Wtf I just learned that Rains adopted mother is a master.
Apparently that one Queen bee fic is canon
Xx—-
At one of the most prestigious high schools in the city, the last class of the day finally wound to a close. The bell rang with its usual clipped chime, but this Monday was anything but usual.
Rain nearly leapt out of her seat, her bag already half-zipped and dangling from one shoulder. The room burst into motion around her—chairs scraping, voices rising, the collective exhale of students released from a day that had felt far longer than it was. Normally, their teachers, polished and professional, did a solid job of actually teaching something—of transmitting all that cutting-edge mathematic theory, history, and rhetoric into the next crop of well-educated elites. But today? Today had been a complete wash.
Every single class had devolved into the same thing: speculation. Hushed rumors, half-truths, desperate curiosity. Everyone was talking about the six hundred survivors who had finally returned from the Forgotten Shore.
It had been the only topic anyone cared about since Friday, and the air still buzzed with a kind of restless, directionless awe. Students kept begging teachers to "just talk about it," and more often than not, they gave in. Rain got why, she really did. This wasn't just some current event. This was *history*. Their generation's equivalent of the old tales—like the Valor Knights slaying an Awakened Titan to conquer a citadel. Except this time, it wasn't some decade old myth, and no one quite knew what had actually happened. That was the worst part. No details, no reports, just the fact that hundreds of Awakened had come back from a place everyone thought was a death sentence.
Even she couldn't help but be intrigued. She'd skimmed everything she could about Lady Raised by Wolves—how could you *not* be fascinated by someone with a name like that? And then there was the mysterious "Shadow of the Shore," which was what everyone was calling that one figure people couldn't stop speculating about. But after the fifteenth rehashed theory in her Ethics class and another lunch break spent listening to increasingly unhinged speculation, the whole thing had begun to feel... exhausting.
Still, she wasn't exactly looking forward to going home either.
Her father had told her that someone important was coming over for a late lunch. Which meant pulling her best formal outfit from the back of her wardrobe—itchy fabric, tight sleeves, and all—and pretending to be the perfectly polite daughter. She'd have to smile and nod as some old person droned on about trade routes or inheritance law or something else she didn't understand and cared even less about. Then she'd help her mother with the dishes while her dad poured drinks for the guest, gritting his teeth through it because "it was tradition" and "proper decorum." Never mind that he hated alcohol and always ended up nursing a headache the next morning. After that, she'd be stuck catching up on all the homework she hadn't done during the endless parade of non-classes that day.
It was the kind of day that drained you, not because anything *happened*, but because of how much it didn't.
Still, Rain didn't complain. She knew how important this meeting was to her father—important enough to host it at their house, which almost never happened. So she'd do her part.
As she walked toward the bus stop, the courtyard hummed with student voices. Everyone was still talking about the Forgotten Shore, their words tumbling over each other in urgent, conspiratorial tones. The government had announced that the full story would be made public tonight. That just fanned the flames—speculation was reaching a fever pitch.
She waved goodbye to her friends as they peeled off toward the after-school combat training clubs, then pulled out her communicator with a sigh. Slipping in her earbuds, she tapped over to her favorite playlist and hit play on what she considered Nightingale's absolute best track: *just a Generic Boy Band*. The opening chords poured into her ears like a breath of clean air.
The day wasn't over yet, but at least she could enjoy the quiet, rumbling ride of the bus—windows smudged with light, seat humming beneath her—and let the music carry her somewhere better.
'*'
The living room smelled faintly of citrus polish and jasmine-scented cleaning spray—the "guest blend," as her mother called it. Rain moved through the house in quiet, practiced motions, straightening the cushions her mother had already fluffed twice and making sure no shoes poked out from under the bench near the entryway. Her footsteps were soft against the polished floors, her newly shined loafers clicking just faintly, respectfully.
She wore what her mother had laid out for her that morning: a high-collared white blouse with a pale chiffon bow tied neatly at the neck, sleeves falling in pleated, graceful lines down to her wrists. The dove-gray skirt swayed gently with her movements, brushing her knees as she bent to tuck a corner of the rug back into place. Her light blue cropped jacket caught the afternoon sun through the windows, silver piping catching in glints like tiny threads of moonlight. It made her feel… composed, almost like someone in an old painting.
