The city received Elara Dukker the way it always did—without fear, without distance.
Winter sat lightly over Blackhaven that afternoon, a pale sky stretched thin above tiled roofs dusted with frost. The streets were busy but unhurried, people bundled in wool and fur, breath misting faintly as they went about their lives. Vendors called out their wares, carts creaked over cobblestone, and somewhere nearby a bell chimed the hour with a dull, pleasant sound.
Elara walked at an easy pace, carrying herself with practiced grace, one hand resting lightly at her side, the other occasionally brushing her stomach as if checking that everything was still as it should be.
Elias walked beside her.
He matched her stride without thinking about it, shortening his steps instinctively so she would not have to slow for him. His coat was dark blue, neatly fastened with a scarf. He put his hands were in his pockets as they walked. His eyes moved constantly—not darting, not anxious, but observant. He noticed people. Patterns. Gaps in the crowd. The way the wind moved between buildings.
Elara noticed that too.
They had been walking for several minutes before she spoke.
"Why do you always do that," she said gently.
Elias glanced up. "Do what?"
She smiled, not looking at him as she answered. "You always act as if you are detached from things around you. Even now you're walking like you're listening for something."
He frowned faintly, considering. "I am listening."
"To what?"
He hesitated. Then, honestly, "I don't know."
That earned a soft laugh from her. Not mocking. Fond.
"You remind me of myself," Elara said after a moment. "At your age."
Elias blinked. "Really?"
"Mm." She nodded.
"Serious. Quiet. Always thinking three steps ahead of everyone else." She tilted her head slightly, finally looking down at him.
"It isn't a bad thing. But it can become one if you're not careful."
He absorbed that in silence, his gaze returning to the street ahead.
They passed a row of shops—tailors, a baker, a smithy whose door stood open just enough to spill warmth and the smell of worked iron into the cold air. People noticed them, of course. Heads bowed. Smiles offered. Some waved, emboldened by familiarity.
Elara waved back.
Always.
"You know," she said, "we should visit House Mellou someday."
Elias looked at her again, surprised. "Your family?"
"Don't say it like that. They are yours too you know," Her expression softened, nostalgia threading through her voice.
"It's good that you familiaraize yourself with someone other than Aina . I don't want you growing up thinking your world begins and ends at Blackwood."
He nodded slowly. "Are they… like you?"
His mind drifted to his uncle Ortis who had been there a year ago when he dropped Aina. He was...peculiar and carried this air of confidence or was it arrogance? This air of superiority that even Aina seemed to posses. He could'nt add his mother to that list because of maternal bias.
'Perhaps if our relationship was different, I'd be able to tell.'
Elara smiled at her sons question. "House Mellou has produced many outstanding individuals for Aerthos. Scholars. Generals. Strategists."
Her smile turned wry.
"My brother broke records that stood for generations. Did things so quickly and so brilliantly that people stopped asking if he would succeed and started asking how far he would go.Living as his younger sibling wasn't exactly fun as people had high expecttions of me."
Elias sensed a shadow in her words. "Was that hard?"
"Yes," she said simply. "Very."
She exhaled, breath clouding faintly in the air.
"I spent a long time trying not to disappear behind him. I became… serious. Focused. Unlike the heads of the house Ortis didn't pressure me. He didn't keep reminding me of my heritage. I was his sister and even if I turned out to be a failure nothing would change that fact."
"That sounds harsh."
Elara chuckled. "Ortis has always been one to speak his mind without regard for circumstances or the status of whos's being adressed. Ironically, thats what gingered me to work hard. I thought thought if I stopped pushing myself for even a moment, he'd leave me behind."
They turned onto a quieter street, the noise of the market dulling behind them.
"When I went to university," Elara continued, her tone lightening, "everything changed. I met people who didn't care about my name or my accomplishments. People who got me into trouble. A lot of trouble."
Elias's eyes widened slightly. "You?"
