For the next hour, the fissure was a silent sickbay. Lucifera moved between them, applying salves, tightening bandages, forcing sips of water and bitter, pain killing tinctures down their throats. The mothers could do little but hold their sons' hands, their thumbs stroking trembling skin, their whispered apologies finally giving way to an exhausted, watchful silence.

As the worst edge of the pain was sheathed by Lucifera's medicines thanks to Statera's guidance, a grim clarity returned.

"We cannot stay here," Nyxara said, her voice hollow. "This fissure is a grave. They knew of it. They will send others."

Statera nodded weakly, her hand still clutching Shiro's. "The Sovereigns' Alliance… it is broken. Haruto, Ryota, Juro, Mira… they are lost to us. Or we are lost to them."

"Astralon isn't… safe," Shiro added, each word a careful, painful articulation.

They looked at each other, a silent consensus forming in their shared, broken gaze. The path forward was not one of hope, but of absolute necessity.

"Nyxarion," Nyxara said, the name of her fallen kingdom sounding like a dirge on her lips. "It is not a destination. It is a direction. A place to regroup. To… to heal." She looked at Kuro, then at Shiro, her expression one of profound, weary determination. "We are all that remains. This… this is the alliance now."

The grim silence of the fissure began to soften, not into peace, but into a fragile, shared respiration. The initial, blinding edge of agony had been sheathed by Lucifera's potent salves and tinctures, leaving behind a deep, throbbing ache that was a constant, grim reminder of their vulnerability. The air still stank of blood and crushed stone, but now it carried the sharp, clean scent of healing herbs and the faint, metallic tang of pain slowly being leashed.

Lucifera had finished her frantic, efficient work and had retreated to the chamber's entrance, a silent, watchful sentinel against the dark. Her presence was a cold comfort, a razor wire between them and the void.

This left the family alone in their circle of wounded light.

Statera, her shoulder now a dull, constant roar of pain instead of a screaming inferno, shifted slightly to get a better look at Shiro. Her fingers, still trembling but with more purpose, gently dabbed a clean cloth soaked in cool water around the edges of the horrific brand on his face, careful not to touch the silver salved wound itself.

"The salve is holding," she murmured, her voice still hoarse but regaining some of its melodic quality. "The inflammation is receding. How does it feel?"

Shiro's good eye, the amber one, fluttered open. The pupil was dilated from the pain tincture, but it focused on her. "Feels… cold," he managed, the words slightly slurred. "Like… a thousand snowflakes… sitting on my face." He tried for a weak smile, but it turned into a wince as the movement pulled at the damaged tissue. "S'better than the fire."

"A thousand snowflakes," Statera repeated, a ghost of a smile touching her own lips. It was a painful expression, but a genuine one. "My poetic little rain baby. Even half blind and in agony, you see the world differently than anyone else."

Across from them, a similar scene was unfolding. Nyxara was carefully supporting Kuro's head, helping him sip from a waterskin. The black, tar like unguent in his eye socket seemed to absorb the light, making the injury look like a hole into nothingness. But his breathing was steadier, his single storm grey eye clearer.

"Slowly," Nyxara instructed, her voice a low, tender thrum. "Do not choke. My little storm baby does not need to drown on top of everything else."

Kuro swallowed with difficulty, a drop of water tracing a path through the blood still smeared on his chin. "Not… a baby," he grumbled, the protest automatic but lacking any real heat. It was a comforting echo of their old dynamic, a familiar script in a world that had become terrifyingly unfamiliar.

"Oh, but you are both of you," Nyxara countered softly, using the edge of her sleeve to wipe his chin. Her multi hued light, though still dim, pulsed gently. "You are my babbies. My brave, foolish, incredibly stubborn babbies who tried to grit their teeth through having their face carved open. The nickname stays. It has been earned through spectacular displays of suffering."

A faint, choked sound came from Shiro's direction. It might have been a laugh, or a sob of pain. "He's… always been… dramatic," Shiro breathed, his eye closed again. "Likes to make… a scene."

Kuro's eye narrowed, focusing on his brother with impressive intensity for a man full of painkillers. "Says the… slum rat," he retorted weakly. "At least my pain… has a sense of… dignity. Yours just… writes itself on your face." The insult was feeble, but the attempt itself was a tiny, defiant spark in the darkness.

