mana buzzed low, but none of it mattered, not with that soft, familiar light glowing like a hearth just ahead.
My mother's outline flared first, so gentle and dim, like petals in moonlight. I didn't wait for words. I just dropped my plate on the table's edge and threw my arms around her before she could even say hello.
Her hands came up quick, brushing over my back, pulling me close. Her voice was exactly as I remembered—soft, calm, always a little sad around the edges.
"Annabel, you didn't even let me see your face first."
"I've been staring at a sword all day," I said into her shoulder. "You'll survive."
Across from us, Ramon's mana pulsed with that steady flame I knew too well, strong, warm, smug when he wanted to be. And right now?
"You know…" his voice was low, teasing. "You're the youngest of us, but somehow you've become the most known mage of your generation."
A pause. "I'm starting to feel like the little brother."
I grinned and pulled away from our mother just in time for my father to pull me into another hug—this one tighter, heavier. His mana always felt like a shield wall. Thick. Unyielding.
"You were incredible out there," he said near my ear. "The spar with the Ætherbound was… well. Let's just say your mother nearly lost her mind every time you got hit."
"I did not!" she protested from her seat, already scooting back in to sip something warm.
I laughed. "You don't have to worry when Salem's around."
That got the tiniest shift from her, acknowledgment, affection… and a small current of uncertainty, too.
The table only had one free spot, which I noticed just as Salem stepped up beside me. We both stilled.
My hand brushed hers.
My cheeks flushed warm.
But she didn't hesitate long, her fingers curled around mine, firm and sure, and the next moment she sat and pulled me right down onto her lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.
My mother let out a quiet sound. "You two are adorable."
I turned toward her, deadpan. "Do not fuel Salem, please."
Salem's smirk pressed into my shoulder.
Then Ramon's mana flickered, sharper now, more serious.
"Wait… are you two—?"
He paused. "Together?"
I didn't answer. Not right away.
But Salem did.
"Yes," she said clearly, chin lightly resting on my collar. "We are. And no, before you ask—we don't need permission."
The table fell quiet for a breath.
Then my father's voice came, steady and low.
"This isn't exactly what I expected. And I won't lie, I can't say I'm thrilled about it—"
I cut in before I could stop myself. "But I love her," I said. "So… please don't be mad. It would really—really hurt me if you didn't accept this."
The table went still again. Not cold—just full. Like the pause before a deep breath.
And then my father exhaled.
"But… I'd never turn away someone who's protected you like she has. Not after everything."
Salem's mana didn't move, but I could feel her warmth deepen—soft, proud, and quietly holding on.
Then my mother spoke. Her mana trembled faintly, a thin ripple across the table.
"You love her?"
"I do," I said, without flinching.
She was quiet a beat longer, then let out a breath like the soft rustle of cloth on skin.
"I knew this might happen. I saw it in the letters… the way you talked about her. And I don't mind, sweet one. I only ever wanted you to feel safe. Truly safe."
A beat.
"We still have Ramon to give us all the grandchildren we want."
Ramon made a noise somewhere between a groan and a cough. "Gods above, why."
I cracked, burst out laughing, face tucked down into Salem's shoulder, shoulders shaking. "I live for this."
Salem laughed too, soft and smug and entirely too pleased.
My family's table glowed with pressure and warmth and old jokes.
It wasn't perfect.
But it felt like home.
The food was still hot.
I'd finally shifted to sitting properly on the bench next to Salem, who stayed close, her arm slung behind me like a quiet claim. My plate was mostly meat, bits of spice still clinging to the corners, and I chewed through it without apology. Warmth bloomed in my stomach. I was still tired, still sore… but not cold anymore.
The table buzzed low with my family's presence—my mother's calm mana like rippling silk, my father's like an old forge, and Ramon's like a torch barely pretending it didn't want attention. Then I felt them.
Four quick pulses behind me, lively, younger, familiar.
"Annabel!" Fay's voice came first. Always bright. Always polite.
They were standing just off the table—Fay, Rōko, William, and Alven. I could tell by the shapes, the outlines, and the mix of restrained nerves and awe radiating off them like candlelight in a storm.
"That was incredible," William said, his voice hushed like he didn't want to embarrass me. "We were all watching you fight."
"I've never seen someone look so happy as Kate did when you beat Julius," Alven added with a chuckle.
I didn't even look up from my food. "Of course she was happy," I muttered. "They probably had a bet worth more gold than a commoner's house riding on it."
Fay made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. "That's… probably true."
"Sorry for interrupting your dinner," Rōko said, respectful but casual.
"You're not," I said plainly. "You're fine."
They lingered a second longer before I felt them slip away, voices low with leftover excitement as they returned to the main tables. The dining hall beyond us still buzzed—nobles bragging, Ætherbound laughing, the scent of fruit tarts being carried in from the kitchens.
