A sweet lullaby drifts through the cozy parlor, gently floating over the crackle of the fire and the sharp hiss of snow. The honeyed scent of beeswax candles mingles with the earthy notes of burning wood, cocooning the golden room in a tender warmth of comfort.
"Deep in the midnight blue," Neva breathes sweetness of the melody as the warm, pliant weight of her daughter's tiny body settles against her chest—cradled in the soft, yet steady embrace of the fabric wrap.
"Cold winds are rushing through." Neva rocks her daughter gently, tenderly patting her small back, the warm forest-green shawl wrapped snugly around them.
"Sleep now, my flower child,
Dream where the warm Sun shines." Neva gazes down at Inaya, a soft smile feathering her lips as the child blinks up at her—pretty eyelids flickering, growing heavy as her mother's voice soothes the fevered heat of her little body. To Inaya, her Mumma is a cocoon of soft white clouds, easing every ache as the lullaby lulls her into sleep.
"A white bird drifts above you," Neva continues singing, brushing a few strands of curls from Inaya's forehead.
"Angels keep watch over you.
Sleep now, my flower child."
She sways gently, rocking her daughter a little farther from the fireplace, its warmth fending off the frosty chill of December. Inaya's breathing slows, growing light and shallow as she drifts into dreamland—toward the place where the living Sun breathes spring into the garden.
"Dream where the warm Sun shines," Neva hums, her eyes drifting toward the window as sharp gusts of wind rattle the snow-frosted pane, the harsh ink-blue night of winter pressing close, threatening to drown out her soft lullaby.
Her brows knit into a gentle frown—Rhett hasn't arrived yet. It's almost six in the evening, and the world lies veiled in a bleak, deep-ocean hue, the whooshing air driving the snow into a rising, rushing white roar.
And she hadn't told him that Inaya has suddenly caught a fever again. It was during the children's noon nap that she found her daughter shivering in sleep, her small body burning far beyond its normal temperature.
But she fed Inaya her medicine with as much food as the little girl could take, the fever easing slowly.
If Neva could, she would soak up every ache from Inaya—but all she can do is pray for the sickness to fall away from her sweet child.
"Sleep now, my flower child," she whisper-sings, turning her head to see Sky entering the parlor—
only to halt suddenly in the doorway.
"Am I disturbing?" Sky asks softly, her brows creasing at the sight of the little girl bundled close against her mother in the wrap.
Neva shakes her head, offering her a small, reassuring smile.
Sky returns the smile and steps toward the dining table.
"Has the fever gone down?" she asks, pouring herself a glass of warm water from the floral-printed steel jug.
"It's slowly improving,'' Neva replies, glancing down at her daughter—one flushed, chubby cheek pressed against her skin. With her nose blocked, Inaya breathes softly through her slightly parted lips.
"That's good then." Sky nods, carefully pulling out a chair so as not to disturb the sleeping child.
She takes a sip of her water before settling into the seat, facing the fireplace.
"Hey, Neva," Sky says after a moment, glancing at Neva as she gently sways, soothing her daughter in dreams.
"Yes?" Neva asks, meeting Sky's eyes.
"May I ask… how old is your daughter?" Sky says, setting her half-empty glass of water on the table.
"She and Isaiah are three years old," Neva replies, gently stroking Inaya's hair. "Almost four now," she adds in a whisper.
Sky nods, smiling softly. "Children do grow up fast, huh?"
Neva smiles back. "They do."
"I'm home." A low, familiar voice, muffled by the thick stone walls, reaches her ears, followed by the soft thud of a door closing.
He's finally here.
She exhales faintly, relief washing over her.
Just as he appears at the living room entrance, Rhean darts out from the opposite room, crashing happily into his father's legs.
"Dada, you're late!" the boy protests, lips curling into a displeased pout as he looks up at his father.
"Am I?" Rhett replies with a gentle smile, brushing a hand through his son's curls.
Rhean nods, his pout deepening, tiny arms tighten around Rhett's legs.
"Can I make it up to you later?" Rhett asks, his eyes soft as he takes in the tiny frame clinging to him.
