Chapter 85

Lunch was simple, but anything Mirri touched turned into something worth celebrating. Warm bread still steaming from the oven, smoked meats sliced thick, soft cheese that melted against the tongue, and a jar of spicy jam that made every bite sing - by the time everything hit the table, we were all drooling.

Elise and Adhaneth had returned by then. Adhaneth looked composed, as always. Elise looked lost in thought.

I sat beside her. “Is everything alright?”

She had filled her mouth, chewed and swallowed, then sat for a few moments staring at nothing. After a few seconds she blinked and turned to me, as if I had only just appeared.

“Fine. Everything’s fine.”

I rubbed her shoulder gently. “Are you sure? You look distracted.”

“I-” she began, then stopped. Her fingers tightened slightly around her fork. “I spoke with Adhaneth. She… told me how void magic came to be.”

Her eyes were glassy and her expression was one of wonder warring with fear.

“We… Magic was… In the Silent War, Vaerethis - the goddess of directed intent - was slain. When she fell, magic lost its structure. It… tore itself apart. Void magic was left in the gaps.”

Her breathing grew shallow.

“That is where I came from. That is why I am… like this.” She swallowed hard. “Master Edavane was right. Something happened in the Silent War. Something catastrophic. But…” Her brow furrowed. “The result was… wonderful. That does not seem right.”

Her voice dropped lower.

“I now know something no other wizard knows. Something I do not even know how to explain.”

I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close.

“I love you exactly the way you are,” I said quietly. “Whatever terrible thing happened back then, it wasn’t all bad. Because I have you. And that matters more than ancient disasters.”

I leaned back just enough to see her face.

“And this is exciting, right? You’ve uncovered something foundational. This changes everything. You can write about it. Teach it. Tell the Circle of Wizards. The whole world.”

Her lips curved slowly into a smile, our faces close enough that I could feel her breath.

“Yes,” she whispered. “This explains so much. It will reshape our understanding of magic.”

I kissed her forehead.

She flushed instantly, as if only just realizing how close we were. Her eyes darted away, shy and bright, before settling on her plate. She grabbed another piece of bread and stuffed it into her mouth a little too quickly, clearly using chewing as an excuse to avoid looking at me.

* * *

Ashlara, Torvek, and Mak were out by a packed stretch of dirt near the gate, scuffing it flat with boots and bare feet to prepare for the trial of strength. Ashlara had been training the children for weeks now. It had started innocently enough - running drills, leaping over fallen logs, learning how to roll without knocking the wind out of themselves. Games, at first. The kind that made them laugh while their lungs burned.

Gradually she’d introduced holds, blocks, controlled strikes. She always emphasized defense first - how to brace, how to redirect, run if necessary - how to survive. It wasn’t safe for them to be ignorant. Not anymore.

Today, we were going to see how much had stuck.

The gate creaked open.

Grams stepped through as if she owned the place - bag slung over one shoulder, walking stick in hand, chin lifted like she was entering a throne room instead of a courtyard.

The children spotted her at once and rushed her.

She opened her arms and grinned like sunlight breaking through clouds, accepting the collision of bodies with delighted cackles. She kissed foreheads, cheeks, and scaled brows without discrimination. Even Torvek wasn’t spared. In fact, I caught him trying - and failing - to hide the way he leaned into it.

When she finally shooed them off, she resumed her march toward me, tapping her stick against the stones.

“I hear it’s your birthday,” she said, tone flat as a board, expression carefully neutral.

“You heard right,” I replied in the same dry cadence. “I’m here to spend the day with my family. What are you doing here?”

“I came to see my granddaughter,” she said primly. “And my wonderful great-grandchildren. And I suppose you as well.”

My composure cracked first. A grin split my face. A heartbeat later, hers did too.

I scooped her up without warning and spun her in a circle.

“It’s so good to see you, Grams!”

She shrieked and beat at my shoulders with her walking stick, though not with any real ****. “Put me down, you overgrown ox! Mirri! Miiiiiirri! This giant is assaulting an old woman!”

The children dissolved into giggles as I planted exaggerated kisses all over her wrinkled cheeks.

“Brinja! Issa!” I called over the laughter as I set her down gently. “We’ve got a braid and face-paint emergency!”

She jabbed me in the ribs with her stick. “You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days,” she muttered through her smile.

* * *

The trial of strength began with each of the children facing Ashlara one by one. It was unarmed, tailored carefully to each of their abilities. With the younger ones she kept it playful - lunging suddenly so they had to scramble free, then encouraging them to counter when she overextended. With the older ones she shifted into true sparring, measured and deliberate, drilling blocks, redirections, and clean counters.

