Her skin was still warm from laughing—soft, like the velvet of my old sleeping scarf. The fire crackled near us, brushing heat against my back, while a breeze from the open window made Naial's hair flutter like scattered feathers.
I reached out and gently slid my hands over her eyes.
"Hey!" she mumbled, voice blank as always—like she hadn't just been shrieking like a hawk. "Why are you blinding me? I want to see too."
I leaned my forehead on hers with a sigh. "Because Mother said so," I sang, half-teasing. "Also… you're too young."
Naial puffed her cheeks. "Oh, says the one born eleven summers ago."
"Says the seven-summers-old gremlin," I shot back proudly.
"I. Am. Not. A. Gremlin," she deadpanned, but there was the tiniest twitch in her cheek—like she was holding back a pout.
"Yeah, yeah. Keep saying that. Maybe if you chant it thrice under the moon, it'll become true."
Naial sniffed. "Your jokes are dull."
I snickered and turned my eyes toward Mother—who was now walking toward Uncle Ren.
Oh stars.
"Aww, did I wound the great huntress's feelings?" Ren said, raising his hands like he was trying to soothe a storm.
Is he daft? Why is he still talking?
He knows exactly what happens when Mother grins like that. I side-eyed Naial. She was still blinking beneath my fingers.
"You know," I whispered to her, "I think Mother's about to roast a bear."
"I want to see."
"Too bad. Your eyes are covered."
"I shall remember this betrayal," she said, as flat as ever.
Mother's smile widened dangerously. Her voice? Sweet like fresh honey. "Ren, we've known each other since we had dirt for boots and twigs for swords… yet somehow, you still haven't learned when to bite your tongue."
I grinned. She said it so kindly—like she wasn't preparing to absolutely destroy him.
Ren backed up slowly, right into the wall. Poor man. Hands halfway up in surrender like he knew the doom coming for him.
"Alright, alright," he chuckled, voice climbing an octave. "Perhaps I've overstepped. My apologies… Lady Amara."
Oh no. He didn't.
I turned to Naial. She was starting to squirm.
"You're gonna miss something glorious," I warned.
"Let me look then."
"No."
"You are evil."
"Thank you."
I peeked back just in time to see Mother close the gap between her and Ren. She tilted her chin to meet his eyes—he still towered over her like a tree over a rose bush—but he was sweating now.
"I'm not sure what I said that was so grievous, Lady Amara, but—"
He never finished.
Mother snatched his ear with a snap and yanked him down to her level.
Ren yelped like a puppy, flailing, trying to pull back, but she didn't budge. She was solid stone.
I laughed so hard I nearly dropped Naial—actually, I did.
She caught sight of Mother pinching Uncle Ren like a disobedient toddler and burst into giggles so fast she almost vibrated. Squeaking, clapping, shaking—it was pure chaos.
Mother held his ear with perfect poise, expression calm and full of vengeance. "You see, that's your first offense. One I might have ignored for the girls' sake. But no. You had to push your luck. And that offense is calling me Lady Amara."
Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned closer.
"What am I, hmm? An old dame wrapped in cobwebs and courtesy? You know I hate that title."
"Well, you do act like one—"
He didn't get to breathe out the last word before Mother twisted his ear harder.
"Agh—!" he yelped, stumbling forward. It was a miracle he didn't knock the table over.
Me and Naial? Gone. Laughing so hard our bellies hurt. Naial was clapping like a baby duck. I was wheezing against the table, actual tears stinging my eyes.
But then—Mother's voice dropped.
Not cold. Just… low.
The kind of quiet that makes your back straighten.
"And your second offense," she murmured, ear still in hand, "was thinking I wouldn't hear you telling my little star she'd be training with you."
My laughter died.
Wait… what?
Was she upset?
I blinked, breath catching. Was I not supposed to train with Uncle Ren? Was I wrong for being excited?
My chest felt weird. Tight. Like someone plucked a string the wrong way.
Even Naial stopped laughing. She looked up at me, brows pinched in confusion.
We both stared at Mother.
Uncle Ren scratched the back of his head, sheepish, still bent from her grip.
"I—I meant no disrespect, Amara," he said, quieter now. "It was a jest. She's your daughter—I know that. I meant no offense."
I was still staring. My heart felt tight. My fingers were trembling, and before I could stop myself, the question just slipped out.
"Mother… why can't I train with Uncle Ren?"
My voice cracked.
Ren wasn't just some warrior. People whispered he might be second only to Mother in strength—and maybe not even by that much. It wasn't crazy to want to learn from him. So why?
Right?
Mother took a step toward me, calm, sure. "It's not that I don't want you to train with him," she said, voice soft. The kind of soft she used when she was trying to keep me steady.
But it didn't help.
"Mother," I pushed, voice breaking a little. "I'm strong… you said I'll be stronger than Father. Are you scared I'll get hurt? Because if that's it—I won't. I promise I won't—"
She cut me off, gently.
"I know you won't get hurt, my little star," she said. "I'll always protect you. Until the day you can protect yourself."
She knelt in front of me, her palm brushing my cheek.
It felt like sunlight on frozen skin. Like armor, like a spell, like everything safe.
Then her voice shifted again—gentle, but firm.
"Promise me you'll keep listening to me until you're ready."
I didn't even realize I was crying until a tear slipped past my cheek.
But I nodded.
"Okay, Mother," I whispered. "If that's what you want… I'll do my best."
She smiled—the small one. The knowing one. The one that said she saw the whole world and still chose me.
I wiped my face, sniffled, then pointed at her with dramatic flare. "Then you better keep your promise too."
She raised a brow. "I don't remember promising you anything."
"That's because your fuzzy mind is stopping you."
Mother laughed. Actually laughed. She pulled me into a warm hug and turned me toward her chest.
"Do you mind reminding your fuzzy-minded mother what that promise was, hmm?"
I leaned close and whispered, "Promise me you and Uncle Ren will train me—and always be there for me."
Her arms tightened slightly. Then she exhaled and whispered,
"I promise, my little star."
I melted into her arms. That was all I needed.
But of course, she peeled me off like I weighed nothing and stood again, brushing imaginary dust off her dress.
"And speaking of Uncle Ren…"
I giggled. Oh, stars. He already had his hands halfway to his ears.
I don't blame him.
Mother's tone turned serious. "I thought you were in charge of patrol and monitoring the outskirts. What are you doing here, then?"
Uncle Ren's smile faded. "It's because of that duty that I interrupted your family time, Chief Tess," he said, voice low and respectful—like thunder rolling far away.
That tone made my skin crawl. Mother hated being called Lady Amara.
But Chief Tess?
That meant business.
Mother's face shifted from confusion… to concern.
Then she turned to me and Naial.
"Go play upstairs," she said gently.
Naial groaned. "But I want to stay with you…"
Mother chuckled, ruffling her hair. "I've got some work to attend to, little sun."
"Don't worry, grumpy," Uncle Ren added, flashing a smile as he sank into a nearby chair. "We'll play tomorrow."
The breeze stirred again—cool, quiet, sneaking through the open window.
But it wasn't the usual chill.
No. This one crawled over my skin like cold fingers trailing behind a whisper.
It felt like we were being watched.
I wanted to say something. I really did.
But Mother had asked us to leave—and I trusted her.
I looked at her one last time as she gestured to the stairs.
I grabbed Naial's hand—small, soft, warm—and led her toward the steps. She didn't resist. Just followed quietly behind me with those small, steady steps of hers.
Mother was strong.
If she asked us to go, it was for a reason.
Still, that creepy feeling traced my spine like something unseen had noticed us.
And it hadn't looked away.