It began with a low rumble.
Alice was sitting cross-legged on the rug in the living room, carefully arranging her paper dolls into a "family" around a tea set Elvin had bought for her birthday. Chris was sprawled on the couch, flipping through a magazine half-heartedly, and Elvin was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, chopping vegetables for dinner.
The second rumble was louder—sharp enough to make the windows quiver faintly.
Alice stiffened. Her small hands trembled as she tried to continue setting the table for her doll tea party, but her fingers wouldn't cooperate. She pressed her lips together, refusing to cry. She wasn't a baby. Not anymore.
But then the sky cracked.
Thunder rolled in like an angry drumbeat, booming over the house, shaking the air. The lights flickered once—twice—and Alice dropped the tiny porcelain teacup she was holding.
It shattered on the floor.
"Elvin!" Her voice came out high and breathless.
He was already there.
He'd heard the crash. The moment he turned and saw the way her shoulders shook and her little hands clutched her dress, he knew.
In three long strides, he was kneeling in front of her.
"It's okay. I'm here," he said gently, pulling her into his arms.
"I hate it!" she whimpered, clinging to his shirt. "I hate the thunder. It sounds like… like when the car—"
Elvin's heart clenched.
That accident. The one that had taken her parents. It had happened during a storm. She'd never spoken about it in detail. But the fear in her eyes now—the kind that couldn't be reasoned with—spoke volumes.
He hugged her tighter. "It's just the sky making noise, Princess. It can't hurt you."
"But what if it crashes again? What if the roof falls?"
Chris had silently gotten off the couch, already gathering up the shards of the teacup with a soft towel. His eyes met Elvin's for a brief second—serious, but understanding.
Elvin stood with Alice still in his arms and carried her to the couch. He sat down with her curled in his lap, her face buried in his chest.
"It's like this, Alice," he said softly, brushing her hair. "The thunder is loud, yes. But it's just sound. Just the clouds getting too close and bumping into each other."
She sniffled. "Clouds don't bump. They float."
"Well, these clouds are rebels," he said with a smile. "They don't like rules. So when they fight, it sounds like that. But nothing's broken. And the roof isn't going to fall."
She looked up at him with big watery eyes. "Really?"
"I promise," he said, tapping her nose. "You know why?"
"Why?"
"Because I built this house like a fortress. Steel beams. Reinforced windows. And magic."
Chris chuckled softly from across the room. "The magic part's debatable."
"It is not," Elvin said, wrapping the blanket around Alice. "My magic worked. You're not scared anymore, are you?"
Alice hesitated.
And then—another thunderclap.
She flinched, burying herself deeper into his arms.
"Okay, maybe a little," she mumbled.
"That's alright," he whispered. "Even brave soldiers get scared sometimes. I did."
"You?"
He nodded. "When I was younger than Chris, I got caught in a storm alone in the mountains. No radio. No shelter. Just me and the thunder. I was scared out of my mind."
"What did you do?"
"I sang," he said with a grin. "Loud and off-key. I figured if the thunder could be loud, I could be louder."
She giggled, sniffling. "Sing for me?"
Chris groaned. "Please, no."
But Elvin cleared his throat dramatically and began to sing a silly tune about warrior bunnies and chocolate shields. His voice was terrible, and Alice burst into giggles halfway through, forgetting the thunder for a moment.
By the time the rain started to fall, she had calmed down, curled in Elvin's arms under a warm blanket, her eyes drifting shut.
The sky still grumbled, but the fear had passed.
Because thunder couldn't reach her here.
Not in Elvin's arms.
Not when her fortress had a heartbeat.