Nyra’s wings beat steady as she guided the way, crimson catching the lamplight. She wasn’t out of breath, but her chest still fluttered. Beside her, the bat followed — robe drawn close, hair damp from rain, glow dim but steady.

They angled upward, climbing to a balcony carved with feather-and-flower motifs. The higher they flew, the quieter it became. Voices blurred into a hum, instruments into memory. By the time they reached the landing, only the soft lap of wind remained.

Nyra touched down first, wings folding neat, though the tips still trembled. She smoothed her robe, pretending calm as her fingers brushed the key-glyph at the door. The panel lit faint and slid open with a whisper.

“This is… our suite,” she said, voice shy but even. She stepped aside, letting Luma cross first.

Inside, the space breathed warm — low lanterns, wood polished to glow, small herbs tucked into corners where sun-crystals caught them. It wasn’t grand, not like Swan’s velvet chambers. But it was lived-in. Gentle.

Luma paused just past the threshold, her eyes roaming the room. Her brow furrowed.

“This isn’t the suite Swan showed me,” she said quietly.

Nyra flushed, wings twitching as heat climbed her cheeks. She looked down, fingers fussing with the hem of her sleeve.

“Oh… that suite is for… more established dancers,” she admitted softly, voice almost apologetic. Her wings folded tighter as though to hide. “But you’ll… you’ll move soon. I know it.”

She bit her lip, gaze dropping to the floor, embarrassed by how certain she sounded.

Luma tilted her head, studying her. “How long has this been your suite?”

Nyra’s wings fluttered again, betraying her nerves. “A little while,” she said quietly. “I used to live in… a nicer one. But…” her voice faltered, then dropped lower, almost to a whisper. “Swan was disappointed in a performance. And—” She shrugged, shoulders folding inward as if she could disappear inside them. “This one became mine.”

Luma’s chest tightened. She didn’t know the moth — not really. But she didn’t like this. Not at all. A quiet note etched itself into her mind: Swan punishes more than he rewards.

Nyra’s wings twitched again, and she forced a little shrug, as if brushing the thought away. “Anyway… it’s not important.” She glanced at the shelf where a cluster of herbs stretched toward the light-crystals, seizing the chance to redirect. Her voice lifted, eager and shy all at once.

“Do you… like plants?”

Luma blinked, surprised by the sudden shift. Her gaze slid toward the vines curling in the corner, the pots lined neat along the sill. She reached out, fingertips brushing a sprig of lavender.

For a breath, her glow flickered faintly.

Nyra’s breath caught. Her wings fluttered restless, and she pressed her hands together tight to still them. “I thought maybe you would,” she whispered, almost to herself.

The suite Swan had given her stretched wider than she expected, more like a studio than a room. High windows framed the Aviary’s glow, silk curtains spilling down in faint waves. A polished table caught the lanternlight, and the bed was far too large, its canopy draped with gauze.

Luma moved through it quietly, fingertips brushing wood and fabric, measuring the space like it might shift beneath her feet. Compared to Nyra’s room, it felt impersonal, arranged for show.

The door whispered open again.

Nyra stepped in, wings fidgeting, cheeks warm. She cradled something in her hands — a glass pot, small, glowing faint with soft green light.

“I, um…” she hesitated, eyes darting to the floor, then back up with a shy little smile. “…thought maybe you’d want a housewarming gift?”

She offered it out. Inside, a bioluminescent plant pulsed faintly, its short, sturdy leaves catching the glow. No blooms yet — just the promise of them. But the way its light throbbed when Luma reached near made the air shift.

Luma paused, surprised, then smiled — a small, unguarded smile. She took the pot gently, holding it close. The glow inside seemed to brighten, as if answering hers.

Her voice came quiet, almost like she was speaking to herself.

“I don’t understand why it does that…”

Nyra’s wings fluttered so hard she nearly lost her balance. She pressed her hands tight against her robe, heat flooding her cheeks.

“…but I’m glad it makes you smile,” she whispered.

Nyra shifted her weight, wings still restless. She dipped her head, voice shy.