"Children or should I say infants?" Statera chided, but her tone was warm. "Behave for your mothers. We are convalescing, not holding a debate on the aesthetics of mortal injuries." She let out a soft sigh that was mostly relief. The teasing, however painful, was a sign of life. It was a fragile tendril of the bond they had built, stubbornly pushing through the scorched earth of their trauma.

The brief exchange faded, leaving them again with the reality of their wounds. Nyxara's expression softened as she looked down at Kuro. "He is right, though. You did try to hide it. Why? Both of you?"

Kuro's and Shiro's eyes dropped, unable to meet her gaze. They were silent for a long moment, the only sound their ragged breathing.

"We...Didn't want... to see you hurt more," Kuro finally whispered, the admission costing him dearly. "You were already... broken because of us..."

Shiro gave a tiny, pained nod of agreement.

"Oh, my silly little infants," Nyxara breathed, her heart breaking anew. "My pain is not because of you. It is for you. There is a universal difference."

Statera nodded, her gaze encompassing both boys. "You are not a burden. You are the reason we get up. The reason we fight."

The truth of their words seemed to sink in, not as a concept, but as a physical warmth that began to thaw the frozen, lonely places deep inside him. Shiro let out a shuddering sigh, and some of the tension left his body. He turned his head slightly, his good eye seeking Nyxara.

"You... you really mean that?" he whispered, his voice cracking with a lifetime of withheld vulnerability. "That we're... the reason?"

Nyxara's multi hued eyes shimmered, holding his gaze with an intensity that felt like a physical embrace. "With every fibre of my being, my little rain baby," she said, her voice thick with a conviction that brooked no argument.

It was the certainty. The absolute, unshakable certainty in her tone, the raw, encompassing love in her gaze that was his undoing. The last of his defences crumbled to dust.

A sob was torn from his chest, but it was not a sound of pain. It was a wave of pure, overwhelming relief. Tears, hot and cleansing, welled in his eye and streamed down his uninjured cheek, dripping onto Statera's lap.

"Then... thank you," he choked out, his body shaking with the force of his weeping. He couldn't stop. It was as if a dam had burst, releasing a lifetime of believing he was unworthy of being kept. "Thank you... for loving me. Thank you... Mother Nyx."

The title was a prayer, a surrender, and a celebration, all wrapped in a tear soaked whisper.

Nyxara's own breath hitched, her heart swelling until she thought it might burst. She reached over, her own tears falling freely, and gently cradled his cheek, her thumb stroking away the endless stream of his happy, broken tears.

"Oh, my boy," she murmured, her voice trembling with a joy that matched his own. "My beautiful, brave boy. Did you ever doubt it? Of course we love you. We will always love you." She leaned in, her teasing a soft, loving balm. "And now that you've officially adopted me, I shall have to double my efforts. Twice the cheek pinches. Twice the ridiculous nicknames. You have brought this upon yourself."

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

A wet, hiccupping sound that was half laugh, half sob escaped Shiro. He pressed his face into her hand, his shoulders still shaking, but now he was clinging to her, accepting the comfort, believing it, finally believing it.

"Worth it," he slurred into her palm, the words thick with tears and a happiness so profound it was healing him from the inside out.

The moment was so profound, so tender, it seemed to alter the very air in the chamber. In its wake, Kuro's voice, low and resolute, cut through the quiet. He was looking directly at Statera, his single grey eye holding a newfound, solemn certainty.

"He is right," Kuro stated. His gaze was unwavering. "It is... more than worth it." He took a shallow, pained breath. "Thank you... Mother Statera. For... for not giving up on us."

Statera's composure shattered. A soft, broken cry escaped her, and tears of pure, radiant joy streamed down her face. She didn't trust herself to speak, merely reaching out to lay her hand gently over his where it rested on his chest, her Polaris light pulsing with a warmth that spoke more than words ever could.

Nyxara watched, her own tears flowing freely now, her heart so full it felt it might burst. She looked from one son to the other, then to Statera, a world of understanding passing between them. They were a family. Whole, acknowledged, and fiercely loved.

