"Good." She nodded, sharp and quick. "You're not allowed to ditch me that fast."
He chuckled, the sound rougher than he meant. "Not planning to."
She didn't answer, just hummed—off-key, like always—and rolled onto her stomach, chin resting on her hands. Kaelith stayed still, letting the quiet settle. The stars didn't move, didn't care—same as back then, when he'd slump on that couch, screen flickering, world shut out. He'd hated them sometimes, those stars—too far, too useless. Now, they didn't feel so cold. Maybe it was Lirien, sprawled there like she belonged. Maybe it was Talsara, this place that'd taken him in.
The pendant pressed against his chest, warm from his skin. He touched it, tracing the fox's curve—a gift, a tether. Roxara was out there, yeah, but it could wait. He wasn't Kazu anymore, hiding from everything. He was Kaelith—eight, fanged, stuck figuring out what that meant. The hunger twitched, faint in his gums, but he pushed it down. Not tonight.
Lirien yawned, loud and shameless, stretching out again. "Getting sleepy," she mumbled. "You?"
"Nah," he lied, eyes still up. "You go ahead."
She grumbled something, curling into the grass like a cat, her breathing slowing fast. Kaelith watched her for a minute—wild hair, steady rise of her chest—then turned back to the sky. The spellbook sat beside him, untouched for now. He'd crack it later, when the stars didn't pull so hard. For now, he just lay there, letting Talsara hold him a little longer.
Kaelith's breath fogged in the cool night air, faint wisps curling under the twin moons' glow. Lirien's snores—soft, uneven—rumbled beside him, her sprawled form sinking deeper into the grass. He hadn't moved since she'd drifted off, just lay there, the damp seeping through his tunic, the stars pinning him in place. The silver moon washed Talsara's fields in a cold sheen, the violet one smudging the edges with a haze that made his head feel heavy. The spellbook rested by his side, untouched, its runes catching flickers of light like they were watching him back.
A rustle cut through the quiet—faint, down the hill, not the wind. His ears twitched, sharper than they should be, picking up the crunch of dirt, the shuffle of something heavier than a fox. He tilted his head, peering into the dark, the vampire in him waking up before his mind caught on. Lirien mumbled something—garbled, sleepy—and rolled onto her side, but her eyes stayed shut. Kaelith held still, waiting, the sound growing closer—boots, slow and deliberate, climbing the slope.
A shadow crested the hill, broad and cloaked, the faint clink of a belt buckle giving it away. Talren. His father's hazel eyes glinted as he stepped into the moonlight, cloak flapping loose, his face creased with that tired frown Kaelith knew too well. "Thought I'd find you up here," Talren said, voice low, rough from the night's wear. He stopped a few paces off, hands resting on his hips, glancing at Lirien's curled-up shape. "She's out like a snuffed candle."
"Yeah," Kaelith said, keeping it neutral. He sat up slow, grass sticking to his palms, the pendant shifting against his chest. "Feast got her."
Talren grunted, a half-laugh, and took a step closer. His boots scuffed the ground, loud in the stillness, and he loomed there—big, solid, the way he always did. "Your mother's still fussing over the mess back there. Sent me to haul you home before you freeze."
"I'm fine," Kaelith said, sharper than he meant. He pulled his knees up, arms resting loose, the spellbook nudging his thigh. "Not cold."
Talren's frown twitched—softened for a blink, then settled back. "Aye, you're eight now. Tough little man." He scratched his beard, the rasp cutting through the quiet, and crouched down, knees popping loud. "Still gotta check, though. Old habit."
Kaelith didn't say anything, just stared at the grass between them, blades glinting silver. Eight. Age of Promise. He'd stood in that cottage, voice steady—Roxara Academy, beat the sun—and Talren'd clapped him hard, proud, like it meant something. Veyra'd held his hand, eyes shining. Up here, though, it felt thinner—words he'd said because they sounded right, not because he knew how to make them real. Kazu'd been good at words too—I'll be there, Hiro. I'll change. Never happened. The stars didn't care either way.
"You meant it, didn't you?" Talren's voice broke in, low and steady, pulling him back. "That academy bit."
Kaelith's jaw tightened, just a little. "Yeah. Meant it."
Talren nodded, slow, eyes flicking to the spellbook. "Takes guts to say it out loud—whole village gawking. Takes more to pull it off." He paused, shifting his weight, the cloak rustling soft. "You're already past me, you know. Magic's not my game—never was."
Kaelith's fingers brushed the leather cover, cool and rough under his touch. "Not past you," he muttered. "Still stumbling."
"You'll get it," Talren said, firm—like he wasn't guessing. His hazel eyes locked on Kaelith's red ones, steady, unblinking. "Saw it tonight. The way you stood there, the way that fire mage—Seraphine—watched you. You've got something, lad. Don't let it slip."
Kaelith's chest warmed, a flicker, but it tangled with something older—duller. Talren'd been gone too long, too often—Mira's shadow stretching between them, Veyra's quiet sobs behind the door. The feast had smoothed it over, patched the cracks, but they weren't gone. "You didn't let yours slip?" he asked, voice low, a thread of Kazu's bite slipping out.
Talren's face stiffened—eyes narrowing, then dropping to the grass. "Messed up plenty," he said, quieter, rougher. "You know that. But I'm here now. For you. For her." He stopped, rubbed the back of his neck, and added, "And… the other one, when it's time."
Kaelith's breath caught, sharp and quick. Mira. The baby. Two years since those whispers—she's with child—and Talren hadn't said it straight till now. "The other one," he echoed, flat, testing it.
Talren's face stiffened—eyes narrowing before drifting to the grass. "Messed up plenty," he said, voice scraping low. "You know that. But I'm here now. For you. For her." A rough hand rubbed the back of his neck. "And… the other one, when it's time."
Kaelith's pulse jumped. Mira. The child. Two years of whispers, now spoken plain. He wet his lips. "When is that, exactly? How long does a birth take here?"
Talren's fingers stalled mid‑scratch. He cleared his throat, gaze fixed on the shadowed path instead of his son. "Takes longer than the stories you remember—close to two full turns of the seasons. Call it two years, more or less."
Two years. The number lodged in Kaelith's thoughts, jarring against the nine‑month timeline he'd known on Earth. He masked the shock with a slow nod. "Understood."
Talren stood, slow, knees cracking again. "Come on," he said, softer, brushing grass off his cloak. "Your mother'll have my hide if you're out here till dawn."
Kaelith nodded, grabbing the spellbook, its weight steadying him. He nudged Lirien's shoulder—light, then harder when she groaned. "Up, lazy."