The navy ribbon tied at the nape of her neck kept her ponytail sleek and secure, but she still reached up now and then to smooth the hair at her temples, worried about flyaways. Her satchel rested on the dining chair by the door, untouched. She wouldn't need it for this, but she kept it nearby just the same.
Her father had been pacing earlier, pretending to check the front step for dust. Her mother had rearranged the dining table centerpiece three times, finally settling on a minimalist spread of white lilies in a low, square vase. Now she was in the kitchen, running over the sequence of dishes under her breath, wiping down the already-immaculate counter again.
"Mom, it's fine," Rain said gently as she set the table, placing the silverware with precise alignment. "It's just one guest."
Her mother gave a brittle laugh. "That's *exactly* why it matters. First impressions, sweetheart."
Rain raised an eyebrow, but didn't argue. She'd seen her parents anxious before, but today was a different kind of tension. Subtle, but humming just beneath the surface. No raised voices, no snapping—just carefully measured words and too many glances at the clock.
"Do I look alright?" she asked suddenly, smoothing the front of her blouse and glancing down at her skirt. "I mean… not too much?"
Her father finally stopped moving, stepping back to give her a once-over. He gave a quiet nod, his expression oddly unreadable. "You look lovely, Rain. Very proper."
"Not that he'll care what you wear," her mother added quickly, too quickly. "But still. Best foot forward."
Rain hesitated. "Is he, like, a big deal or something? You've been weird all day."
Her parents exchanged a glance—a flicker of something unspoken that passed between them like a breeze through thin curtains. Her mother looked down. Her father cleared his throat.
"He's... family," he said after a pause. "In a way."
Rain frowned. "What kind of 'in a way'?"
"You'll see," her mother said gently, turning back toward the kitchen. "Just be polite, Rain. Let him speak first."
Rain didn't press it. She could tell when a line had been drawn. She returned to arranging the napkins into neat triangles and aligning them beside the polished plates, the silver bracelet on her wrist catching the light with every motion.
Outside, she could hear the distant hum of a P.T.V engine slowing to a stop.
Her mother looked up, suddenly still. Her father adjusted the sleeves of his shirt, hands smoothing the fabric with mechanical precision.
"Alright," he said quietly, as if to himself. "Here we go."
Rain glanced toward the door, brushing a crease from her skirt with one hand, her other resting lightly on the back of a chair.
The doorbell rang.
A crisp, simple sound—but in its wake, the air in the house shifted, thickened, as though the walls themselves had drawn a collective breath. Rain felt it before she saw it: the way her father's spine straightened, how her mother's fingers paused mid-wipe on the countertop, hovering for half a second too long before quietly placing the cloth aside.
Her father didn't rush to the door. He moved with deliberation, smoothing the front of his shirt, exhaling slowly as if bracing for impact. Then, with a practiced calm that did nothing to hide the tension in his shoulders, he opened it.
The man standing beyond the threshold was not what Rain had expected. Not even close.
She had been anticipating a government type—gray around the temples, heavy with self-importance, one of those bureaucrats who clung to their rank like it was a life raft. The kind who wielded their titles like cudgels because, after decades of pencil-pushing, it was all they had left.
But this man—this *Sunless*—was nothing like that.
He was young. Maybe twenty, at most. And he didn't carry himself like someone who needed titles to be respected. He didn't need to.
His skin was pale, almost luminous, with a porcelain quality that somehow made her own fair complexion feel sun-touched by comparison. His hair, slicked back with disciplined neatness, was so black it seemed to drink in the light around him—but still held a subtle, uncanny sheen. He was slightly taller than her father, with a lean frame shaped by motion rather than muscle; it reminded her of her combat instructors—disciplined, dangerous, quiet.
He wore no uniform. Just a simple black dress shirt, sleeves buttoned neatly at the wrist, paired with dark slacks and a brown belt. A silver watch sat against his wrist like a silent companion, and a chain—thin, silver—disappeared beneath his collar. Everything about him was clean, exacting. There wasn't a wrinkle in sight.
His face was composed, striking in a way that didn't quite settle into traditional beauty. His features were too sharp, too precise. Intimidating. His left eye bore a faint scar—an old, deliberate mark that tugged at the eye but didn't distract from the piercing quality of his gaze. When he looked at her father, it was with the cool dispassion of someone surveying a puzzle—not a person.
Something she had only seen in her mother's eyes once.
