The fissure chamber, so often a stage for whispered conspiracies and grim strategy, was bathed in the soft, honeyed light of a proper dawn. Dust motes danced in the sunbeams slicing through cracks in the ceiling high above, and the air, usually thick with tension, was cool and carried the faint, clean aroma of the healing salves applied the night before. The deep, rhythmic breathing of sleep had replaced the anxious silence of waiting.

Statera was the first to awaken, her internal clock as precise as her healing measurements. As she began to stir, to plan her day of making another haling salve, she felt a gentle, insistent tug on her tunic. She looked down.

Shiro was still fast asleep, curled on his side facing her. In the night, his hand had curled itself in the fabric of her sleeve, holding on with a grip that spoke of a deep, subconscious need for anchor. His face, in the repose of sleep, was a stark contrast to the tear streaked, anguished mask of the night before. The lines of worry and defiance were smoothed away, leaving behind the youth he so often tried to hide. He looked peaceful. Young. Vulnerable.

Statera's heart contracted with a surge of such fierce, protective love it stole her breath. All thoughts of herbs and missions vanished.

"Ah, my little rain baby," she whispered, the words a soft, tender sigh in the quiet chamber. She hesitated for only a second before her maternal instinct won out completely. She carefully, so carefully, settled back down onto the pallet. She shifted onto her side to face him and gently wrapped her arm around him, pulling him a little closer. He instinctively nestled into the warmth, his grip on her tunic relaxing slightly, a soft, contented sigh escaping his lips. For a long, precious moment, she simply watched him sleep, her heart feeling too large for her chest. The world and its wars could wait.

Nearby, Nyxara stirred. She stretched her arms above her head with a quiet, graceful yawn, her multi hued light pulsing softly in the dawn light. As she rolled onto her other side, she felt an unexpected, firm weight pinning the edge of her blanket and her tunic. Turning her head, she saw Kuro, still deeply asleep, turned away from her. In his sleep, his arm had flung back and latched onto her clothes with a possessiveness he would never allow himself consciously.

A slow, deeply amused smile spread across Nyxara's face. Oh, this is perfect, she thought, her mind already cataloguing the exquisite teasing material this would provide for weeks to come. The mighty Baby Black Prince, clinging to his mother in his sleep. She left his hand where it was, a living trophy of his hidden vulnerability.

Quietly, so as not to disturb the two sleeping boys, she slipped out from under his loose grip and rose. Her first mission of the day: rousing the dead. Or, more accurately, rousing Lucifera.

She moved to the Sirius woman's pallet. Lucifera was not a morning person. She was a tangled mess of limbs and unruly silver hair, her face buried deep in her pillow. Her usual razor sharp aura was completely absent, replaced by a profound, disgruntled grogginess. Her brilliant white eyes were squeezed shut against the offending dawn.

Nyxara knelt and shook her shoulder gently. "Lucifera," she whispered. "Time to wake. The sun is up. We need to think about breakfast."

A low, guttural, utterly incoherent sound was muffled by the pillow. Lucifera curled into a tighter ball, attempting to vanish entirely.

Nyxara persisted, her voice taking on a playful, singsong quality. "Come now. The great councillor of the Sirius Clan, defeated by the sunrise? I never thought I'd see the day. The day won't wait for you, my friend."

With a final, resigned, and deeply put upon sigh, Lucifera pushed herself up. She moved like a puppet with its strings cut, her movements sluggish and uncoordinated. She blinked owlishly, her dazzling white eyes dull and unfocused. Without a word, she stumbled to her feet and followed Nyxara to the small, makeshift kitchen area where a few banked embers from the night's fire still glowed.

Nyxara gestured to two pots. "Porridge and stew, I think. Something simple and fortifying."

Lucifera merely grunted in acknowledgment, her mind clearly still half in the world of dreams. But as she began to move, pouring water, measuring oats, her hands took over with the efficiency of long practice. The act of doing something familiar seemed to jump start her system, and slowly, precision returned to her movements. The grogginess began to recede, burned away by the simple focus of a task.

