The doors closed softly behind me, and the sound seemed impossibly small compared to the space that opened before me. The garden stretched wide and luminous beneath the morning sun, a living tapestry of color and fragrance framed by tall hedges and the pale off-white walls of the manor. Light spilled freely here, unfiltered and generous, catching on leaves and reflecting off the faint dew still clinging to petals. The warmth of it touched my face immediately, and after the cold violence of the Blood Lands, it felt almost unreal as though I had stepped into a memory rather than a present moment.
The air was layered with scent. Sweet citrus from the altered orange trees. The soft honeyed perfume of peach blossoms. The faint earthy breath of damp soil still dark from early watering. Beneath it all lingered something uniquely ours the apple trees mother and I had planted when I was small. Their scent was not sharp like common orchard fruit but richer, deeper, almost intoxicating, as though the sweetness carried weight rather than lightness. The wind moved gently through the branches, and with it came the low rustle of leaves, the distant murmur of servants somewhere beyond the hedge line, and closer still laughter.
Diana stood near the center of the stone path, sunlight sliding along her dark hair and catching in her mismatched eyes like twin jewels set deliberately in shadow. Mother stood beside her, tall and impossibly composed, her earth-toned dress flowing lightly at her ankles, her olive skin radiant beneath the morning glow. Sofia hovered nearby, restless energy wrapped in silk and mischief. And then I saw them. Quentin. Jabir.
And standing beside Jabir with that calm, observant presence that had never once wavered since I was a child Auntie Fatimata.
For a moment, I simply stood there, my mind refusing to reconcile what my eyes insisted upon. They were supposed to be on Zull. They were supposed to be traveling. They were supposed to be elsewhere. The sunlight caught Quentin's amber hair and made it blaze briefly like copper set aflame. Jabir stood taller than I remembered, his expression already forming into that familiar smirk that had always carried more intelligence than arrogance.
Before I could speak, Sofia saw me.
Her face lit up as if someone had poured pure sunlight into her veins. Quentin followed her gaze, and the next thing I knew they were both moving toward me with no restraint whatsoever. I barely had time to brace before their combined weight collided into my chest. We went down in a tangle of limbs and laughter, the grass cool beneath my back, the scent of crushed mint and soil rising around us.
Sofia's giggles were bright and uncontrolled, high and innocent, ringing directly against my ear. Quentin's laughter rolled out deeper, carefree and unapologetic. Their warmth pressed into me from both sides, and for a moment the world felt small and harmless again. "Quentin," I managed through laughter, "Jabir, what are you doing here?" I heard measured footsteps approach soft, deliberate, confident.
"Not even a hi or hello," Jabir's voice came smoothly from above me. "You must have hit your head, silver spoon." The nickname landed exactly as it always had half insult, half affection. Sofia immediately repeated it in delight. "Yeah, silver spoon hit ya head!" she chimed, dissolving into laughter again.
Quentin pushed himself upright and scooped Sofia from where she clung to me, lifting her easily as if she weighed nothing. He leaned toward her conspiratorially and whispered loud enough for all of us to hear, "I wonder what nickname Jabir is going to give you next." He added with exaggerated seriousness, "He's quite awful with nicknames." They both giggled, Sofia gripping his shoulders tightly as though she had just been told the grandest secret in existence.
I stood slowly, brushing grass from my trousers, the warmth of the sun soaking through the black Kashmir fabric. Jabir stepped forward without hesitation and wrapped his arms around me. The hug was firm, tight, deliberate our tradition. Quentin joined a heartbeat later, pulling us into a three-way embrace that was more bone and muscle than ceremony. There were no words exchanged during it. There never were. It was acknowledgment. Survival. Continuance.
When we finally separated, I turned toward Auntie Fatimata. The sight of her softened something in my chest that had remained taut since waking. She wore flowing fabrics in deep earth tones, her headscarf wrapped elegantly, her eyes steady and warm as they had always been. The scent of cardamom and rosewater drifted faintly from her, grounding and familiar.
I bowed slightly before her and greeted her in the tongue of her people, my voice steady and respectful. "As-salamu alaykum wa-rahmatullahi wa-barakatuh." She waved off the bow gently, smiling with quiet affection. "Wa-alaykum-salaam, nephew," she replied, the word nephew carrying more weight than blood ever could.
I straightened and turned to mother and Diana, bowing formally as I always did. Mother's smile held pride, but something else lingered there too awareness perhaps. Diana's gaze was sharper than usual, studying me with the subtle intensity of someone who sensed a shift but chose not to name it aloud.
Before the moment could settle into solemnity, Quentin's voice cut through again, bright and irreverent. "Ain't he just the perfect teddy bear?" I turned toward him sharply, only to find Sofia now perched on his back like a victorious rider. She pointed at me and repeated with enthusiasm, "Bear! Bear!"
Jabir folded his arms, tilting his head slightly as he studied me with exaggerated appraisal. "I've never known a bear to talk and walk like a man, let alone be this handsome," he said smoothly. Quentin snorted. "Well, Jabir, we're not all gifted with a face only a mother can love."
The two of them broke into motion instantly, Jabir lunging forward as Quentin darted away across the grass with Sofia squealing in delight atop his back. The sunlight flashed across their moving forms, casting long playful shadows over trimmed hedges and stone paths. The sound of their footfalls mixed with Sofia's delighted shrieks and the steady rustle of leaves above.
Mother and Auntie Fatimata grasped each other's hands lightly and laughed a soft, knowing laughter that carried history within it. Diana watched the chaos with faint amusement, her arms folded loosely.
I stood there in the middle of it all, breathing in the scent of citrus and apple blossom, listening to the rhythm of laughter and teasing, feeling the warmth of the sun against my skin. Everything sounded innocent. Everything felt alive. And yet somewhere beneath my ribs, faint and quiet, something older still listened. But for now, I allowed myself to laugh and step forward, ready to chase them if they dared to call me bear again.