"Oh, especially me." She chuckled. "We were called the Glory Seven back then. Ridiculous name. We hated it."
"Who was in it?"
"Well," she said, amused, "your father, for one. Roric too. And a few others who thought they were invincible."
Her smile turned fond, distant. "Your father and I fought constantly. About everything. He was stubborn, loud, infuriatingly principled even though he didn't have Flow."
Elias pictured that, faintly amused.
"And yet," Elara said, "somehow, that turned into love."
She stopped walking then, turning fully toward him. Her expression softened, all humor fading into something earnest.
"I'm telling you this because I don't want you to feel like you have to be anything yet," she said. "You don't need to carry weight just because you can."
"I don't feel burdened."
"I know," she said quickly.
"And I believe you. But sometimes we grow used to being strong, and forget that it's allowed to be easy."
They resumed walking.
"You should make time for people," Elara added. "For friends. Laughter. Small, foolish things. You should'nt let the fact that you are our son mean you can't be a child."
"But I interact with people."
"Jamie. But what if shes not there?''
Elias was silent.
"I like that you decided to learn under eth. She's harsh but a good influence. I'm sure that aside learning about herbs you also learn to interact with the people of this city. Your people."
"I'll try," he said quietly.
She smiled again stroking his hair.
"That's my boy."
They passed a small food stall then, steam curling invitingly from its open top. Elara slowed, her steps faltering just slightly.
"Oh," she murmured.
"That smells delicious."
Elias watched as she bought a small bundle of sweet pastries, still warm. She handed one to him before he could protest.
They continued on, Elias biting into it carefully. It tasted better than he expected.
A shout rang out suddenly.
A child darted into the street, laughter trailing behind him as a carriage rounded the corner far too quickly.
Everything happened at once.
Elara moved.
There was no time between moving and arriving. Just a pulse of emerald light that bloomed around her like spring breaking through snow. The air bent. The world slowed.
She was already there, one hand gripping the child's collar, pulling him back just as the carriage thundered past where he would have been.
Eddie Gable reached them a heartbeat later, hand already on his weapon.
Elara knelt, green light fading as she checked the boy over.
"Are you hurt?"
The child shook his head, stunned.
She pressed the pastry into his hands.
"Next time, look both ways."
He nodded fervently as she patted his head and ran.
Elias stood frozen.
The aura around his mother lingered in his senses—dense, harmonious, overwhelming in its gentleness. He recognized it instantly. Not just power, but mastery. Control so complete it didn't need to announce itself. She was strong even stronger than his father.
Elias caught up to her.
"I'm sorry. Did I scare you?" she asked.
"No," he said honestly.
Eddie cleared his throat. "My lady, you should be more careful."
She waved it off. "I'm fine."
Elias lifted his remaining pastry toward her.
"You should have it. For the baby."
She smiled, eyes shining. "Oh, look who's already playing the role of a big brother. Guess we'll have to share."
As they walked on, the weight of the city thinned into something gentler, and their conversation followed.
Elara asked about his lessons, whether his writing still cramped his hand, and if he was practicing his letters instead of rushing through them. Elias said yes, mostly. She narrowed her eyes in a way that told him she knew exactly what mostly meant.
They talked about the cold—how winter always made his nose red, how he refused to wear his scarf properly, how she used to do the same and caught colds for it every year. Elias insisted he wore it just fine. Elara adjusted it anyway.
They passed a dog tugging at its leash, and Elara asked if Elias was interested in getting a pet. He said maybe, though he thought dogs needed more attention than he could give right now. That made her smile—fond, a little sad, a little amused.
She reminded him to talk more with the servants, not just Miss Gable.
Elias nodded.
By the time they turned toward home, their steps had fallen into an easy rhythm, their voices low and unhurried—nothing urgent, nothing heavy. Just a mother talking to her son, and a boy walking beside her, warmed by the simple fact that she was there.