Then my mother's soft voice pulled me back.
"You've been sending letters," she said, voice warm and wistful. "But it's not the same. I'm so glad I get to hear your stories in person again. Last time I saw you, you were completely silent…"
Her mana flickered, a ripple of old worry.
"It was right after the Blazewind incident. I didn't want to push, you looked so… closed. But now? You look like my little Annabel again. And I want to hear your sweet voice all day and night, if I can. I can't explain how much I've missed you."
I swallowed something thick in my throat. Set my fork down.
"Maybe we can have some one-on-one time later, then," I said softly. "Ramon and Father already look uninterested."
"We do not," Ramon grumbled, his aura flickering in protest.
"You're lying," I said, smirking. "I prefer not to talk sweetly with brutes around anyway."
That got a laugh from all of them—my father's big and open, Ramon's dry and muttered under his breath.
"Alright," my father said with a huff. "We'll be at a pub, sweetheart. You two enjoy yourselves."
"Oh, I will," my mother said with mock pride. "It's my only daughter. Being with you boys all the time drives me crazy."
"Drives us crazy too," Ramon muttered.
I reached for another piece of meat, not even pretending to be modest anymore. Salem nudged my knee under the table, and I leaned lightly against her as the world around me flickered and glowed — familiar, warm, and whole again.
For a little while, the war and titles and devils didn't exist.
Just one more bite.
And a family full of voices I didn't want to forget.
The noise of the dining hall dulled behind us like a distant forge. The clatter of plates and war-table chatter blurred into static. All I focused on was the outline beside me—soft, calm, warm as candlelight.
"Would you… come to my room?" I asked, my voice lower than I meant it to be. "King Hadrian gave me a suite here in the castle. I'd rather talk without everyone around."
My mother didn't hesitate. Her answer came in the form of her hand brushing mine and the gentle nod of her mana pulse, steady like rain on earth.
I turned, stepping toward Salem.
She was already moving.
Her arms came around me, firm and full, locking me in place like she never wanted to let go. I felt her breath against my neck, the curve of her mouth near my cheek as we pulled away, just barely, lips almost brushing.
"Just a little space," I whispered. "I'll be back soon."
Her arms tightened slightly. "Take your time."
And just like that, she let me go.
I didn't need to look back to know her eyes were still on me as I walked away.
⸻
The corridor was quieter the deeper we went. No nobles. No guards. Just distant torchlight and the soft tap of our footsteps across the old stone. The door to my room opened with a groan of age and polished hinges.
Inside, the suite was wide and warm. I sensed tall bookshelves along the wall, a hearth still crackling with red embers, thick rugs beneath our feet, and a massive bed draped in furs and silk. I hadn't even closed the door before my mother's presence shifted behind me—more certain, more forward.
Her arms caught me gently, turned me around, and then sat me down onto the bed like she used to when I was eight and still fit perfectly into her lap.
"Take off the public face, Annabel," she said softly, her hands resting on my shoulders. "You've been faking it all day. Maybe longer."
I stayed still. I could feel the way her mana trembled gently around the edges. Not angry. Not judging.
Worried.
"You've been doing it for a while, haven't you, sweetheart? Haven't you gotten tired?"
I swallowed, but my throat felt thick. The words came up like stones from a deep well.
"I am tired," I admitted. "So tired. I keep smiling for nobles, playing nice at school, making sure everyone thinks I'm perfect." I clenched the furs beneath me. "I don't want to be known. I want quiet."
I paused.
Then: "Salem is my quiet."
My mother didn't answer at first.
I heard her walk to the vanity, pick something up. She returned to the bed and sat behind me. A moment later, the brush began moving through my hair. Slow, steady strokes. Each one a little softer than the last.
"You look happier now than the last time I saw you," she said. "But some of the people you smiled at tonight? It felt like watching someone else wear your face."
The brush paused briefly to untangle a knot, then resumed its rhythm.
"You've always hated pretending," she said, her voice soft but steady, "I know you're powerful now, more powerful than I think I can understand—but you're still a child, my child. And you've barely been home."
The brush slowed slightly, then began its soft rhythm again, bristles whispering through my hair.
I exhaled through my nose, fingers curling loosely around the edge of the fur throw beneath me.
"I wish I could be home more," I murmured, the words barely above a whisper. "More than anything. But the burden that's coming, the war, the devils, everything… it's going to land on my shoulders one day. I feel it all the time. And I have to be ready. Right now it's on Lincoln. But he won't carry it forever. I need to catch up. Fast."
I tilted my head slightly, brushing my cheek against her arm.
