The evening sun slipped through the shutters, laying warm stripes across the wooden floor. I stepped inside and shut the door with more effort than I wanted to admit. My feet dragged. My shoulders ached. If exhaustion had a smell, I was probably carrying it with me.
The academy had been relentless today. I'd survived my students and their endless questions, but my body hadn't quite forgiven me for yesterday. Every movement reminded me of that collapse — subtle, quiet, and very much still there.
Avaris was already waiting in the living room.
Her hair was tied back neatly, arms crossed, eyes fixed on me the moment I entered. That unreadable look of hers settled on my spine like a weight I knew better than to ignore. One brow lifted slightly as she stepped closer, brushing a loose strand of hair from my forehead.
"You look tired," she said. "Sit properly."
I didn't argue. I let myself sink into the chair she'd clearly adjusted earlier. The moment I sat, my body loosened in protest and relief.
"I am tired," I admitted, rubbing my temples. "But I survived the day."
She leaned in and pressed a brief, casual kiss to my temple — not dramatic, not lingering. Just… there. Familiar. Grounding.
"You should eat," she said. "You look like the academy dragged you through lessons."
"I will," I murmured. "I promise."
Even exhausted, I felt that warmth settle in my chest. No matter how chaotic life became, Avaris had a way of making it feel manageable — like things might not fall apart after all.
Then—
"Father! You're back!"
Arin burst in from the doorway, wooden spoon raised like a legendary weapon. His energy was terrifying. It always was.
"Are you okay?" he asked, eyes shining.
Behind him came Lysa, quieter as always. She stopped just short of me, her gaze flicking over my posture, my face, the way I sat. Concern — real concern — flashed for half a second before she masked it.
"Don't push yourself too hard," she said flatly. "Though… I suppose that's not my business."
I couldn't help it. I chuckled.
Hidden concern disguised as indifference. Classic Lysa.
"I'll be fine," I said, hoping my voice sounded steadier than my legs felt.
Arin spun his spoon dramatically. "I learned a new move today!"
I barely had time to react before he lunged forward in an enthusiastic flourish that nearly took the table with it.
"Arin—!" I ducked instinctively.
Lysa sighed and knelt down, calmly straightening the papers that had shifted. "Father, you really should organize your workspace better," she muttered. "Chaos suits you. Your belongings… less so."
I groaned, leaning back. "Every day, the same disaster," I said. "And yet, somehow, I survive."
Avaris returned with a cup of tea and a piece of bread, setting them down gently. She nudged the chair again, just enough to make it more comfortable.
"Drink," she said. "And eat. Don't make me scold you for fainting again."
I accepted the tea gratefully. As I drank, I noticed the small things she did without thinking — smoothing my robe, tucking my hair back, aligning the papers on the table. She rarely said much, but she noticed everything.
Arin, unsatisfied, launched into another round of spoon combat and knocked over a stack of books.
"Arin!" I hissed.
Lysa had already moved, stacking them neatly again. When I glanced at her, I caught the faintest hint of amusement before it disappeared.
Avaris folded her arms, relaxed but dangerous. "If you two keep pretending this room is a battlefield," she said lightly, "I will confiscate every weapon in it."
Arin deflated. "But it's training."
"It's training my patience," I muttered.
I tried to focus on my notes for tomorrow, spreading the papers out carefully. That lasted about a minute.
Arin declared himself my personal guard and tipped over the ink pot in the process. Lysa caught the papers before they hit the floor, muttering something about "the clumsiness of scholars."
I sighed.
Sore. Tired. Still bandaged yesterday.
And somehow being outplayed by an eight- and a ten-year-old.
Avaris leaned down, brushing my hair back once more. "Rest," she whispered. "You'll need your strength tomorrow."
Despite everything, I smiled.
Even like this… this felt right.
A knock interrupted us. A messenger handed me a letter from the academy — tomorrow's duties, neatly listed, unavoidable.
I glanced at Arin and Lysa. They were watching me quietly now.
"I'll handle it," I said.
Arin nodded enthusiastically. "We'll help later!"
Lysa rolled her eyes — but the corner of her mouth lifted just a little.
Leaning back, tea warm in my hands, I let the noise and disorder wash over me. The chaos, the humor, the quiet care hidden behind sharp words — all of it.
Home was never calm.
But it was always this.
And tomorrow, I knew, would be exactly the same.