It began with a shift in the wind.
The kind that rustled more than just leaves—it stirred something in the soul.
The morning was slow and golden. Sunlight crept through the forest canopy, catching on dew drops like tiny stars. The camp had quieted. For once, there were no bickering voices, no clashing swords, no biting sarcasm echoing through the trees.
Something had changed.
Eira stood alone near the edge of camp, arms crossed, watching the fire crackle. Her usually sharp features were softened by fatigue. The edges of her armor dug into her shoulders, and the wind caught strands of her white hair.
She wasn't used to stillness.
She wasn't used to people not trying to kill her—or kiss her, or beg her to stay.
Being around the brothers was disorienting.
Cain, always quiet unless provoked, treated her like she was invisible now. Ayden kept his distance, only offering cold glances when necessary. Selene, though polite, clearly didn't trust her—especially since the whole Cain situation.
But it was Lucien who had surprised her the most.
The chaotic, smug bastard had actually started... trying.
"You're going to freeze standing like that," Lucien said casually, tossing her a folded cloak.
Eira caught it mid-air, raising a brow. "And you care because...?"
Lucien shrugged, grinning. "Because I don't want you turning into a snow statue before we figure out if you're completely evil or just emotionally constipated."
She smirked, despite herself. "That's rich coming from you."
"True," he admitted, sitting beside her on a fallen log. "But I'm charming when I do it."
They sat in silence for a few moments, the fire popping between them.
Lucien reached into his pouch and pulled out a charred apple, handing it to her. "We roasted these earlier. Selene said you skipped breakfast again."
Eira blinked. "She noticed?"
"She notices everything," he replied. "Even your brooding."
She took the apple and bit into it slowly. It was warm and spiced with cinnamon.
"I'm not used to this," she said quietly.
"To what? Kindness?"
"Yeah. That... and the quiet. People looking after me. Not wanting something in return."
Lucien's smile faded into something softer. "Yeah, it's weird at first. But you get used to it. Eventually."
Later that afternoon, Eira wandered near the training ground. Ayden was there, practicing forms with twin blades, each movement precise and elegant.
"You fight like someone who's trying not to feel anything," she commented.
He paused, glancing at her. "Takes one to know one."
She walked closer, arms folded. "Teach me?"
Ayden raised a brow. "You know how to fight."
"Not like you," she said. "You fight with control. I fight with rage."
He hesitated, then nodded once. "Fine. Start with your stance."
They trained in silence, blades clashing lightly, Ayden adjusting her form with patient touches. For the first time, Eira wasn't trying to impress anyone. She was... listening.
And Ayden, despite his coldness, found himself actually enjoying her presence.
When she finally disarmed him, breathless and smiling, he said, "Not bad."
"That sounded dangerously close to a compliment."
He smirked slightly. "Don't get used to it."
As dusk settled over the forest, a soft bell-like chime echoed from the far end of camp—the area where their mother lay under the veil of enchanted slumber.
Cain was the first to hear it. He stood abruptly, his tea forgotten.
Selene followed him, brows furrowed. "Cain? What is it?"
He didn't answer, only walked faster.
Lucien, Ayden, and Eira trailed behind, drawn to the subtle hum in the air.
Their mother—Lady Isadora—lay beneath the woven roots of the Heart Tree, her skin still as porcelain, her breath barely visible. But her fingers twitched. Just once.
Then again.
And then—her lips moved.
Cain knelt beside her, clutching her hand. "Mother...?"
Her eyes fluttered once, then slowly opened.
The whole forest seemed to hold its breath.
Isadora blinked against the fading light, voice hoarse but unmistakably hers. "My boys..."
Cain bowed his head, eyes burning. Lucien wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. Ayden knelt beside them, silent but trembling.
Eira stepped back.
This wasn't her moment.
Until Isadora's gaze fell on her.
And she whispered, "You... You are one of us now, too."
Eira froze.
Cain looked at her—really looked at her—and for once, there was no accusation in his gaze.
Just something like... acceptance.
That night, the camp came alive with quiet joy. The fire burned higher, and laughter returned, cautious but genuine. Cain stayed beside his mother. Selene curled beside him with her head on his lap, and for once, he didn't pull away.
Eira sat by herself for a while until Lucien came over and tossed a blanket at her again.
"You gonna keep sulking, or join us for a drink?" he asked, raising a brow.
She hesitated.
Then stood up, brushing off her pants.
"I'll join."