Kaelith stepped back inside, the cottage door thudding soft behind him, sealing out the suns' sting. The hearth's glow washed the room, embers crackling low, their heat mixing with the lingering bread scent—yeasty, caraway-sharp. His boots scuffed the floorboards, dirt from the backyard trailing faint, the spellbook clutched tight under his arm. Talren's not long now stuck like a splinter—Mira's baby, cloth in that sack, Veyra's hum breaking outside. He paused, eyes flicking to the window where that shadow'd flickered hours ago, oaks swaying calm now, no shape darting through. The chill clung anyway, a prickle he couldn't shake, tied to the weight of it all.
Veyra stood by the table, a bucket of water sloshing at her feet, her hands wet and red from the cold. Her dark hair hung loose, framing a face too still—storm-gray eyes locking on him, searching, before softening. "Back so soon?" she said, voice gentle but frayed, wiping her hands on her apron, flour streaks smudging with damp. "Thought you'd be out there till noon, burning holes in the grass."
"Tried," Kaelith said, setting the spellbook down, its thump loud in the quiet. He sank onto a stool, the wood creaking, pendant tapping his chest. "Didn't work."
She nodded, slow, like she'd expected it, and moved to the hearth, stirring the fire with a poker. The flames flared, casting her shadow long across the wall. "You'll get it," she murmured, almost to herself. "Always do."
He watched her—shoulders tight, poker clinking steady—and the bread crumbs from Lirien's raid caught his eye, scattered on the table like ash. Talren's sack outside, Mira's close now, her hum by the well—it pressed heavier than the spellbook. Kazu'd dodged messes—locked his door, let his parents' fights fade to static—but Kaelith's gut twisted, rooting him here. "Mum," he said, low, testing, "you okay?"
Her poker froze, just a beat, then moved again. "Fine, sweetling," she said, too quick, not turning. The fire snapped, a log splitting, and her hum started—low, halting, the same broken tune. She set the poker down, hands lingering on the hearthstone, knuckles pale. "Just… water's heavy today."
Kaelith's fingers curled, crumbs sticking under his nails. Fine. She'd said it outside, too, when Talren's off hid Mira's shadow. He'd heard her hum falter then—nights when Talren didn't come back, when she'd sit here, firelight carving lines deeper in her face. "He told me," he said, voice steady, pushing it. "About Mira. Said it's soon."
Veyra's shoulders stiffened, her breath catching sharp, barely audible. She turned slow, gray eyes meeting his—wet, not breaking, but close. "He told you," she echoed, soft, like it weighed too much. She crossed her arms, apron wrinkling, and leaned against the hearth. "I knew he'd gone. Didn't think he'd say it."
Kaelith held her gaze, red against gray, the pendant a dull tap. "He's trying," he said, not sure if he believed it. "Said he'd make it right."
Her laugh came—short, brittle, not a laugh at all. "Right," she said, dry, looking past him to the window, oaks swaying calm. "He's good at trying." She paused, hands tightening on her arms, voice dropping. "It's not the babe, Kaelith. Not really. It's… what it means. For us."
His throat caught, the hunger twitching faint—bread gone, her pulse soft in the quiet. Kazu'd shut out his mum's tears—screen on, world off—but he leaned forward now, stool creaking. "You're still us," he said, low, firm. "You and him. Me. Whatever's coming—it doesn't change that."
Veyra's eyes snapped back, glistening, a smile breaking—small, real. "When'd you get so wise?" she murmured, stepping close, her hand brushing his hair, cool from the water. "Eight and talking like you've seen the world."
He smirked, faint, her touch grounding him. "Just listen a lot," he said, dodging Kazu's shadow—Hiro's slip, his own weak hands. The hunger pulsed, fainter now, her pulse steady, not pulling like Lirien's had. He'd failed Ember Veil twice today—sparks gone, sun still king—but Veyra's hand on his head felt heavier, worth more.
She stepped back, wiping her eyes quick, apron smudging. "You keep listening," she said, voice steadier. "And don't let that book win." She nodded at the spellbook, smile holding, and turned to the table, sweeping crumbs into her hand.
Kaelith's fingers brushed the leather, runes cool under his touch. Ember Veil. Tomorrow—he'd try again tomorrow, suns up, no Kazu hiss to break it. A small vow, not Roxara, not the sun's end—just one more spark, one step. The shadow flicker lingered—oaks empty, chill fading—but it could wait. Mira's weight, Talren's guilt, Veyra's hum—they held him tighter.
"Tomorrow," he said, soft, to no one, the spellbook steady in his hands. Veyra's hum started again—stronger, not whole, but there—and he leaned back, hearthlight warm on his face. Talsara's day stretched slow, and he let it keep him, just a little longer.