Rain stiffened slightly. There was no mistaking it. He was Awakened. That aura wasn't just presence—it was weight, precision, silence. Like her Mother. Her instincts told her not to meet his eyes for too long.
"…And this is our lovely daughter, Rain," her father said, his voice a touch too warm, as if leaning on normalcy for support.
Rain gave a polite bow, eyes lowered respectfully. The young man's lips curved into the faintest of smiles—thin, unreadable.
"Rain," her father continued, more formal now, "this is Lord Lost-from-Light. Given name: Sunless."
Rain's head snapped up, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe.
A True Name.
Her throat caught on the realization, the enormity of it crashing through her like a tide. A True Name Awakened. In their home. Sitting across from her family like it was nothing.
She was so stunned by the name—by what it *meant*—that it didn't register how familiar it sounded, how she'd come across it before in the storm of online theories and survivor rumors. Her mind was too caught on the implications. True Names weren't just power. They were *weight.* Political. Magical. Symbolic. You didn't earn one unless the world carved it into you.
And now he was sitting at *their* table.
She said nothing, just nodded and slid into her seat at the dining table, fingers folding tightly in her lap. Her father took the place directly across from Sunless, with her mother and Rain to either side. It was a formal formation—carefully chosen.
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was *dense.* The room itself felt smaller, the air drier, like everything had tightened a little around them. Rain could hear the faint tick of the dining room clock, and every breath seemed to echo louder than it should have.
She found herself stealing glances at him. At the way he moved—not stiff or ceremonial, but fluid, like his body understood space in a way others didn't. Even reaching for a glass of water was a motion without waste, deliberate and smooth.
Dinner began with the expected small talk. Her father asked about the journey, her mother complimented his sense of punctuality. Sunless answered with sparse civility—neutral, attentive, neither rude nor warm. The conversation shifted to interior design (her mother's pride), to Rain's studies (mentioned briefly, with her doing her best not to fidget), to the condition of the roads from the outpost.
All of it was a dance. Not lies—just ceremony. The kind of preamble you used to soften the transition before the real reason for a visit revealed itself.
Rain didn't know what that reason was.
Not yet.
But from the way her father sat—shoulders squared, face carefully neutral—and the way her mother kept glancing at her when she thought Rain wasn't looking…
Something important was coming.
Something she wasn't ready for.
Her mother gave her father a pointed look—not sharp, but deliberate, laced with silent understanding. It was the kind of glance that carried decades of conversation behind it. *"Darling, don't you think it's time we got to the reason he's here?"* Normally, she was the one who steered the flow of household matters. But tonight wasn't normal. With a guest of this weight—this *caliber*—it was her father's domain that held the reins, if only because of his position in the government. And even then, he hesitated.
Rain watched as her father turned slightly toward their guest, offering a subtle, deferential glance—a silent request. It was strange, seeing him like this. Not unsure exactly, but *careful.* He who could usually navigate any room like it was a stage, smooth-talking senators and silver-tongued nobles alike, was now folding into something more tentative. Less polished. Almost… reverent.
Lord Lost-from-Light gave the barest nod. Permission granted.
Rain's father adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves, an old habit he only did when he needed time to gather his words. Then he cleared his throat and spoke, his voice quieter than usual.
"I think it's about time we address the elephant in the room," he began. A pause. Then, surprisingly, "Should I be standing, my lord?"
Rain blinked. *What?* That wasn't like him at all. He never stumbled over introductions, never ceded ground this easily. Normally, he would have wrapped a sensitive truth in eloquence, peppered it with warmth and tact. But now, that natural charisma was missing—stripped away and replaced with something rawer. Vulnerability? Or maybe respect?
The man responsible for all of it—Sunless—nodded once, folding his hands in his lap with a grace that felt almost ceremonial.
"I think it should be me who delivers this," he said softly. Even his voice, usually cool and measured, carried an undercurrent of tension—like someone bracing for the strike of lightning and hoping, irrationally, it might miss.
Rain's heart skipped a beat. *Delivers what?* Why was she suddenly the center of this? She was just a thirteen-year-old girl who'd spent the whole day dreading an awkward lunch with some high-ranking stranger—not expecting to be *addressed* directly by a True Name Awakened. Her pulse quickened, chest tightening as her mind scrambled to understand.
She glanced at her parents, searching their faces for clarity, for reassurance. But they weren't looking at her. They were watching *him.* Waiting.