Satisfied her first objective was underway, Nyxara turned her attention to her second. And her favourite.

She returned to her pallet. Kuro was still deep in slumber, his face now half buried in his pillow, his dark hair a wild mess. The picture of peaceful rest was utterly deceptive. She smiled, a predator moving in for a playful kill. She reached out and shook his shoulder, not roughly, but firmly enough to penetrate his dreams.

"Kuro," she said, her voice low. "Time to wake up."

A low groan escaped him. He swatted vaguely at her hand, his eyes still tightly closed. "Piss off," he mumbled, his voice thick and gravelly with sleep, the words slurred together. "'S too early. 'M sleeping."

Nyxara's smile widened she didn't hear the remark. She shook him again, a little more insistently. "Kuro. Up. Now. The day won't wait for you."

This time, the response was clearer, laced with genuine irritation. He burrowed deeper into his pillow. "Fuck sake, Shiro, I swear… just fuck off for five more minutes," he growled, the profanity casual and effortless in his sleepy state. He was clearly accustomed to such early morning pestering from his brother.

Nyxara's eyes sparkled. She leaned closer. "That is no way to speak to anyone," she chided, though her voice still held a playful note.

"Fuck off," he repeated, more clearly this time, his annoyance mounting. "I'm not playing. Leave me alone."

This was getting better and better. Nyxara decided to escalate. She grabbed a handful of the blanket and gave it a sharp, yanking tug. "I said, up."

That did it. The theft of his warmth and the sharp movement finally breached the last walls of his sleep. He jerked upright, his eyes still squinted shut against the light, his patience utterly evaporated. "For fuck's sake, Shiro! FUCK OFF AND LET ME SLEEP!" he roared, the words echoing in the chamber, loud enough to make several other sleepers stir.

It was in the echoing silence that followed his shout that he finally, truly registered the presence before him. It wasn't Shiro's mocking laughter that met his outburst. It was a profound, chilling silence. His sleep addled brain finally processed the scent, starlight and sage, not the slum dust and defiance of his brother. His eyes snapped open, blinking against the light, focusing on the figure standing over him.

"Who," Nyxara said, her voice low and razor sharp, "are you speaking to in that manner, young man?"

. "I…I didn't mean…Aunty Nyx! I thought you were…I thought it was Shiro!" he stammered, his voice jumping an octave in his panic, the excuse tumbling out in a desperate, hopeful rush.

Nyxara was utterly unmoved. She crossed her arms; a gesture of such finality it made his hopes wither. "Your attempted justification only makes it worse," she declared, her tone laced with a mocking chill that was far more effective than any shout. "You reserve that kind of vitriol for your brother? Charming. It seems I need to teach you manners as well as strategy."

Before he could form a coherent sentence, her hand shot out. But it didn't go for his shoulder. Her fingers, precise and unerring, closed firmly around his earlobe, applying a sharp, pinching pressure that was less about pain and more about ultimate, humiliating dominance.

Kuro yelped, more in shock than pain, his hand flying up to hers. "That hurts aunty stop please!"

"Good," she stated calmly, folding the blanket and draping it over her own arm as if it were a trophy. "Your punishment for verbally abusing your mother," she announced, her voice carrying a note of finality that brooked no argument and now drew the amused attention of a now fully awake Ryota and a subtly smirking Juro, "is that you have lost the privilege of personal space until I say so. You will stay by my side, my shadow. You will do as I say, without question or complaint. And you will address me properly. Is that clear?"

Kuro stared at her, his mouth agape. The chill on his skin was nothing compared to the cold dread of her decree. "You can't be serious. That's…that's not a punishment, that's… tyranny! I'm not a child to be led around on a leash!"