Each child brought something different to the dirt ring. Tib and Lilae darted low and quick, weaving between legs and trying to unbalance her with speed. Issa, Elarion, and Brinja relied on footwork, slipping aside at the last second and forcing Ashlara to adjust. Mak and Torvek preferred to meet **** with ****, bracing their stances and testing their growing strength against hers.

Ashlara was firm but never harsh. Praise came as readily as correction. A well-timed block earned a nod. A sloppy guard earned a tap and a quiet explanation. She treated them like warriors in the making, not children playing pretend.

When that round ended, they graduated to cloth-wrapped sticks as mock weapons. The pairings weren’t always even - Torvek faced Tib with the careful restraint of an older brother. He didn’t crush the brave little goblin, but he didn’t hand him anything either. Every strike Tib landed, he earned.

There were no winners. No losers. This wasn’t a tournament. It was a chance for each of them to see how far they’d come and where they still needed work.

Next it was the adults’ turn. Adhaneth declined with quiet detachment. Elise shyly shook her head. Mirri waved a dismissive hand. Grams said something about fragile hips and refused to elaborate.

Then the children turned on me.

“Fight Ashie!” someone shouted, and the chorus followed. I had a feeling they just wanted to see me get beaten up.

We went unarmed, aiming to wrestle the other to the ground. She lunged first. I dodged, light on my feet, already aware that if she got a clean grip I was done. She was stronger than me - I needed theatrics if I wanted to look like I was a threat.

She caught my arm.

Instead of pulling away, I jumped into her, wrapping my legs around her waist like an oversized koala. Before she could react, I leaned in, pressed my lips to the side of her neck, and blew as hard as I could.

The resulting raspberry echoed across the courtyard.

The children exploded into hysterics.

Ashlara froze in stunned disbelief just long enough to lose her footing. She stumbled and went down, and I tried to scramble on top of her - only to be rolled effortlessly onto my back and pinned like I weighed nothing.

We were both laughing by the time she let me up. I stole a quick kiss before we reset.

To my surprise, Serah stepped forward next.

Her blue dress looked wholly unsuited to wrestling, and I’d never seen her fight in this form. As a dragon she was terrifying - majesty and annihilation wrapped in scales. But as a woman a head shorter and a hundred pounds lighter than me? Well, I’d soon find out.

She dropped into a low stance, expression sharpening while that familiar smirk lingered at the edge of her mouth.

She charged. Fast didn’t begin to cover it.

She crossed the distance in a blur, shoulder slamming into my stomach, arms wrapping around me. Before I could brace, my feet left the ground.

I squirmed uselessly as she hoisted me over her shoulder and paraded me around like a trophy. The children howled with delight. She flexed her slender arms exaggeratedly and made mock feral noises while I dangled at her mercy.

**** to salvage even a scrap of pride, I twisted and bit her butt through the fabric of her dress.

She squeaked in surprise, lost her balance, and we toppled together in a tangle of limbs.

I recovered first, rolling over her and pinning her beneath a barrage of exaggerated kisses. The kids cheered like it was the grand finale of a festival.

I stood and offered her a hand. She accepted it with a graceful smile. I brushed dust from her dress - though if I was honest, I was far more thorough than the situation required.

The trial of strength had devolved into laughter, and somehow that felt like the greater victory.

* * *

When the trial of strength finally wound down, the dirt was scuffed, the children were flushed and breathless, and my face actually ached from smiling.

We had some time before dinner, and the courtyard had settled into that easy, post-exertion hum - kids laughing, someone chasing someone else, Ashlara offering quiet corrections even off the field.

I drifted toward Adhaneth.

She stood near the wall of the keep, arms loosely folded, watching the children play. There was something distant in her posture - not detached, just… remembering.

“You doing okay?” I asked.

She nodded without looking away from them. “I’m well, thank you.” A faint smile touched her lips. “You have an extraordinary family. I did not think I would see such joy again after the war.”

I slipped an arm around her shoulders. She was cool beneath my touch, but not cold.

“You’ve missed a lot,” I said gently. “But I’m glad you’re here now. And they’re glad too. They’d love to see you more. Like this.”

She turned her head slowly, her eyes studying my face as if she were trying to read something written beneath the skin.

“So much like him…” she murmured.

My expression softened as my smile faded.

“But not him,” I said quietly. “I appreciate the comparison. I really do. But I’m not Arthyr. I’ll never be Arthyr.”

I held her gaze.

“But what I will be is always there for you. I’ll be a shoulder to cry on. A friend. Someone who supports you. Cares for you. I’ll pick you up when you’re down.””

A grin tugged at my mouth.

“And I’ll absolutely make an idiot of myself if it gets you to smile.”

Her hand rose slowly, cupping my cheek with unexpected tenderness. Her thumb brushed my skin as she searched my face one last time.

“I see why they all love you,” she said softly.

Behind us, someone shrieked with laughter. The world felt warm. And so did she.