It was from this place of solidified, mutual devotion that Nyxara's vow then sprang, her voice hardening into something ancient and unyielding...

She looked at Kuro, then at Shiro, and finally at Statera. "This will not happen again. This vulnerability ends here. This pain will become our armour."

Statera nodded, her own light glowing brighter in response, a silent pact forming between them. "They sought to break our family. They only succeeded in forging it in blood and pain. They have made us understand what we have to lose." She reached out, and her good hand found Nyxara's, their fingers lacing together over their son's prone forms. "And in doing so, they have made us infinitely more dangerous."

Nyxara's grip tightened. Her voice dropped to a low, venomous whisper that seemed to make the very shadows in the chamber recoil.

"I vow this," she said, and the words were not a promise but a curse laid upon the world. "On my light, on my crown, on the very ashes of my kingdom. No one will ever harm our sons again. No blade will touch them. No shadow will fall upon them. I will burn continents to cinders. I will unravel the stars themselves. I will become a plague upon anyone, anyone, who attempts to destroy this family we have built."

Statera's eyes glowed with a fierce, approving light. "And I vow this," she echoed, her voice the calm, inevitable frost that follows the fire. "I will be the shield that never falters. The light that banishes all shadows. I will pour every ounce of my being, every secret of healing and harm I possess, into their protection. We will become the sanctuary and the sword. For them."

The vow hung in the air, a new law written in the aftermath of violation. It was a terrible, beautiful promise, a mother's love twisted into an unbreakable oath of vengeance and protection.

It was then that a new voice joined the silence, cool and precise, yet carrying a weight they had never heard in it before.

"The perimeter is clear. For now." Lucifera emerged from the tunnel mouth, her form resolving from the shadows. Her brilliant white eyes swept over them, taking in the scene, the clasped hands, the fierce light, the raw emotion. "The alliance, as it was, is a phantom. Haruto, Ryota, the others, they are lost. To linger here is to entomb ourselves with ghosts. We must move. We must abandon this place and all it represented."

She stepped into their circle of light, her gaze lingering on the two wounded young men. Her usual impassivity seemed to… waver. Something unfamiliar flickered in the depths of her eyes.

"The salves will hold for a few hours," she stated, her tone clinical, but then it softened, almost imperceptibly. "It is the least I could do."

She paused, as if the next words were foreign objects she had to carefully dislodge from her throat. "For… my family."

The word landed in the silence with the force of a physical blow. Nyxara and Statera stared, their fierce vows momentarily forgotten in their shock.

Lucifera's gaze shifted from them to Kuro and Shiro. "I find myself… invested in the continued well being of my two… nephews." The title sounded strange on her lips, unused and yet utterly sincere. "The sentiment is… illogical. And unavoidable."

A beat of stunned silence. Then, from Statera's lap, Shiro's pain slurred voice whispered, "…Aunty Lucifera?"

And from Kuro, a faint, dazed echo: "…Aunty?"

A remarkable thing happened. A faint, unmistakable flush of colour rose on Lucifera's pale cheeks. It was a sight more shocking than any violence they had witnessed. The unflappable, emotionless councillor of the Sirius Clan was blushing. She looked away, a gesture of pure, unvarnished vulnerability she would have executed anyone for witnessing just a day prior.

She cleared her throat, the sound unusually sharp in the quiet. "The designations are… acceptable," she conceded, her voice regaining some of its dry edge, though the blush remained. She looked at the two queens, her expression once again becoming serious. "Therefore, my vow aligns with yours. I will employ every strategy, every ounce of my… particular skillset, to ensure the preservation of this unit. This family. Their safety is now a primary objective."

The circle was now complete. The sanctuary and the sword had been joined by the shadow and the scalpel.

Nyxara reached out her free hand, and after a moment's hesitation, Lucifera took it. Statera completed the circle, her grip firm. The three women, queen, councillor, and warrior, stood united over their broken sons, a trinity of protection forged in shared trauma and fierce, unexpected love.

"Then it is settled," Lucifera said, her moment of vulnerability passing, replaced by pragmatic urgency. "We must act quickly. We cannot stay here. Astralon is a nest of vipers loyal to Ryo. Our only course is to return to Nyxarion. The journey will be a torment, but at least there, in the ruins of what was, we can find a place to be. A place to truly heal. And then," her brilliant white eyes glinted with cold promise, "we plan."

