Kairon Vael 

Letharion left the moment the first light hit the surface. 

I was asleep. 

So was Valmira.

Which meant neither of us saw him off.

Which meant neither of us looked dignified when we finally woke.

I shuffled into the hallway still half-dreaming, rubbing one eye, hair doing whatever it pleased. The house was quiet in that soft morning way, light slipping through the windows, air still cool.

And then I saw her.

Valmira stood near the doorway, wrapped in a light shawl, staring at me.

I stared back.

We both froze.

Her hair—usually smooth and regal and entirely too well-behaved—had exploded.

Not dramatically.

Not wildly.

Just… decisively.

A single snow-white strand curved straight upward like it had declared independence. The rest fanned around her shoulders in uneven waves, as if she’d wrestled a storm and lost politely.

She narrowed her eyes first. “…Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.” I rolled my eyes.

“You were about to!”

“I was not.”

“You absolutely were.”

I blinked slowly. “You have… a vertical situation.”

Her hand flew to the offending strand. She patted it down.

It sprang back up.

I bit the inside of my cheek.

“You look,” she said carefully, scanning me up and down, “like you fought a pillow. And lost.”

I crossed my arms. “That’s inaccurate.”

“Your hair is leaning.”

“It is not.”

“It is!” She insisted.

I reached up instinctively.

She lunged forward and smacked my hand away. “No. Don’t fix it. I’m observing!”

“That’s unfair.”

“You commented first.”

“I was being factual.”

She circled me once like a scholar evaluating a specimen. “You look five.”

“I am five.” Technically.

“You look five and confused.”

“I am not confused.”

“You walked into the wall.”

“I misjudged distance.”

“You walked into it twice!”

“It moved.”

She stared at me.

She stared at me for a long while. “The wall moved.”

“Yes.” I don't even know what I'm saying.

“…You’re still asleep.”

I straightened. “I am fully conscious.”

She leaned closer, peering into my eyes.

“You blink slowly when you’re not.”

“I blink normally.”

“That was slow.”

“You’re close.”

“You’re squinting.”

“Because you’re close.”

She made a small, thoughtful noise and stepped back.

“Letharion already left,” she said, as if delivering grave news.

“I know.”

“You didn’t wake up.”

“I was resting.”

“You drooled.”

I froze. “I did not.”

“You did!”

“I did not.”

She tilted her head, smugness blooming. “There was evidence.”

“There was no evidence.”

“There was a small—”

“I reject this claim!”

She laughed, and it was unfair how put-together she sounded despite looking like a startled dandelion.

I pointed at her hair.

“You look like you argued with gravity.”

She lifted her chin. “This is natural elven volume.”

“That strand is attempting escape.”

“It is expressive.”

“It is vertical.”

She tried smoothing it again.

It resisted again.

We both stared at it.

“…It respects no authority,” I muttered.

She huffed.

“At least I don’t look like I slept mid-rotation,” she shot back.

“I did not.”

“You did. Your left side is flattened.”

“That is structural compression.”

“That is ‘pillow’.”

We stood there in silence for a moment, studying each other with the seriousness of battlefield analysts.

Then she crossed her arms.

“If he had seen us like this,” she said, “he would have reconsidered his assessment.”

“He already blinked twice yesterday,” I reminded her.

“That was dust.”

“There was no dust.”

“There could have been!”

I smiled faintly.

She caught it immediately.

“You’re amused!”

“I am not.”

“You are!” She stomped her foot on the ground.

“You look ridiculous.”

“You look soft.”

“…Soft?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“That’s not an insult.”

“It is at this hour.”

She turned away dramatically, beginning to smooth her hair with slow, deliberate movements.

“You should at least attempt to fix yours,” she added.

“I will.”

“When?”

“…Eventually.”

She glanced over her shoulder.

“You’re lazy in the morning.”

“I’m strategic.”

“You’re squinting again.”

“The sun is bright.”