Sunless turned to her, and the weight of his gaze settled gently, but firmly, across her shoulders.
"Rain," he said carefully, "I… I'm not sure how to approach this delicately. I'm sure your parents never hid from you the fact that you were adopted—from the outskirts, at a young age."
She stiffened. That much, yes, she'd always known. It wasn't a secret. She didn't look anything like her parents—her skin paler, her eyes darker, —and they'd never pretended otherwise. But still… hearing it said aloud, here, like this, made something in her chest twist. Not because it was news, but because *why now?*
She nodded slowly, then remembered her manners. She straightened in her seat and replied, voice small but composed: "Yes, they did…"
And then she paused.
*Wait. What family name?* she thought suddenly. He hadn't offered one. She had no idea how to properly address someone of his stature.
In a flash, she defaulted to what she *did* know. His True Name.
"…Lord Lost-from-Light."
To her surprise, he gave a low chuckle—just a breath of warmth breaking through his solemn expression.
"You don't need to be so formal with me, Rain," he said, gently. "You can call me Sunny, if you'd like. But Sunless will do."
Her heart thudded once, uncertainly. *Why was he speaking so… familiarly?*
Her mind leapt, absurdly, to the dramas she watched late at night when her homework was done. *Was this… was this an arranged marriage?!* Like in *My Orphanage Secretly Married Me to a Scion!* Was she being offered to some prestigious legacy clan to secure a political alliance? Her breath caught in her throat. *No—that couldn't be. Her parents wouldn't do that. They loved her. They'd never...
But then—what *else* could it be?
Sunless exhaled slowly, as if bracing himself against something deep and old.
"Well… you see, Rain," he began, his voice dipping low with memory, "you didn't enter that orphanage alone."
Her breath hitched.
"You might not remember it," he continued, "but I was there with you the whole time."
A soft sound escaped her—half gasp, half whisper. "…What?"
"We were separated not long after. You were just a toddler, bright and full of life, with that lovely, stubborn spirit. And I…" His jaw tensed slightly. "I was older. Damaged goods. When your parents found you and took you in… they gave you the life I couldn't. And after that, we were kept apart."
Rain stared, her thoughts struggling to keep up.
He didn't sound angry. Or jealous. Just… distant. Careful. Like someone crossing a frozen lake and afraid of the ice cracking beneath each word.
He looked at her now—not as a stranger, but with the brittle, guarded hope of someone who had spent years imagining this moment and still didn't know if it would be welcomed or refused.
"What I'm trying to say is…" he hesitated, his voice suddenly fragile, "I'm your older brother, Rain."
For a moment, the entire room seemed to pause.
His words hung there, trembling in the space between them, filled with a lifetime's worth of silence. His voice cracked ever so slightly beneath the weight of it—hope, fear, sorrow, and something like relief all tangled together.
Rain could only stare, eyes wide, chest tight, as her entire world shifted beneath her feet.
Suddenly, everything started clicking into place.
Why the meeting happened here, in their family home. Why her younger siblings weren't anywhere nearby. Why her mom—normally the loudest voice in the house—was acting like she was walking on glass.
They weren't scared of *him.* They were scared for *her*. Scared of how *she'd* react. They didn't want the younger kids caught in the blast if this went badly. And her mom—her mom wasn't nervous about the Awakened sitting at the table. She was nervous about losing Rain. About what this might do to the bond they had.
And somehow, that made her feel... steadier. Not okay, not calm—but at least like someone was in her corner.
She swallowed the tight, dry lump in her throat. Her thoughts were spinning, questions tangling into each other: *Who were our parents? What does he want? What happens now? Who even is he, really?*
But what came out was simpler. And heavier.
"Why now?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "If I'm really your sister… why are you only coming to find me now?"
Her mom reached out and wrapped her hands around Rain's. Her grip was firm, warm. Real. "We're still your family," she said gently. "No matter what."
Sunless looked away for a second, his jaw tightening before he spoke.
"I didn't have the chance before. Not really. I grew up in the Outskirts. Surviving there was a full-time job, and I didn't even know if you were still alive. But I never stopped thinking about you." He exhaled. "A year ago, I finally had enough saved to hire someone to track you down. They found you. But right after that… I got hit with the Nightmare Spell. I've only just come back."
Rain's head snapped toward him. A *year*? In the Dream Realm?