"Tsk, tsk. You've lost that privilege my baby black prince," she said, her voice dripping with a dangerous sweetness that promised swift retribution for any further dissent. Her fingers closed around the lobe tighter with a more precise, pinching grip that was more humiliating than painful, a classic and universally understood sign of maternal authority. "You've lost the privilege of arguing, too. Now. Say it."

Kuro winced, humiliation burning hotter than the pinch on his ear. He was a prince, a strategist, a warrior who had faced down his father's wrath. And he was being publicly scolded and held by his ear like a toddler caught stealing sweets. He could feel every eye in the chamber on him; Ryota's amused chuckle, the way Juro was suddenly interested in the ceiling to hide his laughter. His face was on fire. "Y...yes, Mother," he whispered, the title feeling foreign and utterly defeating on his tongue.

Nyxara did not release his ear. She leaned closer, her voice dropping so only he could hear the steely command beneath the playful tone. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that. The chamber has an echo this morning. I need to hear it properly from my son."

A low groan of utter defeat escaped him. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing for the plaza to open up and swallow him whole. "Yes, Mother," he repeated, louder, his voice tight with utter, resigned humiliation.

Nyxara's smile was one of pure, unadulterated triumph. She released his ear. "Excellent. Your first task is to go and wake Statera for breakfast. And try to be polite. We're cultivating manners today, remember?"

Kuro rubbed his sore ear, shooting her a look of profound betrayal. But under her stern, expectant gaze, he knew he was beaten. He nodded, a short, sharp jerk of his head, and got to his feet. He shuffled across the chamber, his posture radiating sullen embarrassment, feeling the weight of the room's amused attention on his back.

He approached Statera's pallet. She was already awake, having watched the entire spectacle with soft, knowing eyes. Shiro was still asleep beside her, his grip on her tunic unchanged, blissfully unaware of his brother's downfall.

"Sta… te… ra," Kuro mumbled, the name feeling awkward and formal in his mouth. He couldn't even look at her, his gaze fixed on a fascinating crack in the stone floor near her feet. His face was still a brilliant shade of red. "Aun... Mother… says breakfast will be ready soon." He practically choked on the word.

Statera's expression was a masterpiece of gentle comprehension. She smiled, teasing him further, offering him no mercy in his moment of crisis. She nodded. "Thank you, baby black prince. Tell her I'll be there shortly."

Kuro nodded miserably and turned to shuffle back to his tormentor; his shoulders slumped in absolute defeat.

The scene closed with Lucifera stirring the porridge pot, the rich, wholesome aroma of oats and a hint of precious honey beginning to fill the chamber. Nyxara came to stand beside her, watching Kuro's retreating back with a look of deep satisfaction.

"It smells divine," Nyxara remarked, her usual confidence tinged with a hint of genuine appreciation and perhaps a little envy at Lucifera's quiet competence.

Lucifera, now almost fully awake and restored to her sharp eyed self, didn't look up from her work. "Of course it does," she replied dryly, though a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips.

The fissure chamber, now fully bathed in the soft, golden light of late morning, hummed with a quiet, purposeful energy. The oppressive dread of the night before had been scoured away, replaced by the warm, inviting aroma of Lucifera's expertly prepared breakfast, steaming bowls of porridge sweetened with a hint of precious honey, the earthy scent of fresh herbs, and the subtle, cleansing bitterness of tea. Most of the group was awake, gathered around the makeshift stone table, the low murmur of conversation a comforting soundtrack. Shiro sat among them, staring at the sky, the deep turmoil of the night replaced by a hesitant, fragile calm. His amber eyes occasionally darted to Statera, who was already meticulously organizing vials and herbs for the morning's ministrations. Across from him, Kuro, following his decree to the letter, remained glued to Nyxara's side. He sat in silence, his storm grey eyes scanning the chamber with a mixture of sullen resignation and acute embarrassment, keenly aware of every amused glance sent his way.

