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 now awake, sat among them, staring at the celling, the deep turmoil of the night replaced by a hesitant, fragile calm. His amber eyes occasionally darted to his mother, 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 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.

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 much 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.

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"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, once the salves fully settled, 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 by slipping into her pallet without none knowing.

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.

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