The door shut with a heavy thud, muffling the last traces of the restless crowd outside. The silence inside the little house was different from the tense hush of the plaza — here, it was thick with breath, with the weight of hearts that had nearly shattered.
Niamh's hand lingered against the wood for a moment, fingers trembling, before she turned. Her composure — the iron spine she had shown in the streets — crumbled all at once.
"Jade—" Her voice broke.
She was across the room in an instant, dropping to her knees in front of him, her hands flying over his body. She checked his arms, his face, the soft line of his jaw, the hair plastered to his forehead, down to the hem of his tunic, her fingers desperate for any sign of blood, of bruises, of anything that might betray a hidden wound. Tears blurred her vision, but she didn't stop, couldn't stop.
"My baby, my boy… stars above, you came out of that death trap—" Her words tumbled, half-sob, half-accusation. "What were you thinking? What if you hadn't—what if I lost you?"
Jade stood very still, letting her hands roam, not flinching, not pulling away. For once, the calm mask slipped from his face. His lips curved faintly, trembling at the edges, not from pride but from the sheer ache of seeing her like this. He lifted a small hand and pressed it gently over hers, stilling her frantic search.
"I'm here," he whispered, voice low and tender. "I'm fine, Niamh. I promise. Not a scratch."
But his reassurance didn't stem the tears. Niamh pulled him suddenly against her chest, arms wrapping so tight it nearly hurt. He sank into the embrace without hesitation, burying his face against her shoulder, breathing in the scent of herbs and smoke that had always meant home.
For a long moment, mother and son clung to each other, the world outside forgotten.
Across the room, Amara had all but thrown herself beside her brother. Lio was pale, yes, and shock lingered in his eyes, but his body bore no mark of harm. Still, Amara cradled his face between her hands, smoothing hair from his brow, checking his fingers, his chest, his back as though he might yet crumble if she let go.
"Are you sure you're alright?" she whispered again and again, voice quivering. "Tell me you're alright."
Lio gave her a tired smile, leaning into her fussing without protest. "I'm alright, Amara. Really. Jade saw to it."
Her tears finally spilled then — not of grief, but of release. She clung to him, her forehead pressed to his, whispering thanks to whatever stars had let him return.
Gorvoth, who had lingered by the doorway, finally stepped deeper into the room. The old warrior's presence filled the small space, though he spoke no word to interrupt. His gaze swept over the children — Jade, wrapped in Niamh's arms; Lio, cradled by his sister — and something in his weathered eyes softened.
Niamh pulled back at last, cupping Jade's face in both her hands. Tears traced lines down her cheeks, but her voice, though shaking, carried steel.
"Never again," she said, searching his dual-colored eyes as if trying to etch the command into his soul. "Never again will you throw yourself into such madness. Do you hear me?"
Jade's throat tightened. He saw not anger in her, but terror — the raw fear of a mother who had nearly lost her child. He raised his small hands and wiped the tears from her cheeks with a tenderness that belonged to someone far older than seven.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. His voice cracked, soft but real. "I didn't mean to make you cry."
Her heart broke all over again. She pulled him close once more, pressing her lips to his hair. "You'll always make me cry," she whispered fiercely. "Because you're my heart walking outside my body. Don't you understand? I don't want to lose you..."
Her voice failed, and she only held him tighter.
The room was quiet save for the sound of her muffled sobs and Amara's hushed reassurances to Lio. The small house felt fragile, like a lantern flickering against a storm.
At length, Gorvoth's voice rumbled, deep and steady. "The city saw what happened tonight. They won't ignore it." His gaze fixed on Jade, hard but not unkind. "The guild, council, … once whispers start, they spread like fire. You'll need to be ready."
Niamh shot him a sharp look, but she didn't argue. She knew the truth of it, even if she hated hearing it spoken aloud so soon.
Jade, still cradled in Niamh's arms, lifted his gaze toward Gorvoth. There was no arrogance there, no boasting — just quiet determination.
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The little house smelled of herbs and hearthfire. The stew simmering on the stove filled the air with a grounding warmth, the kind only Niamh could conjure after a day that felt like the city itself had tried to crush them.
The table was crowded, bowls steaming, bread stacked high, and yet it felt fragile — as though the wrong word might shatter the illusion of peace.
Jade sat at the end of the table, his hair tied loosely back, still faintly damp from where Niamh had scrubbed the grime of the dungeon from him. His dual irises glowed softer now, muted in the amber lanternlight, and for once he let his shoulders relax. Not because the danger was past, but because he was home.
Niamh had cried herself raw earlier, scolding and clinging to him in the same breath, and now she busied her hands with ladling stew, though she kept sneaking glances at him as if he might vanish between one blink and the next. Every so often, her trembling hand brushed his hair back, as though reassuring herself he was real.
Across the table, Amara had planted herself at Lio's side and hadn't moved since. She cradled her brother's arm as though even breathing might hurt him, though Jade had already healed the bruises and exhaustion from him the moment they stepped inside. Lio, exasperated but secretly touched, muttered protests, but Amara only glared at him fiercely and kept fussing.
Gorvoth ate in silence, his weathered hands steady as he broke bread, but his gaze kept drifting toward Jade the sharp, measuring look of a man who had seen monsters and wondered what shape this child would one day take.
Jade ate slowly, letting the heat of the stew anchor him. He didn't speak much, but when his gaze met Niamh's or lingered on Lio and Amara, something softened in him. He had fought for survival in two lifetimes, but here… here was something he would fight to protect even harder.