That wasn't just serious. That was *unbelievable*. Except… something about it *did* ring true.
"The Forgotten Shore," she said, barely breathing the words. "You were there."
Her dad nodded beside her. "That's right. And that's why this conversation couldn't wait any longer. The government is releasing the full report tonight."
Right. The government broadcast. The big reveal about what really happened in the Shore. The timeline lined up. But if *he* had been there that long and had really made it out alive—
Something cold crawled up her spine.
Sunless offered a faint smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I wanted to meet you properly. Privately. Before the rest of the world decided who you are based on *me*."
She blinked. "*What*?"
He looked uncomfortable. Shifting slightly, like the chair was too small. "I played a major role in what happened out there. In getting people out. Which means… my name and face are going to be all over the news. The forums. Everything. People are already digging into my past, and it won't take long before someone finds out about you."
Rain stared at him, and something dropped in her chest.
*No. No way.*
There was only one person who matched what he was saying. The survivor of the Forgotten Shore who'd been the subject of every ethics class debate, every late-night rumor thread online. The one people argued about constantly—hero, villain, manipulator, savior. No one could even agree if he was a monster or a martyr.
"The Shadow of the Shore," she whispered. "You're *him*."
He didn't deny it.
And she felt her stomach flip.
"I'm the sister of the Shadow of the Shore," she said, in disbelief. It sounded ridiculous coming out of her mouth. Like a line from one of those over-the-top dramas she liked to binge after school. But no one was laughing.
Her heart was pounding now.
Her entire *life* was about to change. She could see it, clear as day. Kids at school would know. Teachers. Strangers online. Every move she made from now on would be tied to *him*. She could already picture the headlines. The messages. The whispers behind her back.
Was she going to get interviewed? Harassed? Dragged into whatever mess followed him?
"I… I don't know if I can deal with this," she said quietly, almost to herself. "I'm just a kid. I didn't ask for this."
And she hadn't. But it didn't matter.
Her parents were holding her now, her mother's arms firm around her back, her father's hand resting protectively on her shoulder. She could feel the thrum of their heartbeat against hers, steady and grounding in a moment that felt anything but.
"You don't have to do anything, Rainy," her father whispered, his voice low and close to her ear. "That's why we're talking to you about it. This is your choice."
Before Rain could even put her swirling thoughts into a question, her mother was already answering it.
"Sunless wanted you to decide, sweetheart. Whether or not you want to be his sister again." Her hand rubbed gentle circles on Rain's back. "And if you don't… that's okay too. We can deny any rumors. We can go back to how things were. Just us."
There was no anger in her words. No pressure. Just calm, maternal love—steady as always.
Then Sunless spoke, voice quiet but clear.
"Your mom's right. If you want to walk away from this, I'll make sure you're protected. I can erase every trace of the connection. No one needs to know, and I'll leave you and your family in peace." His voice wavered slightly, just for a moment, but there was no judgment in it. No guilt-tripping. Just an offer. Just a choice.
It shook her.
Rain stared at him—this man with the strange silver eyes and the soft voice who had upended her entire understanding of herself in a single conversation—and realized he meant it. He really would disappear from her life if that's what she wanted.
She could pretend none of this happened. Go back to being just Rain, just a schoolgirl with an odd name and a good family and no ties to controversial awakened figures. Let the world keep spinning without ever stepping into its glare.
But she didn't want that.
Even if her memories of him were gone—even if he felt like a stranger now—he was still her brother. That truth echoed in her chest like a thread pulling taut, steady and unshakable.
She swallowed hard, blinking the tears back, and stepped out of her parents' arms just far enough to look him in the eye.
"No," she said. Her voice was shaky, but her words were sure. "I… I don't want that."
Sunless looked at her—really looked at her—and the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly.
"I want to get to know you again," Rain went on, her voice a little stronger now. "You're family. Even if I don't remember it… even if it's weird or hard or messy, I still want that. Let everyone else think what they want."
There was a pause—no fanfare, no swelling music, just the quiet, breathless stillness that came with a truth landing in a room.
And then, slowly, Sunless nodded.
"Okay," he said softly. "Okay, Rainy."
Her mother pulled her back into a hug, pressing her lips to Rain's forehead. Her father gave a soft laugh that sounded like relief and pride at the same time.
And for the first time that evening, Rain didn't feel lost.
She felt like someone who had made a choice—and that made all the difference.