Statera, her usual composed demeanour softened by the morning's profound intimacy, stepped into the centre of the chamber. Her voice, gentle yet carrying an undeniable authority, cut through the chatter. "Rain baby, Baby Black Prince," she called out, the nicknames landing with deliberate, teasing affection. "It's time to change your dressings." She paused, her Polaris light flickering with amusement. "But first, we need to apply the new, more potent salve. The one Corvin was kind enough to retrieve for us in the dead of night while we were all sleeping." She turned her gaze toward the shadows. "First, you will both say a proper thank you to Corvin. He braved the high peaks for you."

Corvin, who had been observing the morning's theatrics with detached amusement, stepped forward. His usually sharp, calculating eyes were softened by a rare hint of genuine warmth. "Of course," he murmured, his voice a dry rasp. "Navigating the sheer ice of the Polaris crags by starlight, evading Ryo's patrols, all for a handful of glowing weeds. Truly, my idea of a relaxing evening. Always a pleasure to be of service."

Kuro, despite his earlier humiliation and the still throbbing memory of his pinched ear, clearly hadn't learned his lesson. He didn't look up. " Thanks, Crow," he muttered, the words barely audible and dripping with teenage surliness.

Nyxara was on him in an instant. She placed a hand on his shoulder, her grip firm. "That," she stated, her tone leaving no room for argument, "is not good enough. That is not how a future king thanks a loyal subject who has risked his neck for him. That is how a petulant child acknowledges a chore. We will try again. A proper apology for your appalling tone, and a proper, gracious thank you." Before he could formulate a protest, her hand shot up and once again closed with unerring accuracy on his earlobe, giving it a sharp, instructive tug. "On your feet. Now."

A collective, silent wave of amusement swept through the room. Kuro's face flushed a spectacular crimson as he was physically hauled to his feet by his ear and marched the few steps toward Corvin. He stood before the spymaster, radiating utter mortification. "I'm… sorry, Corvin," he ground out, the words forced through clenched teeth. He gave a short, jerky bow that was more insult than respect. "Thank you for… procuring the salve. Please accept my apology. I'm truly… sorry." The final word was a sigh of utter defeat.

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

Nyxara released his ear with a satisfied nod. "Much Better. Now, was that so difficult, my little baby black prince?"

No, Mother.

Good now, go back to Statera. And try to remember your manners exist above the level of a common street thug."

Yes, mother.

Kuro trudged back, shoulders hunched, looking like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. The chamber was filled with poorly suppressed laughter. Shiro, though quieter, shared in the humiliation, his own cheeks burning pink. He offered Kuro a look of grim solidarity, which only made him glare harder.

Statera, now attended by her two flustered patients, began her work. She uncorked a new clay vial, revealing a salve that glowed with a fiercer, more intense silver light. "This mixture is significantly more potent," she warned, her voice gentle but firm. "The pain will be less intense but will last longer. It has to, to reach the deeper corruption, Kuro." She began applying it to his arm, and he immediately hissed, his face contorting. "We'll need to wrap it tighter. That means no strenuous activities of any kind for the next few days. No training, no lifting, no attempting to show off. Nothing."

She then turned to Shiro, her expression softening further. "And for you, this salve is specifically for deep nerve damage. It will seek out the scarred tissue and try to regenerate it. It will sting fiercely, like a swarm of hornets, but it is a good pain. It means it's working." As the cool substance touched his wrists, Shiro flinched hard, a sharp, burning agony lancing up his arms. "A thousand needles," he gasped, his amber eyes squeezing shut. "It feels like a thousand heated needles."

Nyxara and Statera tended to them, their touches a blend of clinical efficiency and deep maternal care, layered with playful teasing. "The pain means it's working," Statera soothed, her fingers gently smoothing the salve over Shiro's scars. "Your body is fighting back. You're healing. My brave little rain baby."

"Please don't call me that right now..." Shiro whispered, his voice barely audible. His amber eyes flickered with a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability, the nickname 'rain baby' hanging in the air like a fragile, embarrassing truth.

