Dawn in the heart of the mountain was not a gentle affair. It was the slow, grudging retreat of a deeper dark, a light that felt thin and provisional. Shiro swam up from the depths of a familiar, suffocating ocean.

The Plaza. The scent of burning hair, thick and sweet as rotting honey. Aki's face, not as he remembered her, but a pale, screaming oval reflected in the polished obsidian of the Scourge's armour. And behind her, a taller, sadder shadow, his birth mother, Adrasteia, her form dissolving into smoke, her voice a whisper that was not a comfort, but an accusation woven from the silence between stars. "You left us…"

He awoke with a silent, violent jolt, his single amber eye flying open to the bloody gloom of the sanctum. The nightmare clung to him, a psychic residue as tangible as the sweat cooling on his skin. He was here, safe, swaddled in a fortress of familial bodies. Nyxara was a warm weight against his back, Statera's arm a gentle bar across his chest, Lyra a melodic presence at his feet. And across from him, Lucifera, Aunt Luci, lay on her side, her brilliant white eyes closed, her breathing deep and even.

The rational part of him knew his new family had vowed to save Aki. But the part of him carved out by the nightmare, the part that still smelled phantom smoke, felt only a crushing, infantile helplessness. He was here with his new found family, while his sister was… out there. In the cold. In the dark.

He tried to stifle it, to bury the feeling under the mountain of his pride. But the images played again behind his eye. Aki's hand, reaching. The feeling of being utterly, completely alone.

A tremor started in his chest, a small, seismic fault line of despair. Then another. He clenched his jaw, biting back the sound, but his body betrayed him. A quiet, hitching sob escaped, then another, each one a painful, ragged tear in the sanctum's silence. He wept not the angry tears of humiliation from the day before, but the silent, hopeless tears of a child who believed, in his deepest heart, that he was utterly lost.

He did not see Lucifera's brilliant white eyes open. She had been awake, feeling the shift in his breathing, the tension coiling in his frame against hers. She had felt the nightmare take him, and now she felt the devastating aftermath. Her analytical mind, usually a fortress of logic, felt a crack form, through which poured a raw, aching sympathy that was entirely alien to the Sirius Councillor and entirely natural to Aunt Luci.

She didn't speak. She didn't offer empty platitudes. She simply moved. In one fluid, silent motion, she gathered him. Her arms slid under him, and she lifted him from the nest of sleeping bodies, cradling him against her chest as if he weighed nothing more than a thought.

Shiro stiffened for a fraction of a second, a flush of automatic embarrassment warming his cheeks. But the weeping didn't stop. It intensified, muffled now against the soft fabric of her robe. He didn't have the strength to fight this comfort, not this time.

Lucifera carried him to a high backed chair near the dormant hearth. She sat, arranging him in her lap, his head tucked under her chin, and began to rock. A slow, steady, rhythmic motion.

"Shhh," she whispered, her voice a soft hum that vibrated through his small, shaking form. It was not her councillor's voice. It was a lullaby of a voice, layered with a tenderness that could calm raging nebulae. "It's okay, my wittle Wain Baby. I'm here. Aunt Luci has you."

He flinched at the baby talk, but the rock continued, an undeniable, physical mantra against the chaos in his mind.

"Did the bad dweams come again?" she murmured, her hand making slow, soothing circles on his back. "Did the scawy shadows twy to get my baby? They can't get you here. Not in my arms. Never in my arms."

Something in him broke then. Not into smaller pieces, but into a single, surrendered whole. His hands, which had been clenched at his sides, came up and fisted in her robe, holding on as if she were the only solid thing in a universe of smoke and whispers. He buried his face deeper, his silent sobs turning into deep, shuddering breaths as he finally, fully, accepted the shelter she offered.

They sat like that for a long time, the only sound his gradually slowing breaths and the soft creak of the chair. The nightmare's hooks slowly lost their purchase, pulled free by the relentless, gentle rock of his aunt's embrace.