“It’s barely risen.”

“It’s aggressive.”

She walked toward the basin near the window, grabbing a small comb.

Halfway there, she paused.

Without looking at me, she said, “You should have woken up.”

“For what?”

“To see him off.”

I shrugged lightly. “He doesn’t linger.”

She hummed. “Still.”

There was something quieter in her voice.

I shifted my weight.

“You wanted to?” I asked.

She pretended to focus very hard on the rebellious strand.

“…Maybe.”

I looked at the floor.

“He already saw you,” I said. “He doesn’t need morning proof.”

She glanced at me through the mirror’s reflection.

“You’re saying I look worse now?!”

“That is not what I meant.”

“You implied deterioration.”

“I implied—” I stopped. “You look fine.”

She studied me carefully.

“Your hair is still leaning.”

“That is irrelevant.”

She smiled.

Not smug.

Not dramatic.

Just small.

“You should fix it before Aunt Amilia sees you,” she said. “She’ll make it a lesson.”

“On what?”

“Discipline.”

I grimaced.

 She’s not wrong. 

She finally managed to tame the vertical strand. It drooped obediently.

I splashed water onto my hair and pressed it down.

It remained uncertain.

She watched critically.

“You missed a spot.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“…Where?”

She stepped forward again and, without ceremony, pushed a lock of hair flat against my head.

Her fingers were cool.

“There,” she said.

I blinked.

“You’re close again.”

“I’m not gonna bite.” 

“Who knows? Maybe you will.”

She huffed. “You’re mean.”

“I’m just stating my concern.”

We stood there for another quiet second in the pale morning light.

We stood there for another quiet second in the pale morning light.

Then the smell hit.

Fresh bread.

Honey.

And something frying.

Valmira’s eyes widened.

“…Breakfast.”

I turned toward the kitchen at the same time she did.

We both bolted.

Footsteps thudded down the hallway. She was faster at the start. I recovered halfway. We nearly collided at the doorway and stumbled through together.

Rendal was already seated.

Of course he was.

Mom stood near the table, setting down plates. Sunlight streamed through the window behind her, catching in her dark hair.

There were four chairs on our side of the table. Arguing over chairs wasn’t needed…that’s if you live in a normal house.

One of the chairs was mine.

The one closest to Mom.

Valmira saw it.

I saw her see it.

“No,” I said in warning.

“Yes!”

She lunged.

I grabbed the back of the chair first.

“It’s mine!” She pulled the chair from the front.

“You’re slow!”

“I got here first!” She pouted.

“You were distracted!”

“No, you were distracted!”

“That’s not how it works!”

She tried to yank it toward her. I held firm.

“Let go!”

“No!”

“You sat there yesterday!”

“So did you!”

“I need it!”

“For what?!”

“For… proximity!”

“That’s not a reason!”

“It absolutely is!”

We glared at each other over the wooden backrest like two generals fighting over territory.

Mom calmly poured tea.

Dad took a bite of the bread.

Traitors!

Valmira suddenly released the chair.

I stumbled back half a step, nearly losing balance.

She spun dramatically and ran.

“Aunt Amiliaaaaa!”

I stiffened.

No, not that move…!

She reached Mom in three quick steps and wrapped both arms around her leg.

Full commitment.

Cheek pressed, and eyes wide.

Weapon deployed.

“Aunt Amilia!” she cried, looking up with the most exaggerated, sparkling expression I had ever seen. “He’s being unfair!”

Mom looked down at her.

Then at me.

Then back at her.

“…Unfair how?”

“He stole my seat!” Valmira insisted, tightening her hold. “The good one!”

“It’s my seat!” I protested. “It’s always my seat!”

She looked up again, lashes practically fluttering. “I’m still growing, you know. I need proper nutrition. And emotional support!”

“You’re not smaller than me!”

“That’s not the point!”

Mom’s lips twitched.

“Valmira,” she said carefully, “you appear to be holding my leg hostage.”

