Lady Aurora paced the length of the sitting room, the soft padding of her slippers muffled against the manor's plush rug.
Her gown of twilight blue rustled as she moved, her brow furrowed in thought. Phineus sat cross-legged on a velvet cushion nearby, dutifully practicing his letters with Cheri, practicing his letters as they watching him with a careful eye.
"She should've been back by now," Aurora thought, teeth grazing her thumbnail. A horrible habit. One she'd never quite outgrown.
She paused mid-bite, hearing the echo of Niegal's voice from her childhood: "Aurora, that's a peasant's nervous tic. Keep your hands clean, and your eyes sharper."
She exhaled through her nose, shaking the memory away.
But before she could return to pacing, a sudden shadow passed over the windows. The light dimmed. The sun disappeared in one swift blink. A murmur rippled through the manor as her attendant scrambled to ignite the mana-powered lamps. Their cold blue glow sparked to life around the room, casting strange reflections against the tall, rain-speckled windows.
Aurora's face drained of color.
"No," she whispered. "Not a hurakan. Not now."
The windows groaned as a furious gust of wind pressed against the glass. The sky outside churned with unnatural darkness, rain beginning to lash like claws against the panes.
Just then, the doors burst open.
Seamus stormed into the room, his usually composed expression contorted in fury and panic. His chest heaved with uneven breath as his silver eyes scanned the space, darting to corners, to shadows—as if expecting someone to appear.
"Seamus?" Aurora's voice was sharp. Measured.
But he said nothing, striding past her to the window. His gaze locked on the sky. Clouds swirled like smoke rings from a dragon's snout, and thunder cracked so close it rattled the chandelier overhead.
His reflection in the glass shimmered red from the firelight behind them.
Then, slowly, he turned.
"Where is Elena?"
Aurora stiffened.
Cheri quietly rushed Phineus out of the room. She mused she should feel bad for her lord, but after scaring her earlier, and his treatment of Elena, she just walked out with her head held high. Puto, she thought to herself.
The door closed behind them, and the room was silent but for the hiss of rain and distant thunder.
Seamus's jaw tightened. "Mother, I will only ask this once. I warn you—I am not in the right state of mind."
He approached the fire. It offered no answers. Just cold, ash-flecked cinders.
"Where is she?"
Aurora didn't flinch. Her voice dripped with restrained venom.
"Oh, now you ask? After a full month of silence?"
He scowled, turning toward her. "You know why."
"Do I?" she snapped, stepping closer and jabbing a finger into his chest. "My son—you still haven't learned, have you?" Her voice cracked slightly, though she refused to cry. "You don't get to ask where she is. Do you even know what she's been doing for you? What she's endured for you?!"
He looked away.
Aurora caught his sleeve, only for Seamus to swat her hand aside like a viper had touched him.
"If you're not going to help me, just be quiet. Go… do whatever it is you do."
And that was it.
Aurora erupted. "You utter ass!"
The words thundered from her mouth like the very storm above them.
She stormed after him as he made for the hall, her footsteps echoing against the marble. "You want to know where she is?! She's trying to save us from utter ruin!"
Seamus spun around at the bottom of the grand staircase, his boots wet with stormwater tracked in from wherever he'd come from. "So she's gone?"
"She should be," Aurora shot back, fire dancing in her eyes. "But no. She isn't. And gods know why."
He lurched forward, gripping the banister. "She can't be gone."
Aurora struck his hand away.
"You left her," she hissed. "You let her walk alone, while you wallowed in your war plans and your whiskey. And still, still, she goes to save you." Her nostrils flared. "Do you have any idea what she had to endure on the healers table?"
The manor seemed to hold its breath as thunder crashed.
Seamus blinked, struggling to stand still as if the floor itself shifted beneath him. "What do you mean… save me?"
Aurora leaned in, lowering her voice. "We received word yesterday. A letter arrived. Your uncle is alive."
He staggered backward as if he'd been punched.
"Uncle Niegal? But—he died—"
"He didn't," Aurora snapped. "He asked for Elena. Only Elena. He didn't say why."
Seamus's mouth worked without sound. The realization struck him harder than he thought it could.
Outside, lightning flashed, illuminating their silhouettes through the stained-glass windows.
"She went to him," Aurora continued, her voice softer now. "To find another way. One without blood. While you were busy planning your war."
He didn't reply. Only stood there, eyes wide, thunder reflecting in their depths.
"She's not in danger," Aurora said gently. "But she won't be able to return tonight. Not in this hurakan. You've lost her for the evening, if not longer."
Then, she turned. Her slippers silent on the marble as she ascended the grand staircase. At the top, she paused, casting one final glance down at her son.
She had never seen him so hollow.
With a sigh, Aurora entered the sitting room once more. She crossed to a side table and selected one of Elena's personal cigarillos. A blend of herbs, flowers, and just enough mana to soothe the nerves. She lit the end with a whisper of flame magic and sat by the window.
Rain slammed against the glass as she exhaled a ribbon of gray smoke.
"Foolish boy," she murmured, resting her head back against the chair. "And a greater fool if you let her slip away again."