He smirked, tossing her a piece. "Take it—I'm full." She caught it, laughing, and he leaned back, spellbook cool under his fingers. The suns climbed, their light prickling his skin through the window, ward humming faint. Bread didn't fix it—hunger, Mira, that shadow—but it held him, for now, in Talsara's slow morning.
Kaelith lingered at the table, crumbs scattered under his fingers, the rye loaf's crust flaking where Lirien'd torn it. Her laugh echoed out the door—she'd grabbed another chunk and bolted, shouting about goats needing her before Veyra could snag her for chores. The hearth's crackle filled the quiet, embers glowing soft, but Veyra was gone, out back fetching water, her broken hum still thudding in his head. He leaned back, stool creaking, the spellbook untouched on its perch, runes glinting like they mocked his Ember Veil flop at dawn.
The window drew his eye—glass smudged, suns climbing—and he tensed, half-expecting that flicker again, the small shape clutching something, gone fast. Nothing moved now, just oaks swaying slow beyond, but the chill stuck, a prickle under his skin tying to Mira's close now. That baby—half his blood, half a stranger's—loomed closer, splitting the cottage's warmth. Kazu'd dodged family—blinds down, Hiro's calls ignored, alone till the truck roared. Kaelith couldn't, not with Veyra's tight shoulders, Talren's make it right ringing hollow. He rubbed his neck, pendant shifting, and stood, grabbing the spellbook. Sitting wouldn't fix it.
Outside, the backyard stretched narrow—patchy grass, a stump Talren used for chopping, oaks crowding the edges. The suns climbed higher, gold and red pressing through leaves, their light stinging his skin despite the ward's hum. He set the book on the stump, flipping to Ember Veil, words sharp: focus heat, let it bloom. Failure burned worse here—sun glaring, no moons to hide it. He'd choked at dawn, Kazu's you'll screw it dragging him down, but he'd try again. Had to.
He scanned the oaks first, eyes lingering on their sway—slow, heavy, no flicker darting through. The chill clung anyway, a wrongness he couldn't pin, like footsteps with no source. Shaking it off, he spread his palms, breathing deep, mana coiling warm in his chest. "Ignis velum," he murmured, pushing it slow, picturing flames wrapping tight. Orange sparks bloomed—brighter now, curling up his arms, a thin veil flickering steady. He counted—one, two, three, four—heat holding, shielding without burning, heart thudding. Five, six. Closer—better than dawn, a real chance.
Then it shuddered. He glanced at the oaks—instinct, not thought—and saw nothing, but the chill spiked, his focus cracking. Kazu's weak hissed in—Hiro's rain-soaked face, hand slipping, scream lost. Flames collapsed, embers scattering, and his gums stung, fangs pricking sharp, hunger clawing up. Lirien's pulse thudded back—her tackle outside, heat pinning him, too alive. He gripped the stump, splinters biting his palms, her rhythm loud in his ears—thump, thump—mixing with Kazu's ramen nights, shoving down ache with junk. "Not now," he growled, voice raw, dirt cool under his bare feet, pressing his hands harder till the sting drowned it. Bread hadn't killed it—nothing did—but he'd hold it back. Always did.
Boots crunched behind the cottage—heavy, slow—and Kaelith spun, heart kicking. Talren rounded the corner, cloak dusted with leaves, hazel eyes tired, a sack slung over his shoulder. "Lad," he said, rough, stopping short. "Didn't expect you out here."
Kaelith straightened, spellbook forgotten, hunger shoved deep. "Just… trying stuff," he said, flat, eyeing the sack—bulging, heavy. "Traps good?"
Talren nodded, slow, dropping it by the stump with a thud. "Got a hare or two." His gaze flicked to the book, then Kaelith's hands—trembling faint, splinters flecked. "Practicing again?"
"Yeah," Kaelith said, clipped, embers' sting lingering. "Didn't work."
Talren grunted, scratching his beard, rasp loud in the quiet. "Keep at it. You'll get there." He paused, eyes dropping, voice lower. "Stopped by Mira's. She's… not long now. Asked for cloth, so I…" He trailed off, nodding at the sack, guilt creasing his face like a scar.
Kaelith's gut tightened—Mira, cloth, not long. "You tell Mum?" he asked, steady, testing.
Talren's jaw twitched, gaze on the dirt. "Will. Tonight." He shifted, heavy, like the words weighed more than the sack. "It's… complicated, lad."
"Yeah," Kaelith said, dry, pendant tapping his chest. Complicated. Kazu'd dodged complicated—left it to rot—but he couldn't, not with Talren's slump, Veyra's hum breaking in his ears. He grabbed the spellbook, fingers tight, and turned for the cottage. "She's inside," he said, not looking back.
Talren's boots didn't move, but his voice followed, soft. "You're a good kid, Kaelith."
Kaelith paused, dirt under his soles, hunger a faint pulse. Good didn't fix it—not the sun, not Mira, not him. But it was something. He nodded, short, and walked on, the suns burning higher.