“I am appealing for justice!”

“You are clinging.”

“I am expressing distress!”

I stared in disbelief.

“You ran to her!”

“Yes!” She agreed without hesitation.

“That’s underhanded!”

“That’s strategic!”

She looked up at Mom again, eyes impossibly round. “He said I might bite!”

“I said maybe!”

“You implied it!”

“You threatened proximity!”

“I said I wouldn’t bite!”

“Which means the possibility exists!”

Mom pressed her fingers to her temple briefly.

Rendal cleared his throat. “A compromise could be negotiated.”

“No!” we both shouted.

Valmira tightened her grip and leaned her head further into Mom’s leg.

“Aunt Amilia,” she whispered dramatically, “I may faint from injustice.”

“You will not,” Mom replied calmly.

“I feel weak already.” She slumped dramatically against Mom's leg.

“You ran here at full speed.”

“That was adrenaline.”

I folded my arms. “She slipped yesterday.”

“That’s unrelated!”

“She chased a butterfly.”

“It was disciplined!”

Mom finally set the teapot down.

Silence fell.

She looked at me first. “Kairon.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“You are taller by a fraction.”

I straightened instantly.

Hehe, damn right! 

Then she looked down at Valmira.

“And you have been training diligently.”

Valmira nodded earnestly.

Mom glanced at the chair.

Then at the space on the other side of her, and then back at us.

“You will alternate.”

“What?!” we both cried.

“Today, Valmira.”

Curses!

Valmira gasped as if she’d just been crowned.

I stared at the ceiling.

“Tomorrow, Kairon.”

I exhaled slowly.

Valmira released Mom’s leg immediately and dashed toward the chair.

She slid into it with exaggerated elegance and folded her hands.

“Thank you, Aunt Amilia!” she said brightly.

I walked to the other seat and dropped into it.

She leaned slightly toward me.

Smug, radiant, and victorious.

“You scowled,” she whispered.

“I did not.”

“You did!”

“. . .”

She smiled sweetly and reached for the bread first.

I narrowed my eyes.

I can’t believe I’m arguing over a chair…maybe I’m actually turning into a child. 

Bread crumbs still dotted the table.

Honey clung to Valmira’s fingers.

I had already finished eating.

Which meant I had time to think, and time was dangerous.

Valmira leaned back in her chair, swinging her legs. “Aunt Amilia.”

Mom didn’t look up from gathering plates. “No.”

Valmira blinked. “I didn’t say anything yet.”

“You inhaled with intention.”

I nodded. “She did.”

Valmira kicked me under the table.

I ignored it. “Mom.”

That made her pause. “Yes?”

I tried to sound casual. I failed. “Can we go to the market?”

The room stilled in silence.

Dad looked up from his tea.

Valmira slowly turned toward me, eyes widening. “…The market?”

“Yes,” I said quickly. “The actual one.”

“The big one?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

She gasped. “Yes! We should! For… observation!”

Mom resumed stacking plates. “No.”

Valmira shot to her feet. “Why?!”

“It’s crowded.”

“So?” I said.

“So,” she replied calmly, “crowded means people notice things.”

I straightened. “We won’t do anything.”

“That’s usually when something happens,” she said.

Valmira hurried around the table, but stopped herself before grabbing Mom’s leg this time. Growth. Instead, she clasped her hands dramatically.

“Aunt Amilia,” she pleaded, eyes shining, “I have never seen a proper human market.”

“You’ve seen the road.”

“That is not the same!”

I leaned forward. “I’ve never gone either.”

Mom looked at me properly now.

“You’ve never asked.”

“I’m asking now.”

Her gaze sharpened slightly. “Why?”

Because I wanted to see it, because I was tired of only hearing about it, because I wanted to know what normal felt like.

“…I just want to go,” I said.

Valmira nodded eagerly. “For cultural purposes!”

“You don’t know what that means.” I scoffed.

