The bath time ritual began. Statera and Nyxara worked with a devastating combination of clinical efficiency and unwavering maternal determination. They ignored the sputtered protests and the half hearted, dignity preserving struggles, focusing on the task with the focus of seasoned generals.

Statera soaped up a rough cloth. "Now, hold still. This will only take a moment if you stop squirming."

"This is barbaric," Shiro muttered, flinching as the cold soap touched his back. "I'm a resistance fighter, not a toddler. I've faced down Akuma head on. I think I can handle my own bath."

"Your recent performance in the game suggests otherwise," Statera replied cheerfully, scrubbing with brisk efficiency. "Your strategy was all flash and no finish. Much like your typical bathing routine, I've been able to gather. Now, lift your arm. Gently."

Across from them, Nyxara was having a similar battle of wills. Kuro stood rigidly, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful.

"You're scrubbing too hard," he gritted out as Nyxara attacked a patch of dirt on his neck. "You're going to take the skin off."

"Nonsense," Nyxara retorted, not slowing her pace. "I'm merely exfoliating. Removing the layers of stubbornness and pride. They are, unfortunately, very thick. You'd think the son of a king would have better hygiene. Hold still, my little storm baby."

Kuro's face flushed an even deeper shade of red. "Do not call me that," he hissed, glancing around as if fearing an audience.

"Why not? It's perfect for you. All brooding and thunderous glares. My beautiful, grumpy little storm cloud." Her teasing was relentless, each endearment a tiny, precise pinprick to his ego.

Shiro, seeing his brother's suffering, found a sliver of courage. "You know, Aunty Nyx, he did bathe yesterday. Quite thoroughly, if I recall."

Nyxara didn't even look up. "And yet, here we are. It seems your standards are not the standards of this alliance. We believe in a more... thorough approach. Isn't that right, my storm baby?"

Kuro let out a sound that was halfway between a groan and a growl. "I will get you back for this," he muttered, though the threat lacked any real heat. It was a token defiance, a necessary ritual to preserve the last shred of his dignity.

The mothers worked in tandem, a well rehearsed team of two. They rinsed the soap away with ladles of warm water, the steam rising around them in the cool air of the fissure. The playful teasing continued, but beneath the barbs and the embarrassment, a different current was flowing, one of care, of nurturing, of a love so fierce it expressed itself through the simple, humble act of ensuring their sons were clean and cared for.

The bath, for all its humiliation, was a bonding experience. It was a silent declaration that they were theirs to look after, no matter how fiercely they protested, no matter who they faced. They were their mother's sons, and for this brief, chaotic moment in the heart of the mountain, that was the most important title they would ever hold.

The bath time ritual concluded with two remarkably clean, incredibly flustered young men being dried off with towels that were as rough as sandpaper against their tender skin. The steam from the water had faded, but the heat radiating from Kuro's and Shiro's faces could have warmed the entire chamber.

As Statera handed Shiro a fresh, soft tunic, Nyxara saw her opening and pounced with the grace of a cat that had been patiently waiting by a mousehole.

She drifted over to Kuro, who was trying to wrestle his damp arms into his own tunic with more aggression than necessary. Her multi hued eyes sparkled with pure, unadulterated mischief.

"Oh, look at you," she cooed, her voice taking on a lilting, sing song quality that made Kuro freeze mid arm struggle. "All fresh and clean and still so wonderfully flustered. It's utterly adorable. You're like a storm cloud that's just finished raining and is all pink and puffy for the sun. It's given me a brilliant idea."

Kuro's storm grey eyes narrowed into slits of pure suspicion. "Whatever it is, the answer is no."

Nyxara ignored him, turning to Statera with a theatrical flourish. "Statera, my dear, your 'rain baby' is a moniker of such perfection, it inspired me. I think I've finally found the perfect complement. The yin to his yang. The thunder to his lightning." She paused for maximum effect, her grin widening. "From this moment forth, I hereby officially christen Kuro... 'Little Storm Baby'."

The chamber, for a beat, was silent. Then, Statera burst out laughing, a rich, warm sound of genuine delight. "Oh, Nyxara, it's brilliant! It matches perfectly! They are quite the pair, aren't they? Our little weather disasters."

Shiro, who had been desperately trying to become one with the wall, couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped him. He was deeply embarrassed by his own nickname, but seeing Kuro, the ever serious, perpetually scowling strategist, bestowed with something so... adorable... was too much. "At least 'rain baby' just suggests I'm weepy," he said, a grin spreading across his face. " 'Storm Baby' makes you sound like a petulant toddler having a tantrum. I'll take my humiliation over yours any day."