...
...
The quiet was interrupted by a knock. Firm. Measured.
The sound echoed strangely in the little house, drawing every gaze toward the door.
Niamh stiffened. No one visited this late unless it was trouble. She wiped her hands on her apron, her eyes narrowing as she moved to stand. Gorvoth's hand had already brushed the hilt of his weapon.
Jade rose first, his eyes seeing through the door.
The knock came again. Not hurried, not hostile — but deliberate.
When Niamh reached the door, she hesitated, then cracked it open just enough to peer outside. Her breath caught, but before she could speak, Gorvoth rumbled from his chair, his old eyes flashing.
"…Governor."
The word was barely above a whisper, but it cut the air like steel.
Niamh spun, her heart stuttering. On the threshold stood a tall man cloaked in plain travel-wear, hood shadowing his features. Two guards in muted garb flanked him, their bearing too disciplined to belong to common folk.
The hood tilted, and a voice spoke, quiet but edged with command.
"I'm here for the alchemist."
The room fell utterly silent.
Jade's dual irises gleamed in the lamplight as he stepped forward. Calm, steady — but no mask now. Here, in his home, he did not need to hide from Niamh's eyes.
"Let him in."
The simple words broke the stalemate.
Niamh's protest caught in her throat, but Jade's calm steadiness was immovable. Reluctantly, she stepped aside. The governor ducked under the frame, his guards following, though they stayed close to the wall, shadows rather than guests.
The air grew heavy as the door shut behind them.
And then, with deliberate hands, the hood fell back.
Governor Darius Veylan stood revealed in the flickering lamplight. His face was sharp with age and authority, though fatigue lined his eyes.
For the first time in his long career, he bowed his head — to a child.
Niamh's hands twisted in her apron, her body tensed between the urge to shield her son and the impossible reality of who stood in their doorway. Amara held Lio tighter, pressing into his side as though anchoring herself against the weight of authority radiating from Kael. Gorvoth's face was unreadable, though his eyes flicked toward Jade with a faint flicker of knowing, as if he had expected this moment to come.
Kael did not waste time with false courtesies. His voice was low, but each word carried.
"I visited your shop days ago."
The air thickened, the hearth crackling louder in the silence that followed.
Niamh's head snapped toward Jade, her lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came. Amara's eyes widened, darting between the governor and the boy at the table. Lio leaned forward, confused, his brow furrowed — but Jade did not stir.
He lifted his gaze, meeting Kael's without hesitation. His dual irises glowed faintly in the lanternlight: silver-grey brushing golden-purple, like twin suns caught in the same sky. His voice was steady, calm — but not cold.
"I knew."
The simple admission landed like a blade striking stone.
Kael faltered, the smallest slip in a man trained never to reveal surprise. His steel-grey eyes narrowed, studying Jade anew, as though he had missed something vital in their first encounter.
"You… knew," he echoed, more to himself than the room.
One of the plain-clothed guards shifted, clearly unsettled, but Kael ignored it. He stepped closer, gaze locking on Jade's eyes. They were unlike anything he had seen in decades of ruling — not mutation, but something other, something that whispered of power not meant for mortal veins.
He felt the hair rise on the back of his neck, an instinct honed from years in court and battlefield alike. Those eyes didn't just see him; they stripped him down to something raw, something uncomfortably close to truth.
Questions pressed at the edge of his tongue — What are you? Who are you? — but he forced them back. Whatever answers lay in those irises, he wasn't ready to face them.
Instead, he let the silence drag, testing Jade's composure. The boy never looked away.
Finally, Kael's mask cracked. The governor of Nexus, who had stared down guildmasters and warlords alike, let his shoulders sag. The weight of the years and the burden of command slipped into the room with him, and for the first time since stepping inside, he looked not like a ruler but like a man.
"My wife," he said, and the words sounded as though they had been carved from stone. "She is dying."
The room held its breath.
Niamh's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes shimmering with fresh tears. Amara let out a quiet gasp, clutching Lio tighter. Gorvoth's jaw tightened, though he said nothing, his gaze fixed firmly on Kael.
Kael pressed forward, his voice no longer measured, but frayed.
"The city's finest healers have tried. The guild's alchemists have drained her with their experiments. They call her case hopeless, a wasting curse they cannot name. I have watched her fade with every passing day, and still, I must stand before this city and speak of strength and order while the woman I love lies dying."
His fists clenched at his sides, the plain cloak straining against the motion. His steel-grey eyes flicked to Jade again, but softer now, stripped of rank and title.
"I came tonight because I have run out of choices. I am not here as Kael Varros, Governor of Nexus. I am here as a husband who would give anything to save her." His voice cracked, a fracture in iron. "Please… look at her. If there is even a chance, if even the faintest spark exists, I beg you."
The weight of the plea filled the room, pressing against every heart.
Niamh's tears spilled silently down her cheeks, her gaze torn between Kael's desperation and her boy. Her hands trembled as she reached for Jade's shoulder, wordless, afraid of what such a burden might demand of him.
Jade, meanwhile, sat very still. For once, no mask of calm calculation was needed. He felt the raw truth in Kael's words, the kind of desperate love that could bring even the most powerful man to his knees.
The hearth crackled, the only sound in the silence that followed the governor's plea.
And Jade's eyes never wavered from Kael's.
...