Statera's lips curved into a tender smile, her voice warm with affection. "Why not? It's the truth. My brave, crying, healing rain baby." The endearment carried a note of pride, a testament to the bond that had formed in the quiet hours of the night. It was a name earned through shared vulnerability and whispered promises, a name that carried the weight of love and protection.

"Such a cute name," Nyxara added, dabbing a fresh layer on Kuro's arm, making him wince. "And remember, no training for either of you. Consider it a joint royal decree from your mothers. Your only duty today is to rest, heal, and try to remember the manners we're trying so hard to instil in you."

Once the fresh, tight bandages were securely in place, Statera looked at the two pale, pained faces. "The salve needs to settle without being disturbed by the grime of yesterday's efforts," she announced. "You should both have a bath."

Nyxara nodded in immediate agreement. "Obviously, you can't submerge your arms or manage it yourselves with the pain. So, I will help my Baby Black Prince, and Statera will help her little rain baby."

The reaction was instantaneous and unified. Both young men stared at their respective caregivers in sheer, unadulterated horror.

"Absolutely not," Kuro stated, his voice flat with finality, a fresh wave of red climbing his neck. "I am perfectly capable of bathing myself. I'll manage with one hand. I've done it before."

"I agree," Shiro chimed in, his own embarrassment making his voice squeak. He cleared his throat, trying for defiance. "It's… it's completely undignified. We're not infants. We're resistance fighters."

Nyxara and Statera shared a long, knowing look. It was Statera who spoke, her voice laced with a gentle but unyielding logic. "Healing is the most important thing right now. Would you rather risk infection? Undo all the progress we've just made because you're too proud to accept help?" She paused, letting the seriousness sink in before adding a lighter, more threatening touch. "Or do I need to slap some sense into both of you? You are not alone. You have us to lean on, whether you like it or not. It is not a weakness to accept help. It is a strength to trust."

The threat, however playful, coupled with the irrefutable medical logic, broke their defences. With identical, heavy sighs of utter resignation, they capitulated, their heads hanging low.

They were led to a more secluded area at the back of the fissure where two large buckets of steamy water and rough cloths awaited. The process was one of the most humbling experiences of their lives. They stood there, stripped to their trousers, as their mothers, a queen and a high councillor, soaped up cloths and began to wash them.

Kuro complained incessantly, a futile attempt to regain some control. "The water is scalding," he groused, flinching as Nyxara scrubbed his back with a brisk, efficient motion.

"Nonsense," she replied cheerfully, not slowing her pace. "It's stimulating the blood flow. Stop being such a delicate Baby Black Prince. I thought Astralon's were made of sterner stuff."

"You're scrubbing too hard! You're going to take the skin off!"

"I'm scrubbing off the layers of stubbornness and pride. They are unfortunately very thick. Hold still."

Kuro's voice was laced with forced calm as he stared at the bucket of steaming water, his face a mask of stoic resignation. "I can do my own chest! It's just soap!" he insisted, his storm grey eyes flickering with a mix of embarrassment and defiance. The idea of needing help with something as simple as bathing was grating on his pride, a stark contrast to the vulnerable boy who had sought comfort in Nyxara's embrace just hours earlier.

Nyxara's response was swift, her tone playful yet firm as she stepped closer, her hands already reaching for his arm. "And miss the chance to ensure my son is properly clean? Not a chance," she cooed, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Lift your arm. Gently. That's it. See? Isn't this nice? Mother son bonding." Her fingers lightly brushed against his skin, the contact sending a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the water's temperature.

Kuro's face twisted into a grimace as he complied, his movements stiff and reluctant. "This is torture," he muttered, his voice low but edged with a desperate hope that she might take him seriously. "This is what Ryo probably has planned for us." The comparison to his father's infamous cruelty was a weak attempt at humour, a futile grasp for control in a situation where he felt utterly powerless.

