Lithia woke to the gentle chirping of…birds? No battle drums, no distant war horns—just tiny winged nuisances broadcasting the dawn. She blinked against the sunlight slanting through lace curtains, arms wrapped around herself like armor.
Home.
The word still tasted like poison in her mouth, but here she was—guest room reclaimed as a fortress, window overlooking a world that ought to be razed. She rose, cloak swirling around her like liquid shadow, and stalked into the hallway.
Official Adoption (Sort Of)
In the kitchen, Greg stood by the table, holding what looked like a stack of official papers. Carol poured coffee into her "World's Okayest Mom" mug while Ethan fussed over his cereal, refusing to eat anything until Greg "sealed the deal."
"Morning, Lithia," Greg greeted, cheer so bright it could blind an orc. He tapped the papers. "Before school, we should—officially—make you part of the family."
Lithia arched an eyebrow. "You mean you want me to sign paperwork so you can milk the state for orphan benefits?"
Greg chuckled. "Nope. Just want you to have the same rights and cookies as us. It's… adoption, technically."
Ethan slid off his chair. "Here, I'll help!" He grabbed a pen and handed it to Lithia like it was an enchanted relic.
Lithia glared at the documents—legalese, house rules, guardianship. Then she signed with a flourish, scrawling her name so the "Blackwinter" part looked more like a threat than an emblem.
Greg Whooped. Carol cheered. Ethan high‑fived her like she'd conquered a kingdom. Lithia didn't know whether to sharpen a sword or bake a celebratory cake.
Walking the "Territory"
Armed with a hastily packed lunch (turkey sandwich, apple, suspiciously green Jell‑O), Lithia and Ethan headed out on foot toward his elementary school. Lithia carried Ethan's backpack like it weighed a hundred pounds—he refused to let her carry it herself, citing "rules."
The Hensley neighborhood was in full morning swing:
Mrs. Ramirez jogging in neon leggings waved a water bottle. "Good morning, Lithia! I baked banana bread—come over later!"
Mr. Schmidt mowed his lawn with military precision, nodding at Lithia like she was inspecting his formation.
Two toddlers chased a Frisbee, shrieking. Lithia narrowed her eyes. Primitive projectile strategy.
Ethan skipped ahead. "Don't look so grim, Lithi. It's kinda nice."
Lithia grunted. "Nice is overrated."
School Drop‑Off and the Unblinking Stare
At the school gate, a sea of backpacks and tiny uniforms bustled in. Lithia towered over everyone—cloak brushing the tops of little heads. Kids stopped to stare; some whispered "vampire" under their breath.
Then—a calm presence: a teenage girl leaning against the fence, arms crossed. She was older than most students, maybe sixteen or seventeen, with dark hair tied back and clear, assessing eyes.
"That's my sister, Maren," Ethan whispered. "She's… special."
Maren nodded once at Lithia. "Nice cloak. Did you raid a funeral?"
Lithia blinked in genuine surprise. "Comfy. And no—I raid battlefields."
Maren smirked. "Figures. I'm Maren Baker. Little sis's idea to meet you."
Lithia cocked her head. A teenager who didn't flinch or freak out? Intriguing.
"Lithia Blackwinter," she said, dry as parchment. "I suppose you'll show me the ropes."
Maren offered her hand. "Only if you promise not to scare the first‑graders."
Homeroom Chaos
Ethan waved farewell and darted inside. Lithia followed Maren through the gates, stepping into a bustling hallway. Lockers slammed. Shouts. Slapdash posters advertising the bake sale.
Maren led her to Room 12B. The teacher, Ms. Patel—a kindly woman with gentle eyes—greeted them. "Ah, you must be Lithia! We heard so much about you." She ducked under Lithia's glare. "I'm sure you'll settle in quickly."
Quickly. The word felt like a challenge. Lithia found an empty desk, dropped her bag with more force than necessary, and sat. Around her, curious students whispered; a few braver souls waved awkwardly.
Ms. Patel cleared her throat. "Alright, class—welcome Lithia and let's start geometry."
Lithia's eyes narrowed at the shapes on the board. Triangles? Circles? Warm‑up exercises? In her world, geometry meant siege calculations and trajectory arcs. But she squared her shoulders and pretended to follow along, determined not to embarrass herself.
Lunchtime Lessons
When the bell rang, Lithia trudged to the cafeteria with Maren. Lunch trays clanged. The air smelled like mystery meat.
"I'll stick with you," Maren said, sliding onto the bench opposite. "Don't take the mystery meat. You'll regret it."
Lithia eyed the unlabeled slop. "In my world, we feast on boar's liver cooked in dragon blood."
Maren blinked. "And you still think this is gross?"
Lithia paused. On her tray: turkey sandwich, grapes, and Jell‑O. She bit into the sandwich. It was… adequate. She swallowed. "Acceptable."
A group of kids sidled over. They were Maren's friends—skater vibes, neon shoelaces, that smell of Axe body spray.
"Hey, Blackwinter," one of them said, grinning. "Wanna hang after school? We're hitting the skate park."
Lithia considered crushing the skateboard with her aura. But… curiosity. "I might consider it," she replied icily.
Maren laughed. "See? You're making friends already."
After‑School Alliance
Back home, Greg and Carol greeted them on the porch like heroes returning from a campaign. Carol thrust lemonade into Lithia's hands. "How was school?"
Lithia shrugged. "Strange. But potentially useful." She met Maren's eyes—no fear there, only a sly challenge.
Greg beamed. "We're having spaghetti night—hope you're hungry."
Ethan tumbled out with his backpack. "Lithi, Maren's gonna show me how to skateboard!"
Maren winked at Lithia. "I told him you might join."
Lithia draped her cloak over a chair. "Very well. Show me this 'skate park of chaos.'"
That night, Lithia stood on the front lawn, skateboard wobbling underfoot as Maren coached her. Neighbors peeked from windows. The Baker kids cheered. The Hensleys watched with proud smiles.
And for the first time since arriving, Lithia allowed herself a small smirk. Maybe suburban life—chaotic, ridiculous, and dangerously cozy—was a battlefield worth conquering after all.
End of Chapter Three