"But I want my Iron Man repaired right now, Dada.
He still hasn't got an arm!" Rhean persists, chubby cheeks puffed in mild agitation.
Rhett sighs, a faint smile touching his lips—the warmth of his sulky boy gently thawing his frosted heart.
"I've got something to do right now. Why don't you go play with Isaiah until then?" he suggests, his gaze falling on the boy leaning against the bedroom doorframe.
But his chest tightens as he catches a flicker of envy—and longing—in Isaiah's soft, chocolate eyes.
"Do you promise to fix it later?" Rhean asks, reluctantly pulling away from his father.
Rhett nods, gently patting Rhean's cheek. "I promise."
A bright smile blooms across Rhean's face, replacing the frown once etched in his pretty brows—just like his mother's.
Rhett watches as the boys scurry back into the room, then turns toward the living room, meeting Neva's gaze.
"Sky, go fetch Knight," Rhett instructs, shrugging off his soaked jacket as he moves toward his wife.
"Sure." Sky rises without haste, hands tucked into the pockets of her light-blue hoodie as she walks past him.
"Did something happen?" Neva asks, frowning gently at the hardness etched across his features.
"The usual," Rhett replies, throwing his soaked jacket onto a dining chair before sinking into another, closer to her. "Slip of trouble."
"What about you?" he asks, crossing his legs to loosen the laces of his waterlogged leather boots. He slips his feet free and tosses them aside, the damp fabric leaving a faint trace of cold gush on the floor.
"Nothing out of place at home?" he adds, sliding his heavy, soaked black sock off and shoving them carelessly into the mouth of the boot. His feet ache, cold and uncomfortable—a sensation he hates most of all.
"No," Neva whispers.
Rhett tosses the sock along with the waterlogged boots he's just pulled off.
He straightens, letting out a long, relieved sigh as his gaze meets hers. But his dark brows knit softly in concern at her distant expression. Still, she instinctively rocks the child, who whimpers softly in her sleep.
"Are you alright?" he asks gently.
"Huh?" Neva blinks, as if dragged from her haze. "Ah—yes, I'm… alright," she murmurs, her voice soft and a little unsteady.
She clearly isn't. But Rhett simply watches her, silent and steady, offering no further prompting, letting the quiet weight of despair in her eyes speak for itself.
"I should get you a towel," Neva whispers, stepping toward the door.
"Until then, you can warm up by the fire—"
"Wait." Rhett catches her wrist, stopping her before she can walk away.
"Stay with me, please," he whispers, his voice threaded with tender longing.
Neva turns to glance at him, but before she can speak, the soft scrape of boots against the wooden floor reaches her ears.
They both look up as Knight walks in, followed by Sky just a step behind.
"What did you need me for?" Knight asks, voice dripping with displeasure as he plops onto the couch, eyes swollen and heavy—clearly roused from a nap.
"What about Jack and Ace?" Rhett asks instead. "When are they coming back?"
"Not positive news from them yet," Sky replies, her voice flat and seasoned with a hint of contempt as she stands in front of the fireplace, arms crossed.
"Then tell them to finish up and get back," Rhett snaps, his gaze dark and sharp with irritation.
"We're not here for a damned vacation."
Knight yawns with complete abandon, tossing his head back as if to shake off the grim cold of the room—or Rhett's sharp, unrelenting glare.
"Focus, Knight." Rhett's voice cuts cold, edged with barely veiled resentment.
"Please, continue, Boss," Knight drawls, a shadow of a smirk tugging at his lips, deliberately provoking him.
Rhett clenches his jaw, exhaling through his nose in a bid for control.
His gaze shifts to Neva beside him—watching the tension thickening in the room with hardly a flicker of reaction.
"Do you want to go?" Rhett asks, wishing to shield her from whatever bleakness this conversation is about to stir.
Yet a part of him longs for her to stay—hoping the divine, blood-red threads might bind her to him through every breath, every heartbeat... for forever.
Neva simply nods.