Nyxara's laughter was soft but unmistakably amused. "Nonsense," she replied, her fingers now gently guiding his arm into the water. "He lacks my nurturing touch." Her voice was teasing, but her eyes held a warmth that contradicted her words. "Now, stop squirming or I'll have to pinch your ear again." The playful threat was a reminder of her authority, a gentle prod to remind him of his place in this new dynamic, a place where he was allowed to be weak, to be cared for.

Kuro's horrified expression was a perfect blend of shock and disbelief. "You wouldn't," he gasped, his voice rising in pitch as he glanced around the chamber, as if seeking an ally against this unexpected maternal onslaught.

Nyxara's smile widened, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Would you like to test that theory?" she challenged, her voice light but unwavering. The unspoken promise in her tone left no room for doubt, she was more than willing to follow through on her threat.

Defeated, Kuro slumped back against the makeshift bath, his shoulders slumping in resignation. "...No, Mother," he murmured, the words falling heavily from his lips. His pride was bruised, but beneath the humiliation, there was a flicker of something else, a quiet acceptance, a reluctant surrender to the care he had fought so hard to deny.

Nyxara's smile softened into one of genuine warmth. "Good, my beautiful little black prince," she said, her voice tender as she smoothed a strand of hair from his face. The endearment was a balm to his wounded pride, a reminder that this moment of

vulnerability was not a weakness but a strength, a testament to the bond they were forging.

Meanwhile, across the chamber, Shiro was locked in his own battle of dignity. His amber eyes darted nervously toward the makeshift bath Statera had prepared for him, his face flushed with embarrassment. "Aunty Statera, I think I'm clean. Really. Sparkling," he pleaded, his voice strained as he tried to back away from the steaming water.

Statera's response was immediate, her tone leaving no room for argument. "A quick pass is not a bath," she chided, her voice gentle but firm. She gestured to his other arm, her expression unwavering. "You accumulated quite a lot of… emotional grime last night. It requires a thorough scouring. Now, the other arm."

Shiro's cheeks burned brighter, his gaze darting to the others in the chamber. "They can hear everything we're saying out there! It's undignified!" he hissed, his voice barely above a whisper. The thought of being overheard stripped him of any remaining composure, his earlier resolve crumbling under the weight of his embarrassment.

Statera's eyes softened, but her resolve remained unshaken. "Good," she said, her voice warm with affection. "Then they'll know you are well and truly cared for." She stepped closer, her touch gentle but insistent as she guided his arm into the water. "No more arguments. You are my little rain baby, and you will be tended to properly, with care and most importantly love." The endearment was a gentle reminder of their bond, a testament to the love and protection she vowed to provide.

Kuro glanced over at Shiro, his own embarrassment momentarily forgotten as he took in his brother's plight. A flicker of sympathy crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by a smirk. He opened his mouth to offer some form of support, but the words died on his lips as Nyxara's fingers dug playfully into his ear. "Focus on your own bath," she chided, her voice a mix of amusement and mock severity. Kuro winced, muttering a quick apology before returning his attention to the water, his face now a deep shade of red.

The chamber was filled with the sounds of their shared embarrassment, the gentle lapping of water, the soft murmurs of encouragement from their respective 'mothers,' and the low chuckles of the others who found the scene both amusing and heartwarming. It was a moment of unexpected tenderness, a fragile bridge between the horrors of their past and the uncertain future that lay ahead. For now, in the safety of the fissure, they allowed themselves to be cared for, to be vulnerable, and to find strength in the bonds that held them together.

Freshly bathed, dried with rough towels that felt like sandpaper on their sensitized skin, and dressed in clean, soft tunics provided by Nyxarion's supplies, their embarrassment reached a cosmic, unprecedented level. They were led back to the main chamber and seated side by side on a low bench like two schoolboys. Nyxara and Statera then proceeded to take charge of feeding them, using soft cloths to support their injured arms while wielding spoons with devastating maternal precision.