“It sounds important!”

Mom exhaled slowly.

“The market isn’t quiet,” she said. “It’s loud. Busy. People bump into each other. And when people bump into you—”

“They don’t explode,” I said.

“That isn’t the concern.”

It got quiet for a bit.

She looked at me steadily. “You can’t fully hide your core.”

I didn’t argue.

Neither could Valmira.

At best, we could soften it. Pull it inward. Make it less noticeable.

But not invisible.

“I know,” I admitted.

Valmira went quiet beside me.

Mom continued, “If someone sensitive walks past, they’ll feel it.”

I swallowed. “Then I’ll suppress it as much as I can.”

Her eyes narrowed. “As much as you can isn’t the same as gone.”

“I know.”

Valmira stepped closer. “I’ll keep mine steady too. No flaring. No showing off.”

Mom looked between us.

“And if someone provokes you?” she asked.

“I won’t react,” I said.

Valmira lifted her chin. “I will not duel anyone.”

“That wasn’t reassuring.”

“I meant verbally!”

Dad cleared his throat lightly. “I’ll be going into town anyway.”

Mom glanced at him.

“For grain?” she asked.

“And tools,” he replied calmly. “I can take them along.”

“You’ll be working,” she said.

“I can watch them while I work.” Dad gave a thumbs-up.

He looked at me, then at Valmira. “They won’t wander.”

Valmira nodded so hard her hair bounced. “We won’t!”

I nodded once. “We’ll stay near you.”

Mom folded her arms.

“Kairon,” she said evenly, “you do not circulate arcis in public.”

“I won’t.”

“Not even a thread.”

“I won’t.”

“You will not react if someone shoves you.”

“I won’t.”

“You do not attempt to ‘measure’ strangers.”

“…I won’t.” I slowly nodded.

Her eyes flicked to Valmira.

“You don’t posture.”

“I never posture!”

“You posture constantly.”

Valmira hesitated. “…I will posture internally.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“I will be dignified!” She put a hand on her chest.

Mom looked like she was fighting a smile.

“You both keep your cores pulled inward,” she continued. “Steady. Quiet. No fluctuations.”

We nodded.

“If I hear that either of you let it spike—”

“We won’t,” I said quickly.

She studied me for a long moment.

“You’re still five,” she reminded.

“I know.”

“And you,” she said to Valmira, “are still learning control.”

Valmira straightened. “I have improved!”

“You chased a butterfly yesterday.”

“It was evasive!”

Dad hid a smile behind his cup.

The kitchen fell quiet again.

Then Mom sighed.

“Fine.”

Valmira gasped.

I blinked.

“You go with your father,” she said firmly. “You stay within sight. You do not separate. And you return immediately if I call for you.”

“Yes!”

“Yes,” I said, trying not to sound too eager.

She pointed at me. “And you do not test yourself in a crowd.”

“I won’t.”

“You do not get curious.”

“…That’s difficult.”

“Kairon.” Her eyes sharpened further.

“I won’t,” I corrected quickly.

Valmira grabbed my sleeve, barely containing her excitement. “We’re going to the market!”

Dad stood and adjusted his outer vest. “Finish cleaning first.”

Valmira froze.

“…That wasn’t part of the agreement.”

“It is now,” Mom said calmly.

Valmira groaned dramatically and reached for a cloth.

I caught her eye.

“You blinked,” she whispered.

“You’re excited.”

“You are too.”

“…Maybe.”

She grinned.

The market.

Noise. Stalls. People.

Something beyond fields and fences.

My core pulsed faintly in my chest.

I pressed it down.

The road into town felt different when you were allowed to walk it.

Not sneak glances from the gate, nor watching from a distance.

Dad carried two sacks over his shoulder like they weighed nothing. I walked on his right. Valmira walked on his left.

For the first five minutes.

Then she saw the banners.

(View the other episode to continue. I reached the character limit per chapter...)