The campfire burned low, its pale flames casting long shadows across the clearing. The night had been restless for Ryan — Elara had woken from another nightmare, clutching his tunic with tiny trembling hands. He hadn't minded. Holding her close, whispering reassurances, had stirred something deep in him. Not obligation, not duty, but something heavier, warmer. Something he hadn't realized he'd missed until now.
When the dawn came, Ryan watched Elara sit cross-legged beside the fire, cheeks smudged with ash but eyes bright. She was trying to copy Kaelin's sword forms with a stick she'd scavenged. Her stance was wobbly, her grip too high, but her determination was fierce.
Kaelin noticed first. "That's not how you hold it," she muttered, unable to keep the edge from her voice. She stepped closer, reaching down to adjust the girl's hands. At first, Kaelin was stiff, her motions sharp, but when Elara looked up at her with wide eyes — so full of admiration — something softened. Kaelin sighed and crouched lower, guiding Elara's swing with a gentler touch.
"Like this," Kaelin said. "Don't fight the weight. Let it flow."
Elara beamed, swinging again. The stick wobbled dangerously, nearly clipping Kaelin's knee. Ryan smothered a laugh, and for the first time since Elara's mother's death, he saw Kaelin actually smile.
---
Lyra, meanwhile, knelt on the other side of the camp, gathering herbs. Elara abandoned her practice to scamper over, curiosity pulling her. Lyra welcomed her without hesitation, brushing a stray lock of hair from Elara's face.
"These calm the heart," Lyra explained, holding out a sprig of shimmering leaves. "They help when fear is too heavy to carry alone."
Elara sniffed them curiously. "Do you use them when you're scared?"
Lyra's amber eyes softened. "Sometimes. But more often, I sing. Would you like to hear?"
And so she did, her voice a low melody that carried through the camp. Elara leaned against her, eyelids fluttering, comforted by a song in a tongue older than Ryan could name. Watching them, Ryan felt a lump in his throat. Lyra looked less like a mage and more like a mother, her hand stroking Elara's hair as she sang.
---
Later that afternoon, danger reminded them it was never far. A rustle in the underbrush turned into a sudden charge — a horned beast, sleek and swift. Ryan grabbed Elara, pulling her back, while Kaelin leapt forward to intercept. The clash was brief, Kaelin's blade finding its mark, but the ferocity of the attack left Elara shaking.
This time, she didn't cling only to Ryan. She held Kaelin's hand with one and Lyra's with the other, her small voice whispering, "Don't leave me."
Kaelin froze at the words, visibly struck. Lyra met Ryan's gaze, something unspoken passing between them: they weren't just guardians anymore. They were becoming something closer to a family.
---
That night, as Elara finally slept, curled between Kaelin's cloak and Lyra's gentle aura, Ryan sat back against the log, staring into the stars. His chest ached, but not from weariness. From something he'd thought he'd buried long ago — the need to protect, to belong, to love.
The artifact pulsed in his hand, steady and warm, as if approving of this new bond. For the first time, Ryan wondered if fate had given him more than a burden when it dropped Elara into his path. Maybe it had given him hope.