Nyxara's voice took on a melodramatic lilt as she held up a spoonful of porridge, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Open wide, baby prince! Here comes the star," she cooed, her tone exaggeratedly gentle as she leaned closer to Kuro.

Kuro's face was a mask of mortification, his storm grey eyes darting around the chamber as if seeking an escape route. He hissed through gritted teeth, whispering furiously, "Mother, I am begging you. Not the spoon noises. Not in front of everyone. Please, I beg you. You've won. I'm truly embarrassed. I'm at your beck and call. Please."

Nyxara's response was a picture of mock innocence, her voice saccharine sweet. "But how else will the nourishment reach your royal belly? It needs encouragement! Now, say 'ah' for Mother." She brandished the spoon playfully, as if it were a royal sceptre.

Kuro's glare could have frozen fire. "I'd rather starve," he muttered, his voice low and laced with deliberate defiance.

Nyxara sighed dramatically, her free hand fluttering to her chest. "And after I went to all the trouble of making Corvin get the special herbs for your special, whiny arm. Very well. I suppose I'll just have to tell everyone about your secret…"

Kuro's face paled at the threat, his eyes widening in panic. "Please no anything but that," he whispered, his voice cracking with desperation.

Nyxara's expression softened marginally, though the triumph in her eyes was unmistakable. "Then open wide."

With a defeated huff, Kuro's shoulders slumped. His eyes widened resignedly. "…Fine Ah..." He opened his mouth, accepting the spoon with a look of utter defeat.

Nyxara's smile was a blend of triumph and affection as she fed him. "Was that so hard? Good boy," she praised, her voice laced with playful approval.

Kuro's muttered reply was muffled around the porridge. "No, it wasn't, Mother," he said, his voice barely audible but clear enough to convey his utter resignation.

Across the chamber, Shiro was leaning close to Statera, his amber eyes wide with a mix of embarrassment and urgency. "They're all staring," he whispered, his voice low but tinged with panic. "Kuro looks like he's going to spontaneously combust. Can we please be done?"

Statera didn't look up from her own bowl of porridge, her tone steady and unyielding. "We are done when the bowl is empty. You need your strength. For me. Your dear, worried mother who stayed up all night fretting over you." Her voice carried a note of gentle teasing, but her resolve was clear.

Shiro snorted, the sound half hearted and laced with disbelief. "You were snoring by the time I finished my first sob," he retorted, his voice softening as he recalled the night's events.

Statera gasped, her hand flying to her chest in mock outrage. "A lie! A vicious slander from my own child! I was fretting in my sleep! It's very taxing. Now, another bite. For my nerves." Her eyes twinkled with amusement as she held out the spoon, waiting expectantly.

The chamber, which had been watching the entire spectacle with rapt attention, finally erupted in laughter. Ryota chuckled, shaking his head. "By the stars, I've seen raw recruits with more composure! Looks like we need to hire a nursemaid for our infant soldiers!"

Lucifera, sipping her tea, deadpanned, "I'll volunteer, if only to ensure they're finally quiet for five minutes. I can be very… persuasive."

Even Juro cracked a rare, broad smile, muttering to Haruto, "Necessary embarrassments. Builds character. And provides excellent entertainment."

Kuro and Shiro sat through it, side by side, two pillars of crimson misery, silently chewing their porridge and praying to any god that might be listening for the fissure to cave in and save them from this relentless, loving torment.

As the morning stretched on, the deep, throbbing pain from the potent salve became a constant, unwelcome companion. Kuro's arm ached with a deep, persistent intensity that made him wince with any slight movement. Shiro's wrists burned, every twitch a reminder of the nerve damage being aggressively treated.