"Alright then," Rhett replies, a gentle smile ghosting across his lips. He watches her far away, his gaze lingering on Neva's small back, braided curls cascading down her waist as she carries her daughter into the hallway, and disappears into their bedroom.
"Had enough of worshipping your wife?" Knight's voice cuts through, slashing down Rhett's fragile reverie.
Rhett stares at him, the vexation roused by Knight's words—and the ache of lost warmth veiled beneath them—evident in his grim eyes.
"Around four hundred people have taken refuge in a village that wasn't exactly the one planned—or prepared for," Rhett declares, cutting straight to the point.
"How is that possible?" Sky frowns.
"Were the people responsible for bearing insights dispatched already?"
"They were supposed to start next week." Rhett leans forward, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped tight as worry sharpens his features.
"I visited the village myself," Rhett says. "Clearly, they had no idea our plan was to gather the people in designated villages until the rescue team arrived."
"But why would they wander into some strange villages?" Sky asks, uncrossing her arms as she moves toward the couch across from a solemn–looking Knight.
"Do they even have food and shelter?"
"They do. The shabby houses have been newly repaired, the place swept clean," Rhett pauses. "Especially considering the ghost village had long been abandoned, with no food or electricity."
Sky tilts her head, leaning back on the couch, arms and legs crossed. "Have they been chased from home, and were they already planning to move ahead of us?"
"No," Rhett declares, glancing up at her. "Their village was attacked—yes. But they had already escaped before the soldiers set their houses on fire."
"And how did they get so fortunate?" Knight raises a brow.
"Let me guess—some divine intervention, angels and all that, isn't it?" he sneers.
Rhett blatantly ignores him, straightening as his gaze darkens.
"It was Raka who warned them."
A sharp silence freezes the room.
For a moment, all Rhett hears is the gusting wind rattling against the windows over the crackling fire—the weather slatternly churning into an impending, disastrous gale.
Much like the situation about to unfold, leaving nothing but regret and tragedy if their strategy isn't solidified for the greater storms ahead.
"And how would you know that?" Knight asks, his gaze sharpening—
more serious than he's been at any point in this conversation.
"I figured that much when they mistook me for their saviour," Rhett replies, his voice low, expression unnervingly calm and unreadable.
"Hah." Knight lets out a short, amused laugh. "What a sick-ass freak."
"And fuck…" A muscle near his eye twitches.
"That's the same man who damned half the human population with a virus that kills with cold—and now he's going around saving some villagers from being burned alive?"
"God." He chuckles, sighing as he reclines in his seat, palms resting flat on his thighs.
"Never have I ever seen a man as twisted as Raka."
"He's planning something—something big." Sky bites the inside of her lip, brows furrowed, her gaze unreadable as she tries to comprehend it.
"Of course he is," Knight interjects. "Probably got wind of Czar's plan and wanted to compete for our goddess of Love—Mrs. Prophetess' affection."
"Oh… this is fun." He smirks at Rhett, who glares at him as if ready to crack his skull and burn him alive.
"It'll be up to her to choose the more heroic one, alright—Mr. Rhett Lei?" He tilts his head, a grin creeping onto his lips, hinting at the prince of evil himself.
"Knight," Sky snaps, shooting him a sharp warning look. "Don't entice him."
"All right, all right." Knight crosses his arms behind his black‑blue tousled hair, the grin stitched to his lips.
"The big bad wolf's about to show up," he says, conviction beginning to glint in his eyes. "And I'll be the one to catch him—alive or dead."
"Well then." Knight slowly rises, stretching his arms. "I'm off to bed. But first, I've got a present to prepare—to welcome our dear Czar's twin brother.'' He winks at Rhett, then crosses his arms behind his head, whistling through the parlor with unnerving serenity.
Rhett sighs, looking older than he is, fine creases tugging at the corners of his eyes.
"We'll discuss the details later." Rhett reaches for his boots, fingers lazily grabbing the fringe as he rises, heading toward the door.
Sky only hums in response, her pitying gaze trailing to the tall silhouette of her leader—his shoulders slouched beneath a burden heavier than he will ever let himself show.