Kuro looked like he'd been slapped. The colour that had begun to recede from his cheeks returned in a spectacular, crimson flood. "This is embarrassing," he hissed, finally wrenching his arm through his sleeve. " 'Baby Black Prince' was a mockery I could just endure. It had a ring of... of ominous authority to it. But Storm Baby?? It's infantilizing! It's... it's cute! I cannot and will never accept this!"

Nyxara pretended to gasp, her hand flying to her chest in a perfect pantomime of wounded shock. "Embarrassing? Cute? My dear boy, it's not cute, it's endearing! There's a vast difference. One is trivial, the other speaks to the very core of your being! All that brooding intensity, all that bottled up fury that finally breaks in a spectacular, passionate display... you are my perfect, tempestuous Little Storm Baby." She reached out and pinched his still red cheek. "And I've decided that from now on, every single time you blush, which, I note, is often, I shall sing it out so the entire mountain can hear. It's the perfect fit."

Kuro groaned, a sound of utter, profound despair, and hid his face in the fresh tunic. "I'm going to regret this for the rest of my life, aren't I?" His voice was muffled by the fabric.

"Probably!" Nyxara agreed, her laughter warm and utterly unrepentant. "But it's a good kind of regret. One filled with love and the joyful laughter of your mothers, who only wants to celebrate your every adorable flaw."

The playful torment continued as they moved back to the main chamber. Nyxara and Statera, now operating as a unified front of maternal mischief, found a dozen new ways to wield their newfound power.

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"Come along, my little weather events," Nyxara declared, herding them toward the centre of the room. "Try not to trip over your own feet. We wouldn't want our infants to get a boo boo."

Statera nodded in solemn agreement. "Yes, coordination is key. Small steps, boys. Remember, your legs are still learning."

Kuro's scowl deepened. "We are not infants. We are fully grown men, capable of…"

"Of needing their mothers to ensure they wash behind their ears?" Nyxara interrupted, her voice dripping with faux innocence. "Yes, very capable. My mighty Little Storm Baby, conqueror of grime."

"Please stop saying that name," Kuro ground out, his ears burning.

"But it suits you so well!" Nyxara crooned. "Would you prefer I stick to the full title? My Precious Little Storm Baby Prince of the Astralon, Who Needs Help Washing His Back?"

Shiro, trying to edge away, was caught by Statera. "And where do you think you're off to, my rain baby? Your hair is a nest. Come here, let me fix it." She began to attempt to smooth down his damp, unruly hair with her fingers.

"I can do it myself!" Shiro protested, trying to duck away.

"I'm sure you think you can," Statera replied calmly, continuing her work. "But just like your strategy in the game, your technique is all enthusiasm and no follow through. You'd just make it stick straight up. We can't have you looking like a startled hedgehog for your first day of service, can we?"

Kuro, seeing a momentary advantage, smirked. "Yes, Shiro, listen to Mother. You wouldn't want to embarrass yourself."

Nyxara immediately turned her sights back on him. "Oh, don't you worry, my little storm baby, your turn is coming. I believe a certain princely scalp could use a thorough brushing to work out all that frustration. We must make you presentable for your royal duties... which currently involve sitting still and looking adorable."

The twins exchanged a look of utter defeat. They were surrounded, outmanoeuvred, and out teased. Every attempt to assert their dignity was instantly swatted down and twisted into further evidence of their infantile status. They were princes without a kingdom, warriors without a battlefield, reduced to being their mothers' beloved, exasperating babies.

The playful torment continued as they moved back to the main chamber, where the morning's dynamics shifted to a new form of teasing, hair fixing.

Nyxara seized the opportunity to mock Kuro's perpetually messy hair, a chaotic nest of dark strands that defied every attempt at neatness. "Sit still, Little Storm Baby," she said, her fingers already diving into his hair. "We can't have you looking like a walking thundercloud." She held up a comb triumphantly. "This will be our weapon of choice. Efficiency is key."

Kuro squirmed under her touch, his cheeks flushing. "It's not that bad," he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

"Oh, but it is," Nyxara countered, her voice light as she gently tugged at a particularly stubborn lock. "This hair of yours is as wild as your strategies. But don't worry, I'll tame it." Her teasing was affectionate, but her comb was merciless.

Meanwhile, Statera turned her attention to Shiro's tousled locks, which were a testament to his restless night. "My little rain baby," she chided, her fingers brushing through his hair with feigned exasperation. "How do you manage to look so windswept first thing in the morning?"

Shiro groaned, but there was a hint of a smile as he tried to bat her hands away. "I can fix my own hair," he insisted, though he made no real effort to pull free.

Statera simply laughed, her Polaris light glowing with warmth. "Of course you can," she said, her tone dripping with mock seriousness. "But today, we're doing it properly. No more messy charm." She produced a small vial of hair oil. "This will tame those wild waves of yours."

