The night had settled deep over Eizo when Sinbad and Yamori finally returned to the family estate. The journey home had been quiet, the noise of the capital now a memory behind them. Sinbad carried his son on his shoulders, the boy's silver hair catching the glow of the estate lanterns as they approached. The gates opened to reveal the familiar courtyard, still and calm. But as soon as they stepped inside, the air changed—cool, heavy, and expectant.
The living room lights were low, casting long shadows across the polished floor. And there, seated with the quiet authority of a queen on her throne, was Aurora. Her arms were folded neatly, her expression unreadable. On her lap sat little Kagami, mirroring her mother's posture with surprising accuracy. It was a scene that made Sinbad's confident stride falter.
He stopped dead in his tracks. Sweat gathered at his brow. He glanced upward at Yamori, as if seeking help, but found only betrayal—the boy had already slipped off his shoulders and was headed for the nearest exit without a word.
"Hey—hey, wait!" Sinbad called after him, voice cracking slightly. "You can't just abandon your old man like this. We face this together!"
Yamori's only response was a silent wave over his shoulder, a wordless farewell to a father about to meet his doom.
Left alone, Sinbad turned toward his wife, forcing a strained, weary smile. "H-hello, dear…"
Aurora rose gracefully, lifting Kagami onto her hip as she moved toward him. Sinbad's knees bent instinctively, as if in supplication before a goddess. Aurora let out a slow, deliberate sigh, the sound of disappointment softened only by patience.
"My husband," she began, voice smooth but edged, "I trust you weren't causing trouble while I was away? Two days, Sinbad. I leave for two days, and already the capital buzzes with rumors—a madman wielding axes and a silver-haired ghost haunting the streets of Eizo."
Before Sinbad could muster a defense, Yamori's quiet retreat ended abruptly. Aurora appeared before him in a blink, her speed a thing almost unseen. Even with his sharpened senses, he hadn't felt the shift of air. She placed a hand on his shoulder; cold as steel, firm as command.
"And where do you think you're going, my sweet boy?" she murmured, her tone velvet over iron. She leaned closer, her words brushing his ear. "I don't recall giving you permission to leave. You will explain everything—every detail—or so help me, the library will be off-limits to you."
The threat was quiet but devastating. Yamori froze, then sighed in surrender. Without his books, he was half-blind in the world—a fate he would not risk. So, in the glow of the hearth, he began to speak.
The tale was long, woven with humor and tension, Sinbad adding his own flourishes, Aurora listening with a mixture of sternness and quiet amusement. Occasionally she laughed softly, though the weight of her gaze never lifted. Time passed unnoticed; the night bled into dawn, and still they spoke.
By the thirtieth hour, the orange of early evening had returned to the sky. The family moved to the garden, a place alive with flowers and soft breezes. Kagami's laughter rang out as Sinbad lifted her high, spinning her through the air like a kite. Aurora, meanwhile, sat on a carved bench, Yamori settled against her lap. Her fingers combed through his long hair, slow and rhythmic, like a mother taming a restless thought.
"You're quite the troublemaker," she said softly, a hint of exasperation laced with affection. "Just like your father. You could have been seriously hurt, Yamori—even with those self-taught skills of yours."
Yamori gave a quiet sigh, leaning into her touch. His usual guardedness softened, the tension draining from his shoulders. "It had to be done," he said simply.
Aurora's response was swift but gentle—a sharp chop to the top of his head. He flinched, but she only smiled faintly and continued stroking his hair, her voice calm but carrying a weight he could not ignore.
"My sweet child," she murmured, her gaze shifting briefly toward Sinbad and Kagami among the flowers. "There are times when what you did would be called brave, even noble. But remember this: when you risk your life for another, you gamble with the hearts of those who love you. Your family carries that weight."
Her eyes softened further, catching his. "You are still so young, Yamori. Don't rush to grow old before your time. The world is vast—far larger than any library could hold. Knowledge is a treasure, but it's the heart that guides how you use it. The world is not just right or wrong; it is the echo of choices and the reactions they spark. Hear me and keep it close: live by your own light, but never forget those who share its glow. Bloom, my sweet, sweet boy."
Yamori's eyes grew heavy, the exhaustion of the past days claiming him. Yet before they closed fully, he looked at her one last time—a flicker of gratitude, understanding, and quiet peace.
Aurora lowered her head, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Rest now," she whispered.
And so he did, drifting to sleep in the warmth of her arms, while nearby, Sinbad and Kagami's laughter mingled with the rustle of flowers. For a moment, the world was still, as calm as the steady beating of their hearts.