Lara rolled onto her back in the middle of the Celestial royal garden and declared, without shame or remorse, "I am officially defeated."
Aliyah immediately pounced on her chest like a triumphant gremlin, black curls bouncing, arms raised in victory. "I knew it!"
Kaelith, sitting cross-legged beside them and chewing on a stick of something that looked suspiciously ceremonial, tilted her head. "She let you win."
Aliyah scowled. "She did not!"
"She totally did." Kaelith licked the stick—maybe incense? Hopefully not cursed. "She made that weird groaning sound before you tackled her. That's the sound my mom makes when she wants people to think she's tired."
"That's also the sound I make when your mom throws me into a river for training," Lara muttered, rubbing her ribs.
The garden wasn't exactly made for playing tag—or anything joyful, really. It was a maze of immaculate crystal-petaled flowers, silver-trimmed bushes, and hovering lanterns shaped like floating stars.
Nothing was allowed to be messy. Or loud. Or fun.
So naturally, the children were doing all three.
A small crowd of Celestians had gathered along the walkways. Pale, expressionless faces. Long robes.
Postures so straight they probably had rods sewn into their spines. They watched with a mixture of disbelief and fear as the "demonspawn" ran laughing through sacred moss.
Lara offered them a lazy wave.
One gasped.
Another whispered, horrified, "She waved."
Lara winked.
Aliyah leaned in. "Should I breathe fire at them?"
"No."
"Tiny bit of fire?"
Kaelith nodded. "I vote yes."
"No one is setting fire to the sacred moss," Lara said firmly.
Aliyah crossed her arms. "It's not that sacred. It's itchy."
"Still. Let's try not to be war crimes today."
Kaelith flopped dramatically onto the grass beside her. "I'm so bored."
"You just won a duel."
"It was tag."
"Exactly."
Kaelith blew a stray hair out of her face. "My moms sent me here because they wanted 'quiet.' I heard them say it. They think I can't hear anything through the door, but I can. Mom Elysia said she hasn't slept in ten months."
"She hasn't," Lara agreed sympathetically.
"And then Mom Malvoria said something about locking the door forever and living in a bubble where I don't exist."
"That sounds like her," Lara said, not even blinking.
Kaelith sighed. "Now they're always doing that thing."
"What thing?"
"You know…" Kaelith stuck out her tongue and made dramatic smooching noises. "Lovey-lovey disgusting face smooshing."
Aliyah looked horrified. "Mouth kissing?"
"A lot." Kaelith rolled over and moaned. "Sometimes they think I'm not there and they say weird stuff like, 'You're my whole world' and 'I love your soul' and once I swear I heard Mom Malvoria say something about a whip and I ran out of the house."
Lara tried—tried—not to laugh.
Failed.
Aliyah, looking utterly betrayed by life itself, fell back into the grass. "I'm never kissing anyone."
"Same," Kaelith muttered.
"You say that now," Lara said, smirking.
"I'm serious," Aliyah insisted. "Kissing is for grownups. And weirdos."
"You say that now," Lara repeated.
The girls groaned in unison and resumed poking each other with flower stems.
Somewhere across the garden, one of the star-shaped lanterns flickered, probably sensing too much joy and considering reporting it.
Lara folded her arms behind her head and stared at the pale-blue sky above. The Celestial castle was too clean. Too bright. Too… stiff.
She hadn't realized how much she missed the stone halls of Malvoria's keep until she stepped into this marble snow globe.
She hadn't realized how much she missed the smell of ash and pine. The warmth of imperfect walls. The way people laughed loudly without glancing over their shoulders first.
Here, everything was measured. Pressed. Folded neatly into some glass box of what noble life was supposed to look like.
She glanced at the girls again.
Aliyah had braided three flowers into Kaelith's hair—badly. Kaelith was too busy drawing something in the dirt with a twig to notice.
Lara's heart clenched.
She didn't know how to name it.
Pride, probably. Fear. A kind of protectiveness that didn't fit in her old armor.
Aliyah's black fire. Sarisa's chains. Her own sharp laugh, her teeth, her stubbornness. She was a perfect, brilliant mess.
And she didn't deserve to grow up in a place that made her feel like one.
Kaelith suddenly sat up and announced, "I think Aunt Lara should get married."
Lara choked on air. "What?!"
"Yeah. You're cool. You should get married."
"To who?" Lara asked, aghast.
Kaelith shrugged. "I dunno. Someone hot. Or someone with a cool sword."
"Those are the requirements?"
"They should also like chaos," Aliyah added solemnly. "That's important."
Kaelith nodded. "Definitely chaos."
Lara snorted. "You two are going to run a kingdom one day, and I am terrified for the world."
"We'll run it together," Aliyah said proudly. "I'll do the strategy and Kaelith will punch people."
Kaelith beamed. "And set things on fire."
Aliyah blinked. "Wait, no. I set things on fire."
Kaelith grinned. "Okay, we both set things on fire."
"Best friends," Aliyah said, holding out her hand.
Kaelith slapped it with glee.
Lara smiled—but it wavered slightly.
The moment was warm. Hilarious. Real.
But it also ached.
She didn't know how long they'd get to have this little bubble of safety, of closeness, before the court tore it apart. Before someone said the wrong thing in front of Aliyah. Before Sarisa—
Her thoughts ground to a halt.
Sarisa.
Damn it.
Why did thinking about her always feel like stepping into a memory you weren't ready to relive?
Sarisa used to sit beside her and drink tea with too much honey. She used to ask Lara for help lacing up her armor. She used to—
Used to.
Lara shifted her weight and sat up, brushing dirt from her sleeves.
Kaelith glanced at her. "You're thinking hard. That's your face."
"I don't have a thinking face."
"You do," Kaelith said, very seriously. "It's the same one you made when I asked you if we could adopt a flying jellyfish."
"I still think that was a legitimate question," Aliyah chimed in.
"Thank you," Kaelith said proudly.
"You two are a menace."
"We get it from you."
Lara groaned and lay back down.
A long moment passed in contented silence. The kind that only comes when children are happily plotting something you'll regret later.
Then, quietly—so quietly Lara almost didn't hear it—Aliyah asked:
"Do you love Mom?"
Lara's eyes opened.
Aliyah wasn't looking at her. She was lying beside her now, staring up at the sky, hands folded across her chest like she was just another thoughtful blade of grass. But her voice had lost all its usual playfulness.
Kaelith sat up, blinking.
Lara felt her throat close a little.
Gods.
Why now?
Why this?
Aliyah turned her head and met Lara's gaze. Red eyes—brighter than ever. Sharp. Knowing.
"Do you?"