“I’ll, um… let you rest. Tomorrow… I can show you some of my favorite places in the Aviary. Gardens, merchants… there’s a rooftop that sells the sweetest tea.”

Luma glanced up, still holding the little glowing plant. Her smile was faint but real. She nodded once. “I’d like that.”

She hesitated, then asked, “What about my things? From the other room?”

Nyra blinked, then let out a small laugh, a soft flutter of relief. “Oh! The androids already packed it all up. Everything’s in your closets now.”

She padded across the room, her shyness momentarily forgotten as she tugged open a side door. “And—this.” Her voice brightened with a touch of pride as she ushered Luma through.

The bathroom stretched wide, polished stone glowing faintly underfoot, crystalline fixtures humming with enchantment. Steam drifted gentle from a recessed pool that gleamed like liquid glass.

“This is a gem,” Nyra said, wings flicking with excitement. “Most suites don’t get a bathroom like this.”

She turned, cheeks warming again when she realized how close she’d stepped to Luma.

“Rest well,” she whispered, retreating back toward the hall. Her wings wouldn’t stop fluttering as she slipped through the door, heart racing.

Luma lingered in the glow of the pool, the small bioluminescent plant still in her arms. For the first time since the Den, something inside her loosened.

Luma continued to linger after Nyra left, gaze drifting across the wide bathroom. She set the glowing plant gently on the counter, then padded barefoot over the polished tiles, searching.

Her fingers brushed along the wall until she found it — a sleek panel, dark until her touch woke it with a ripple of light. Options bloomed across the glass: tile warmth, water temp, steam density, crystal dimming. She stared, marveling quietly at how effortless it looked.

“You don’t suppose you could tell me which setting’s best, hm?” she murmured to the plant. Its glow pulsed faintly, steady as her own. Luma shook her head with a soft smile.

She tapped through the settings, lowering the crystal light to a gentle glow, letting the steam curl warm along the air. The pool shimmered as it filled, surface glowing faint like liquid glass.

She undressed slowly, folding her robe across a chair, and stepped in. The warmth caught her immediately, wrapping over her wings, soaking deep into her bones. She sank lower, until she lay beneath the water, the muted world closing around her.

When she opened her eyes, the pool was dim but for two lights: her own glow, and the little plant on the counter, pulsing with hers.

For a moment, she let herself believe it was answering.

On the other side of the wall, Nyra sat on the edge of her own bed, wings tucked tight, face burning. Steam curled faintly under the seam of her door, and her chest fluttered so hard it hurt.

“Oh wings,” she whispered into her hands, and buried her face in her pillow.

The suite was quiet long after the steam had faded from the bathroom. Luma sat at the desk near the window, robe belted loose, hair damp against her shoulders. The little glass pot glowed faintly at the corner, the plant’s pulse steady.

She brushed her fingers along the desk and a panel bloomed open, sleek sheets of holo-paper rising from a hidden slot. A stylus shimmered into her hand, its tip alive with pale blue light.

The first line came simple, shaky:
I will not cry tomorrow.

The words pulsed once, then stilled. She fed the sheet into the recessed burn-slot. A soft hum answered, the page dissolving into glowing ash.

Another.
I will learn one new thing about this place.

Ash.

A third.
I will protect what’s mine. Even if it’s only this plant.

She let that one burn longest, watching it curl into light.

Luma exhaled. “Ashes can’t be stolen,” she whispered — an old thought from the rafters of her youth, though she didn’t know why it still lingered.

She slid open the tray, letting the warm ash spill faint across her fingers. Without thinking, she drew on the desk’s glassy surface, a looping mark she had sketched since childhood whenever she wanted her secrets to stay hidden.

A sigil.

The air thrummed faintly. The ash shimmered, sealing into the shape.

The plant pulsed brighter.

Her gaze flicked to it, startled. She brushed a leaf with her fingertip. For a moment, it tilted toward her, bioluminescence thrumming like circuitry under skin.

“You’re the only one who sees me now, aren’t you?” she murmured.

The glow answered with another pulse, steady as a heartbeat.

By the time she curled onto the bed, the sigil still glowed faint on the desk. And in the corner, the plant had begun to sprout the faintest bud...