The true dawn finally arrived, and with it, the rest of the household stirred. Lyra was first, her luminous eyes opening to see Luci rocking a now calm Shiro. She smiled, a soft, knowing thing, and began to hum a matching melody. Statera woke next, her Polaris light brightening as she took in the scene, her expression one of deep, shared understanding. Nyxara and Kuro were last, the Storm Baby blinking his good eye open with a natural, if grumpy, wakefulness.

The moment Kuro's consciousness registered, Day Two began.

"Good morning, my sleepy little storm cloud!" Nyxara chirped, her voice a blast of sunny, malicious cheer. She didn't let him orient himself. She simply scooped him up from the furs, cradling him against her chest as if he were a newborn. "Did you have sweet dweams? Full of tactical pouting and strategic napping?"

Kuro, still processing the world, could only manage a groggy, "M'not… a cloud…" His blush was instant, a faint pink that promised to deepen.

Across the room, Lucifera stood, shifting Shiro in her arms. He instinctively stiffened, a ghost of yesterday's defiance flashing across his face.

"Now, now," Luci chided gently, but with absolute authority. "None of that, my rain baby. It seems our wittle boy wearned his lesson from the pacy fier yesterday. No naughty signs today, are there? No trying to wun away?" She smiled down at him, a real, warm smile that held no mockery, only a deep, proud affection. "I'm so, so pwoud of you."

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Then she leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead.

The blush that consumed Shiro's face was spectacular, a sunrise of pure, flustered shame. But he didn't fight. He just ducked his head, a tiny, almost imperceptible nod his only concession.

"That's my good boy," Luci crooned, and then she scooped him up properly, carrying him as Nyxara carried Kuro, towards the bathing chamber.

The walk to the bathing chamber was a silent, grim procession. The twins, held firmly by Nyxara and Lucifera, radiated a tense, brewing energy. The memory of yesterday's humiliations was a fresh brand, and the promise of Day Two hung in the air, thick and ominous as a coming storm. As they entered the steamy cavern, the scent of minerals and magic did little to calm the rebellion simmering beneath their skin.

The moment Lucifera began to lower Shiro towards the water, he made his move. It wasn't a wild thrash, but a calculated, sharp twist, using his core strength to try and break her grip. It was a fighter's move, honed in the alleys of Astralon.

"I can do it myself!" he snarled, his voice echoing in the chamber.

Lucifera's grip didn't just hold; it adjusted, her arms becoming a living, unbreakable restraint that perfectly countered his leverage. She didn't even grunt with effort.

"Aww," she cooed, her voice a mocking lullaby against his struggle. "Is the widdle Wain Baby trying to be a big, strong man? How adorable! But big, strong men don't need to carried to the bath, do they? They can walk. Can you walk, my fierce little warrior?"

The challenge, delivered in that saccharine tone, was a masterstroke. Shiro froze, his body rigid with impotent fury. He knew he couldn't walk. His legs still trembled with a persistent weakness that was a constant, humiliating reminder of his condition. His defence had been instantly dismantled and used as a weapon against him.

Seeing his brother's failed rebellion, Kuro tried a different tactic. As Nyxara guided him towards the water, he went utterly limp. It was a dead weight strategy, a prince's silent protest. He would not assist in his own infantilization.

Nyxara simply chuckled, a low, rich sound. "Oh, the Storm Baby is having a passive aggressive moment! Look at him, everyone! He's a sack of very handsome, very sulky potatoes!" She effortlessly supported his dead weight, her own strength making a mockery of his protest. "But sacks of potatoes still get washed. And they get extra scrubbing in all the little crevices for being so difficult."

The threat was clear. His defiance was only scripting his own torment.

The final, coordinated defence came as they were actually being lowered into the water. Both twins, in a last, desperate bid for dignity, locked their limbs, refusing to sit, forcing the women to hold them hovering over the water.

"We are not sitting," Kuro stated, his voice cold, his good eye blazing with princely authority. "You will not wash us like… like inert objects."

For a moment, the four guardians paused. Then, they shared a look that was not of anger, but of pure, unadulterated delight.

"They're negotiating!" Lyra exclaimed, clapping her hands with glee. "The infants are attempting diplomacy! It's the most precious thing I've ever witnessed!"