Kuro made a show of trying to stand, using his good arm to push himself up. "I'm going to... check the perimeter. Get some air that doesn't smell like porridge and pity," he announced, his voice steady despite the wince that flickered across his face. Nyxara didn't even look up from her tea. "Sit. Down," she commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Kuro rolled his eyes but tried to keep his defiance intact. "I feel fine. The pain is barely there. It's just a dull…" He accidentally brushed his bandaged arm against the wall, and the sharp, involuntary hiss that escaped him betrayed his words. His face paled, and he slumped back onto the bench with a defeated grunt.

Nyxara took a slow, deliberate sip of her tea, her gaze finally lifting to meet his. "A dull, earth shattering throb, was it? I believe you. It sounded very 'barely'. Sit. Down. Now. Or I will have Lucifera find a sling and actually swaddle you to this bench." The threat was delivered with such calm authority that Kuro had no choice but to comply.

"This is unjust," he muttered, letting his head thud back against the stone wall. "I'm a strategic asset, not a... a nursling."

Nyxara's eyebrow arched. "You are an asset who will be useless if that corruption flares up because you were too proud to sit still for a few hours. So, you will sit. Am I understood? Yes?"

Kuro groaned but finally relented. "...Yes, Mother."

The focus shifted to Shiro, who had been watching the exchange with a mix of sympathy and amusement. Seeing Kuro's failed attempt, he tried a more subtle approach. Spotting a waterskin just a foot away on the floor, he leaned forward, his bandaged hand twitching toward it. "I can get that..." he whispered, hoping Statera was distracted. A white hot spike of pain lanced up his forearm the moment he tensed the muscles, forcing a choked gasp from his lips. He jerked his hand back, cradling it against his chest, his eyes watering.

Statera didn't even look up from her herbs, her voice sharp with teasing. "And what did we just learn about 'heroic' independent action?" She kept her focus on organizing her supplies, her tone light but firm.

Shiro's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "It was just a waterskin. Not a sword," he grumbled through gritted teeth.

Statera finally turned to face him, her expression a mix of playful mockery and genuine concern. "Ah, but in your current state, that waterskin might as well be a sword. Your body is speaking to you, Shiro. It's screaming, in fact. The only words in its vocabulary right now are 'stop' and 'help'. You would be wise to listen." She finished her task and turned, picking up the waterskin and handing it to him.

Shiro took it reluctantly, his cheeks still flushed. "I hate this. I feel useless. I should be training, or planning, not... not sitting here like a broken tool."

Statera's expression softened, but her teasing didn't disappear entirely. She sat beside him, her voice gentle yet firm. "A tool that is being sharpened must be held still, my love. A bowstring that is being re strung cannot be fired. This is not uselessness. This is preparation. It is perhaps the most important work you can do for yourself right now. Be still. Let yourself be sharpened. Let yourself be healed. Can you do that for your mother?"

Shiro looked at his bandaged wrists, then at her face. The concern there didn't feel suffocating, it felt strengthening. The fight drained out of him, replaced by a weary acceptance. He let out a long, slow breath. "Yes, Mother."

Kuro watched the exchange, his own stubbornness mirroring Shiro's. "He has a point. Sitting here is a waste of time we don't have," he muttered, though his scowl suggested he wasn't entirely convinced.

Nyxara raised an eyebrow at him. "Would you like to compare strategic insights on the subject of wasted time, my son? Or shall we simply review the transcript of this morning's activities? I believe it began with you s..."

Kuro interrupted sharply then looked away, scowling at the opposite wall. "No. That won't be necessary."

Nyxara's tone took on a teasing edge. "I didn't think so. So, we sit. We heal. We plan. In silence. Yes?"

Kuro muttered to the wall, his tone resigned. "Yes, Mother."

Watching the entire exchange, his stern face unreadable. He finally steps forward, his voice cutting through the moment. "The infants are bathed and fed ? Good. Phase 3. The Black Keep. Our next move is simple: we finalize the insertion team. Everything else is secondary. We'll discuss after they've napped." He shoots a look at Kuro and Shiro, a rare hint of a smirk on his face.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.