Years passed gently under the skies of their hidden clan. The stars above shifted in slow rhythms, always watching in quiet, like a gentle cloak that wrapped around their home.
Inside the training courtyard, a flash of light danced across the open space.
"Stay still, Azaryel!" Xentharya shouted, her white hair flying as she swung a heavy, broad sword with sharp precision. "You'll never dodge properly if you keep flinching!"
Azaryel, now five years old, stumbled back with a startled yelp, barely avoiding the strike. His bright green eyes were wide with alarm.
"You're too fast!"
"That's the point!" she snapped, eyes blazing with pride. "You'll never learn if you keep backing away like a scared deer."
A calm voice drifted in from the edge of the courtyard.
"Maybe if you weren't treating training like battle, he wouldn't be flinching."
Xentharya turned to see Aokiran leaning against one of the wooden pillars. At fifteen, he stood taller now quiet, composed, unreadable, like moonlight on still water startling to resemble more and more like their father. A long staff rested across his shoulder.
She scowled. "I'm helping him toughen up."
"He's five."
"I was sparring by four!"
Aokiran sighed and stepped forward. Azaryel clutched his wooden sword tightly, glancing between his siblings.
"Come on," Aokiran said gently. "Let me show you."
Azaryel's tense shoulders eased. He handed over his sword and watched with wide eyes as Aokiran knelt beside him, moving slow and steady teaching him how to stand, how to breathe, how to move.
"You don't need to rush," Aokiran said softly. "Xena great at pushing people forward, but you need to find your own rhythm."
Xentharya folded her arms and watched. "So, I'm just the mean one, huh?"
Aokiran glanced up, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Azaryel looked between them and asked, "Big brother uses a staff, and big sister uses a sword… Which one should I choose?"
Xentharya walked over and ruffled his messy white hair. "You should go with whatever feels right to you."
"Feels right?" he blinked.
"Yeah. If you choose a weapon just because one of us uses it, you will not feel one with it."
Aokiran added, "And then it'll always feel like something's missing. Like it doesn't belong to you."
Azaryel looked down at his feet, thoughtful. "That sounds important."
"And It is," they both said in unison.
Up on the balcony, Elarinya leaned against Drayelion's shoulder, watching their children with a soft smile.
"They're growing and fast," she whispered.
Drayelion nodded. "Each different. Each unique in their own way."
She looked down as Aokiran gently guided Azaryel through a dodge, while Xentharya exaggerated her next strike and burst into laughter when Azaryel toppled over.
"It's time for Aokiran's academy," Elarinya said quietly.
"Should we help him prepare?"
Drayelion's eyes didn't leave the courtyard. "Yunsera is taking a three-month espionage mission to the Kingdom of Umbryssar," he said. "I've asked her to take him with her."
"Umbryssar?" Elarinya frowned. "Isn't that dangerous?"
"It is," Drayelion replied calmly. "But this year's academy admission list is full of strong candidates fighters, thinkers, schemers. If he's not prepared, he'll be left behind. He needs to understand what awaits him. And there's no better place than Umbryssar to teach him that."
He paused, watching Aokiran with silent pride.
"He's a fast learner. Yunsera uses a staff like him. She'll be a good mentor."
Silence returned to the balcony. Only the wind rustling through the trees dared interrupt their thoughts.
And down below, the courtyard rang with laughter, light footsteps, and the quiet rhythm of three hearts learning to move together sparring, teasing, growing stronger.
Together, as they would always be.