"He's… still small."
Nyxari's voice was quiet, carrying a tone that was neither worry nor disappointment, yet somehow felt like both.
She sat beside Nocte, watching the boy sleep on a woven mat, his small chest rising and falling, eyes tightly shut beneath the black-and-gold blindfold.
"You feed him as much as Noctari ate at that age," Nocte murmured. "Beast milk, the best meat…"
"Still, he doesn't grow," Nyxari finished. Her gaze lingered, softer now but tinged with the truth they'd both been avoiding.
Spectra wasn't small by ordinary standards — he was an average-sized child. The problem was that he lived in a house of giants.
Noctari, his older sister, was nearly five and already matched the height of boys two or three years her senior. Nocte stood a full two meters and weighed one hundred thirty kilograms — his family had named him Bear for a reason, a name he carried into adulthood as Grovenbear. Nyxari, even by Varnari standards, was exceptional: 2.5 meters tall, her body was sculpted with muscle, without an ounce of excess.
Spectra already had Nocte's brown skin and curling hair, and they had hoped that with enough nourishment, he might grow to at least match his adoptive father's size. Their greatest fear was that, as he aged, he would look nothing like them — and people would begin to suspect the truth.
Nyxari had already sent scouts to learn who had ties to Cindermarchers and what led up to the massacre of Spectra's village. Until they were found and dealt with, his true identity had to remain hidden.
For all their sakes.
But food could only do so much, and the child before them was proof.
Then there was the other problem: who would watch him during the day?
Nocte's duties as war leader kept him on the training grounds. Nyxari's position as political head demanded constant presence before the tribe. Spectra was too young to join the other children in training and far too noticeable to be left unattended. Even now, blindfolded, he was a walking question mark.
Noctari would begin training at five. Spectra had two years yet — and no one they trusted enough to leave him with.
Tseraka's ritual had hidden his true lineage, but his position remained precarious. Leaving him in just anyone's care was unthinkable.
"So what do we do?" Nyxari asked at last.
"There's Lobo," Nocte said slowly. "Strong, reliable. I trust him with my life."
Nyxari shook her head. "Lobo trains with you all day. How could he watch the boy? And you know what he offers — strength, but little else. Spectra needs more than brute force."
Nocte exhaled and conceded. "You're right."
"Eclipsis could be the one," Nyxari offered. "Wise, patient… and his son Calypso is Spectra's age. They live nearby. It would be perfect."
Eclipsis had been a promising young warrior until arrogance cost him a leg — and his career — at eighteen. His wife was a capable shamaness, but in the Noctvorn tribe, 'capable' wasn't enough. When Nyxari founded Noctvalis, they leapt at the chance for a fresh start, taking on the roles of smith and shamanism instructor. They were respectable, steady, and Nyxari saw them as the perfect bridge for Spectra's early years, perhaps even a way for him to make a friend.
Nocte's jaw tightened. "Eclipsis, the smith who lost his leg pretending to be a warrior. And you would have our son learn from him? He works with the Lunarii now. Would you have Spectra trained in the craft of common folk? You — the daughter of the Noctvorn tribe?"
Nyxari's lips parted to reply, but Nocte's tone was final steel. "I will not entrust my son to someone beneath us."
The air between them stilled. Nyxari gave a reluctant nod.
"What about Tseraka?" she tried.
"No." His voice was sharp. "Not now. I will not have him shaped by her views yet."
Nyxari's tone bristled. "I trained with her. Our daughter is about to be her pupil. Why not expedite the process? You know she would be more than accommodating."
"No. Not her."
This time, the words were immovable.
Nyxari was startled — her husband, fierce as he was in public, usually bent to her wisdom in private. But with Spectra, there was no yielding.
Nocte broke the silence. "Jackal."
Nyxari blinked — then laughed in disbelief. "You want our son influenced by that?"
Her laughter nearly woke the children before she got control. "Of course. Nocte the Wise, Nocte the Great — forgive me for doubting. Why learn from a shamaness, her assistant, or skilled Lunarii artisans when we have the great Jackal, master of many trades? Loud, reckless, drunk, gambling away coin and life, a womanizer and a cheat — truly, a paragon of virtue."
Nocte winced, realizing he'd trapped himself. "You're right."
"Of course I'm right! He's a step away from being a Nullari."
"Alright, I get it. We'll choose someone else."
Nyxari's hands tightened in her lap. "Who, Nocte?"
He lowered his voice. "I don't know."
The silence thickened.
Then, from the doorway: "I do."
Crow stepped inside, his easy grin breaking the tension.
"I can take him during the day while you do your jobs."
Nyxari hesitated. "Don't you need to train with the warriors?"
"I'm vice-captain," Crow said easily. "Besides your husband, no one here can train me — not even the other Varnari. I have no equal to spar with. Let me help with Spectra. I'm his uncle, after all."
Nocte and Nyxari exchanged a glance.
"And he's more like me anyway," Crow added. "He won't be a giant. And as long as he's with me, you won't have to worry about his secret. I'll teach him to use his body properly."
Nyxari's expression softened, though she still voiced one last concern. "Even so, whenever people see him, questions arise. What do we do when he starts school?"
"If questions arise," Crow said, "we say he was born premature. That's why his eyes are sensitive and why he's small. Given the… speed of his arrival, they'll believe it."
Nyxari met Nocte's eyes.
Finally, Nocte nodded. "Very well."
Nyxari's smile was faint but genuine. "Thank you, Crow."
Crow's grin widened. "It's settled, then. I'll make a warrior of him yet."
And just like that, the burden lifted.
Nocte's shadow had found a shadow of his own.