A low groan came from Shiro's Statera's lap. "Walk? Now?" he mumbled, the words thick with pain and sedative. "Can't we… just let the mountain… swallow us? Seems easier."

"Such dramatic flair," Kuro muttered from his own bed of pain, his single eye managing to convey a profound exhaustion. "Always the… easiest way out."

"Says the prince who… tried to sleep through… a fight," Shiro retorted weakly, a faint, pained smirk touching his unmarred lip.

Statera let out a soft sigh, but it was laced with affection. "And so it begins again. Even on death's doorstep, they bicker." She gently brushed a strand of hair from Shiro's forehead. "No, my rain baby, the mountain will not swallow us. We have far too much left to do."

"He is not entirely wrong, however," Nyxara said, her voice regaining a sliver of its old regal composure, though it was strained. "The journey will be… arduous. In our current state, we are little more than stumbling prey." Her gaze fell on Kuro, and the teasing edge softened into pure concern. "How is the pain?"

Kuro tried to shrug, a minute movement that still made him suck in a sharp breath. "Manageable," he gritted out, the lie transparent.

"Liar," Nyxara and Shiro said in unison.

This time, the shared response drew a faint, genuine chuckle from Statera. It was a raw, hurting sound, but it was real. "See?."

"Fine… I am in pain," Kuro retorted, though there was no heat in it. "A fact that is… unfortunately… undeniable."

"The black salve will suppress the worst of the nerve agony for several hours," Lucifera interjected, her clinical tone a counterpoint to the emotional currents. "The silver salve on the burn will prevent corruption and cool the tissue. You will not be comfortable. But you will be ambulatory. It is the best that can be done outside a properly equipped sanctum."

Shiro's good eye drifted to Lucifera. "Aunty Lucifera?" he began, his voice hesitant. "The stuff on my face… it really does feel like snowflakes. Cold, but… kind of nice. Thank you Aunty."

Lucifera blinked, seemingly nonplussed by the poetic and personal thanks, her face flashing crimson again. She looked at the horrific wound, then back at his face. "It is a compound of Luminis and the rendered fat of a frost newt" she stated, as if reading from a textbook. "The sensation is a known side effect of its cryothermic properties. You are not experiencing snowflakes. You are experiencing a controlled cellular numbing."

A beat of silence followed her utterly literal explanation.

Then, Nyxara let out a soft snort. "Oh, let him have his snowflakes, Lucifera. It's a far prettier thought than a newts fat."

"Infinitely prettier," Statera agreed, a real smile finally touching her lips. "My son, the now poet, and my… friend," she said, the word chosen carefully and with warmth for Lucifera a warmth that had been long forgotten, "the brilliant, literal minded saviour. It is a good balance."

Kuro watched the exchange, a complex emotion in his grey eye. He then looked directly at Lucifera. "Thank you Aunty," he said, his voice low but clear. "For the salve. And for… the perimeter." The words were an immense effort for him, an acknowledgment of a debt and a connection he was still learning to navigate.

Lucifera met his gaze, and that faint, uncharacteristic flush threatened to return to her cheeks. She gave a single, sharp nod. "It was necessary." She paused, and then added, almost as an afterthought, "Nephew."

The word, spoken a second time, was less of a shock but no less powerful. It hung in the air, a delicate, newfound truth.

It was Shiro who broke the moment, his voice drowsy but insistent. "So… Nyxarion. Will there be… actual beds? Or is it just… more rocks? Because if it's rocks… I might side with the mountain."

This time, the laughter that came from Nyxara was a little stronger, a little more sure. It was the sound of a queen remembering how to be a mother. "I will see to it that you get a very fluffy pillow is set aside for you, my little rain baby. I shall even have it fluffed to perfection."

"You're too kind Mother Nyx," Shiro mumbled, already half asleep again.

The teasing was fragile, a thin thread of normalcy spun across a gaping abyss of pain and fear. But it was there. It was a start. They were not just survivors in a cave; they were a family, relearning the shape of their bonds in the dark, their vows of protection now underscored by the soft, stubborn sound of laughter that refused to be extinguished.

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