As Statera worked her magic, she continued to tease Shiro. "Oh, look at you," she said, her voice filled with mock astonishment. "You're practically presentable now. What will the resistance think?"

Shiro rolled his eyes but couldn't hide his smile. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

Statera's response was a gentle pat on his shoulder. "Of course I am. It's not every day I get to see my little rain baby looking so… put together."

Meanwhile, Nyxara's efforts with Kuro's hair were met with equal parts resistance and humour. "I can't believe I'm saying this," she said, her voice laced with teasing, "but you need to hold still. You're fidgeting like a rabbit."

Kuro's response was a dramatic sigh. "This is humiliating," he muttered, though there was a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Nyxara paused, her expression turning soft for a moment. "You look good, my little tempest," she said quietly. "So endearingly cute" The compliment was heartfelt, and it made Kuro flash crimson.

The chamber was filled with the sounds of laughter and affectionate jabs. The weight of the coming war was held at bay by the simple, cherished dynamic of a family finding joy in the smallest moments, the teasing, the mock complaints, and the quiet comfort of knowing they were not alone.

As Statera finished fixing Shiro's hair, she stepped back to admire her work. "There," she said with a satisfied smile. "Now you look like the young man I know, not a storm that's just passed through."

Shiro turned to face her, his expression a mix of gratitude and embarrassment. "Thanks, Mother," he said softly, the endearment feeling more natural with each passing day.

Nyxara, having finally tamed Kuro's hair, mirrored Statera's satisfied expression. "There, my little storm baby," she teased gently, letting the silver streak fall loosely from his forehead. "Now you look almost presentable."

Kuro's response was a mock scowl, but his eyes betrayed his gratitude. "Thanks, Mother," he said, the words feeling both automatic but right.

For a few more moments, the chamber remained filled with the warmth of their bond, a fleeting respite from the darkness that awaited them.

It was Shiro's stomach that broke the cycle, growling loudly enough to echo slightly off the stone walls. The sound brought a sudden, practical silence.

"Right," Statera said, clapping her hands together. "Breakfast. We need to…"

She stopped mid sentence. Nyxara froze beside her. Their eyes met across the chamber, a dawning, identical look of horror on their faces. They had been so engrossed in the bathing and the teasing of their sons that they had completely, utterly forgotten one crucial thing.

They had not woken Lucifera.

As if on cue, a new scent began to weave its way through the chamber, cutting through the aromas of soap and damp stone. It was the rich, wholesome, utterly irresistible aroma of honeyed porridge, perfectly cooked. It was followed by the earthy, Savory scent of a stew simmering with herbs so fresh they smelled like a sun drenched garden.

Four heads turned in unison toward the small, makeshift kitchen area at the side of the fissure.

There, silhouetted by the soft glow of the banked hearth, stood Lucifera. Her silver hair was tied back with a practical strip of leather, and she was stirring a large pot with a long wooden spoon. Her brilliant white eyes lifted from her task and swept over the group, her expression as inscrutable as ever.

"You are all remarkably loud," she stated, her voice a dry rasp that carried perfectly in the sudden quiet. "The dead could have slept through it, but fortunately, I am not so easily disturbed." She gave the pot another slow stir. "The porridge is ready. The stew will be another ten minutes. I took the liberty of adding the last of the dried venison and the root vegetables. They were beginning to wilt."

She paused, her gaze lingering on Nyxara and Statera. "I assumed, given the extensive... nurturing... I observed from my pallet, that the culinary duties had fallen to me again."

The silence that followed was absolute. Nyxara and Statera looked like two children caught with their hands in the honey jar. Kuro and Shiro just stared, their mouths slightly agape at the sight of the lethal Sirius councillor acting as camp cook, and a miraculously talented one at that.

Lucifera's lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "Do not let me interrupt your... bonding. But if you could manage to set the bowls out without further incident, it would be appreciated. Even a 'Storm Baby' and a 'Rain Baby' should be capable of that simple task."

She turned back to her stew, leaving the four of them standing in a circle of shared, chagrined amazement. The mighty queens of the alliance, who had just been ruling with an iron fist dipped in affection, had been thoroughly, silently outmanoeuvred.

Kuro was the first to break the silence, a slow grin spreading across his face as he looked at his mortified mother. "Well, Mother," he said, the title laced with new found amusement. "It seems the Black Prince isn't the only one who can be caught off guard. Shall I fetch the bowls? Or would you like to continue my lesson in humility first?"

The spell was broken. Nyxara flushed, and Statera let out a helpless chuckle. Their perfect, teasing morning had just been stolen by a woman with a spoon and a talent for impeccable timing. And as the incredible smell of Lucifera's cooking filled the chamber, not a single one of them minded one bit.

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