"And it's not just for people I'll never meet," I continued. "I'm doing this for you, Mom. For Dad. For Ramon. For Salem. You four… you're everything to me. If I can protect even just you….then all of this is worth it."
She was quiet.
But her mana shimmered like soft wind through tall grass.
Then her arms slid forward—around my shoulders now, brush set aside. She held me, chin resting against the top of my head.
"I really hope Salem is that person for you," she whispered, a tremble in her voice now. "You deserve all the happiness, Annabel. Always."
She paused for a very small second to run her hand through my hair.
"I know the world's asking too much of you. But I'm proud. So proud. And I just want you to know that being your mother… is the greatest honor of my life."
I leaned back until my spine touched her knee.
"Nothing beats your hair brushing," I said softly.
She chuckled. It warmed the space between us.
A moment passed.
"About last year…" I began. "I'm sorry. If I worried you."
The brush slowed, but didn't stop.
"I didn't talk about it because if I had—if I let myself feel it—I think I would've shattered. You would've locked me away. And I… I needed to keep going. To move forward."
The silence grew dense.
"Lycian's betrayal hurt me more than anything else in my life. But I didn't want revenge. Not right away. I just wanted permission to cry. And no one gave it to me."
I felt my mother's arms slip around my waist, her cheek pressing gently to the top of my head.
"I have that now," I whispered. "It's Salem. She doesn't leave. She's always there when I fall."
There was a pause. Then a single warm drop hit the top of my scalp, trailing slowly down into my hair.
"I am happy," my mother said, barely more than a breath. "So, so happy."
I reached back, grabbing her hand.
We stayed like that for a while.
And in that quiet, for the first time in in a long time, I let the mask fall.
Not all the way.
But enough to breathe.
My mother's arms shifted around my waist again, and this time she stood with me. I followed her, reluctantly rising from the warmth of the bed, reluctant to break the quiet — but Salem was waiting. I could feel her even from here. A flicker of excitement and anxiety pressed lightly against the edge of my awareness like gentle rain on a glass window.
"Salem gets anxious when I'm gone too long," I said, brushing down the front of my robes. "Like a puppy, really."
My mother laughed softly, then took my hands in hers.
"I haven't even told you how beautiful you look yet," she said, squeezing gently. "You've grown so much. Your posture, your voice, the way you walk and talk… Most girls your age are still trying to grow out of tantrums. But you—gods, sweetheart—there's elegance in the way you move now. Like royalty. And your hair—it's thick and wild and alive. You've always had that natural poise. Like your father when he wants something. And that smile? I missed it so much."
I could feel my cheeks warming under the praise, but I didn't pull away. Her mana shimmered warmly, soft and golden like late sunlight caught in glass. For a moment I let myself feel the pride in it.
We stepped out of the room together, her arm looped gently with mine.
She glanced back once. "This suite is lovely too," she added. "Must be a bummer you'll have to go back to the academy after this."
"Tell me about it," I sighed. "I could live here forever. But… thanks, Mom. For the talk. I feel better now. I really do."
She didn't need to say anything else. I could feel the pride humming in her mana again, and the way her aura pulsed faintly with affection, almost clinging. Then…
A new flicker.
Salem.
Waiting just outside the door, her outline already framed in that familiar confident blaze of violet and steel-blue mana. She wasn't pacing, but I could tell she'd been standing there a while. When I stepped into the hallway, she straightened slightly.
"Hey," I said, smiling without thinking.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice low. Soft.
I nodded. "Better now."
My mother turned toward her. "Thank you," she said, her voice just as gentle. "For being there. For helping her smile again."
Salem chuckled a little, like it embarrassed her. "It's no trouble," she said. "Truly."
"I'll leave you two be," my mother said, touching my shoulder once more. "You must have a lot of work ahead, and I better go track down your father and brother before they drink themselves into another stupid story."
I hesitated, reaching into my pocket.
"I wanted to give you this."
I pressed a thin bracelet into her hand, smooth, reinforced with silverbark strands and cold-iron charms. I imbued it with mana as I spoke, letting it drink deeply from my reserves until it hummed faintly in my palm.
"If anything ever happens," I said softly, "point it at the threat. It'll use spatial magic to… take care…of the problem."
Her breath caught slightly as she turned it over in her fingers, sensing the magic now etched inside.
"Oh, Annabel…" she whispered, then hugged me fiercely again.
I smiled. "Just in case."
She kissed the top of my head once, then let go.
"Be safe," she said. "Both of you."
And then her outline shimmered with movement, her footsteps echoing gently down the stone hall.
Salem stepped closer behind me, and I reached back blindly until my hand found hers.
"I like her," she whispered.
"She's the best," I replied.
And for a moment, we just stood there.
Admiring my mother as she walked off.
Quiet.
Safe.
Together.