The house was quiet, save for the faint chorus of jungle life outside.
Spectra sat cross-legged on a woven mat, small hands folded in his lap, black-and-red eyes unblinking as they fixed on his parents.
Nocte leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, face unreadable but watchful. Nyxari sat opposite, posture calm yet alert, her eyes warm with concern.
They had walked home in silence. Now, the silence pressed in.
"So," Nocte began, his tone steady but edged with curiosity, "what do you remember?"
Spectra glanced at Nyxari, then back at his father. "Pretty much everything," he said with the unshaken certainty only a child could muster. "From when I opened my eyes and saw my first colors—I remember."
Nyxari tilted her head. "Colors?"
"The people," Spectra said, hands sketching shapes in the air. "When I was born, they glowed… bright white. So bright I couldn't tell them apart. All of them were like that. Even the woman I lived with."
Something flickered in Nocte's eyes, but he said nothing.
"Some people here have the same white when they pray at the shrine," Spectra continued. "I don't know what it means."
Nyxari exchanged a quick glance with Nocte, who gave no sign of reaction—though the weight in his gaze deepened.
"And your village?" Nocte asked.
Spectra's voice grew quieter. "It was loud. All the white lights rushed in… then they took me and the woman to another place. That's when I saw others—ones with auras like Calypso and his father. The white lights began going out, one by one. That's when I knew they were people, not one big thing."
Nyxari's fingers curled in her lap.
"The place they took me was small. Two people were inside. Their auras looked like Granny Tseraka's, but mixed with white. They did something to me—like Granny does for my eyes, but not the same. Then they left. They never came back."
Spectra hesitated. "After that, the woman's colors began to fade. The white turned pale, then pink and purple… a little like Mama's sometimes. Then it all faded."
Nyxari's breath caught. "That woman… she was your mother, wasn't she?"
Spectra shook his head. "You're my Mama. She only looked at me the way you do before she faded. But you… You've looked at me like that since the first time you held me."
Something in Nyxari broke—in the best way. She pulled him close, heart aching in the way only love could make it ache. She embraced the small boy, feeling the depth of her love for him, the maternal instinct that had been there from the moment Nocte brought him home. And though a small fear lingered—what if he didn't see them as family?—it melted in that instant. Not only did he know they were not his biological parents, but he didn't care. They were his family, and he loved them.
He smiled up at her. Not just a happy smile. The kind that tells you you belong.
Her tears fell before she could stop them.
"Don't cry, Mama."
She laughed through the tears. "I'm just happy, dear. That's all."
From the doorway, Nocte allowed himself the smallest smirk. The kid can probably see how you feel, Nyxari, he chuckled.
Spectra shifted his gaze to him. "After that, Papa came." He pointed at Nocte. "It was just me and the other one until Papa came with the Uncles. Then the Uncles got rid of the other one."
Nocte's grip on the doorway tightened.
Nyxari's brow knit. "What is he talking about?"
Nocte didn't answer. He knew precisely what Spectra was talking about, and feeling a subtle unease at the presence the boy could sense. He ran a hand over his mouth briefly, then removed them, once again resting them on the doorway.
"Papa?" Spectra prompted, picking up on his father's uneasiness
His father's tone was measured. "What do you mean, 'the other one'? There wasn't anyone else alive in that room."
Spectra's eyes sharpened. "It wasn't alive. Its aura wasn't like ours or the villagers'. But it wasn't bad either. It felt like… it was watching me. Waiting for me."
Nocte stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "Waiting?"
Memories stirred—dusty, dangerous ones.
He thought of the mural in that room: a night sky, a golden sun, Moondrop Mountain behind it. And the armor… black metal with golden tracery, shaped for a Dusknari.
"What kind of feeling did it give off?" Nocte asked, crouching to meet Spectra's eyes. "Hateful? Vengeful?"
Given the boy's description, Nocte had thought the armor might be haunted or possessed—and with all the killing that had happened nearby, who could blame him?
Spectra shook his head. "No. Just… waiting. For me."
Nocte gave a slow nod, speaking more to himself than the boy. "I know what you're talking about."
Nyxari leaned forward, curiosity sparking.
"I know what was waiting," Nocte said. "And I'll take you to it."
"Yes!" Spectra's face lit up as he ran to hug Nyxari, who laughed through her surprise.
"But not now," Nocte added.
The pair's shared look of disappointment almost made him laugh.
Hmph. Look at these two, staring at me like I just kicked them into an Umbrawild beast nest. Nocte chuckled to himself before continuing.
"The thing waiting for you… was a gift."
"A gift?" they echoed.
"Yes. From those who gave their lives for you."
Spectra's face grew solemn.
"I won't just show you," Nocte said. "I'll give it to you. But only when you're ready. When you're worthy. Understood?"
"Yes, Papa."
Though still young, Spectra grasped the weight of those words. And he vowed to carry it.
Upstairs, Noctari's sharp ears caught every word. She slipped away silently, feigning sleep when Nyxari later came to carry Spectra to bed.
When the house settled into quiet again, Nyxari turned to Nocte. "That 'other one'—what was it?"
"A set of armor," he said simply.
She blinked. "Armor? All that secrecy for just that?"
"Not just any armor," he said, voice low. "Dusknari armor."
Her chest tightened. "Then the villagers—"
"They knew," Nocte finished. "They knew a Dusknari child was coming. That's why the aura was so strong. And he's already sensing emotions—greed, envy, love—but not worship. That white aura he saw? That was worship."
Nyxari's pulse quickened. "So they weren't the only ones preparing. Someone else knew too."
"Yes," Nocte said. "And that's the problem. The villagers expected him. So did the Cindermarchers… or someone backing them. We need to find out how."
The night around them seemed darker than before.
And whatever had been waiting for Spectra—whatever had been prepared for him—this was only the beginning.