"It seems our little ones are developing their strategic minds," Statera agreed, her Polaris light pulsing with amusement. "But unfortunately, the terms of this particular treaty were non negotiable from the start."

What happened next was not brute force, but something far more demeaning. Lucifera and Nyxara simply shifted their holds. Lucifera tickled Shiro's side with a precise, gentle finger, a sensation so unexpected and reflex provoking that he yelped and jerked, his body unlocking for a split second, long enough for her to deposit him in the water. Nyxara, meanwhile, simply stopped supporting Kuro's back for a fraction of a second. His instinct for self preservation overrode his princely protest, and he sat with a graceless, undignified splash.

The defeat was absolute. Their defences had not just failed; they had been effortlessly brushed aside, turned into a joke.

And then, the most shocking transformation occurred. As Statera reached for the soap, Shiro, his face a burning mask of shame, didn't flinch away. He sat there, rigid, but compliant. When she said, "Arms up, Rain Baby," he lifted them, his jaw clenched so tight it ached.

A profound, almost reverent silence fell for a heartbeat.

"Oh…" Nyxara breathed, her eyes widening with theatrical wonder. "Look! He's listening! The widdle Rain Baby is being good!"

The dam of baby talk burst forth with renewed, celebratory force.

"What a good boy!" Lucifera crooned, scrubbing Kuro's back with vigorous affection. "What a good, obedient little Storm Baby! You see? It's so much easier when you just do as you're told!"

"They're learning!" Statera agreed, her voice overflowing with maternal pride as she lathered Shiro's hair. "Our brilliant, brilliant infants are learning to be so good for their mommies!"

The twins sat through the rest of the bath in a state of stunned, crimson faced capitulation. They complied with every instruction. "Turn." They turned. "Tilt your head." They tilted. Their defences had been proven useless. Worse than useless, they were fuel. Compliance, they were realizing, was the only path that didn't lead to pacifiers and time outs. The humiliation was a constant, but it was a passive one, a simmering pot rather than a raging fire.

It was in this state of shell shocked obedience that Shiro, seeking any escape from the steamy prison of the bath, mumbled his request. "Can… can we go back? To the Lyra Gardens?"

Kuro, seizing on the lifeline, added a stiff, "The harmonic resonance was… beautiful."

The reaction from the guardians was instantaneous and overwhelming. They framed it not as a reasonable request, but as the most magnificent achievement.

"You want to go to the gardens?" Nyxara gasped, as if he'd just composed a symphony. "Because you were such good, good infants in the bath! What a wonderful reward for such excellent behaviour!"

"Of course you can go, my darlings!" Statera chimed in. "Good babies who don't fight and do exactly as they're told deserve all the special treats!"

The walk out of the bathing chamber and into the corridors of the palace was where the final stage of their humiliation was enacted. There was no discussion, no request to walk.

"But the gardens are so far," Lucifera said with fake concern, turning her back to Kuro. "And our wittle Storm Baby's legs are still so wobbly from all his big, strong sulking. Up you get."

It was not an offer. It was a command disguised as care. Kuro, his face a storm cloud of scarlet, had no choice. He was forced onto her back, his arms looped around her neck in the ultimate infantile carry.

Lyra did the same to Shiro, her slender frame deceptively strong as she forced him up onto her shoulders, placing him in a position of regal height that felt anything but regal.

And so the procession began, moving out of the palace proper, the twins carried like trophies of maternal victory, their compliance having earned them only a deeper, more public level of infantilization. The guardians' cheerful baby talk echoed off the frozen stone walls, a relentless soundtrack to their defeat.

"Isn't this fun, Storm Baby? A piggy back ride from your Aunt Luci!"

"Look how high you are, Rain Baby! You can see all the pretty, sparkly things!"

"Such good infants! Such obedient, wonderful boys!"

The twins, one on a back, one on shoulders, could do nothing but endure, their bodies rigid with shame, their faces glowing like twin embers of humiliation in the gloom of the departing palace corridors. The promise of the garden's peace felt very, very far away.

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