And Rigas, pulling himself out of a wall he'd been kicked into, grinning like an idiot despite probably having several cracked ribs.
Because their son had laughed.
"Oh," Xylia whispered. "Oh no."
The aura vanished completely, leaving behind only a tired, horrified mother.
"I— I didn't—" she looked at Vale, at the cracked shield, at her husband in the wall. "I thought you'd taken him. I thought—"
Her voice broke.
Vale, to her credit, understood immediately.
"You're his mother," she said simply, and there was no accusation in her tone. Just statement of fact.
Xylia's legs gave out. She sat down hard on the cobblestones, her hands covering her face.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I saw strangers holding my baby and I just— I couldn't think, I couldn't—"
Rigas had made his way over, limping slightly but still grinning. He sat down next to his wife and put an arm around her shoulders.
"Breathe, love. Everyone's fine. Well. Mostly fine." He glanced at Borin's cracked shield. "Sorry about that, friend. I'll pay for repairs."
Borin was still staring at the shield in disbelief. "This shield," he said slowly, "has survived thirty years of adventuring. Dragons. Giants. A lich's death curse."
"And now it's met my wife," Rigas finished cheerfully. "She's very strong."
"I can see that."
Astral had been watching the entire exchange with the calculating eyes of someone putting pieces together. Now he stepped forward, his expression grave but not unkind.
"Your son," he said to Xylia, who looked up with red-rimmed eyes. "The mana inside him. You know about it?"
Xylia's expression shuttered slightly. Protective.
"We know he's... special."
"Special is one word for it." Astral knelt down, bringing himself to eye level with the family. "I'm an alchemist. A scholar of magical theory. And I'm telling you that child has more raw mana than most adult archmages. Unstable mana. If it's not managed properly—"
"We know," Rigas interrupted quietly. "We've noticed the instability. The way it attracts... things."
"The monsters," Xylia added, her voice barely above a whisper. "They come because of him, don't they?"
Astral nodded slowly. "Most likely. That kind of power acts as a beacon. And if it continues to build without proper channeling or suppression, it may exp—"
"Don't say that," Xylia whispered, but her eyes were fierce. "Don't you dare say he's going to—" She couldn't finish.
Astral paused, reading her expression, then carefully chose different words.
"The overflow could damage his mana channels permanently. I've seen it happen with natural mana surplus. The body can't contain it indefinitely."
Milliana's elbow jabbed into his ribs, her tail flicking sharply.
"Astral!" she hissed. "You don't tell a mother her baby's in danger like that!"
Astral winced, raising both hands. "I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so blunt." But his expression remained serious. The warning was real, even if the delivery was clumsy.
Xylia tightened her hold on Piers, knuckles pale. "…I know. I've felt it. The sleepless nights. His mana used to leak out in his sleep. But he's just a baby. He can't control it."
Silence fell over the group.
In Vale's arms, Piers watched his parents with those flat gray eyes, processing the conversation with clinical detachment.
They were worried about him.
He should probably feel something about that.
He didn't.
Astral reached into his alchemist's satchel and withdrew a small vial. The liquid inside was deep blue, almost black, and seemed to swirl with its own internal light.
"This," he said, holding it up, "is a mana suppressant. Not a cure—there isn't one for natural mana overflow. But it will help stabilize the surges. Calm the storm, so to speak." He offered it to Xylia. "Give him three drops every morning. It should help. At least for a while."
Xylia took the vial with shaking hands. "Thank you. I— we can't pay you for this right now, but—"
"No payment necessary." Astral's expression was kind. "Just... take care of him. And be careful. Power like that, in one so young..." He trailed off, leaving the implications unspoken.
Vale finally stepped forward, Piers still secure in her arms. She looked down at the child—this strange, powerful, blank-faced little mystery—and felt an unexpected pang of concern.
"He wandered into a bookstore," she said to Xylia. "Tried to convince the shopkeeper to give him books for free using nothing but sustained eye contact. It almost worked."
Despite everything, Xylia let out a wet laugh. "That sounds like him."
"We bought them for him." Vale gestured to Milliana, who was still holding the stack of books. "He seemed very determined to have them."
"Books," Xylia murmured, taking the stack from Milliana. "Of course it was books."
She stood on shaky legs and crossed to Vale, her arms outstretched.
Vale handed Piers over gently, watching as the mother clutched her son close, burying her face in his hair, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs of relief.
Piers allowed the embrace with the same passive acceptance he allowed everything else.
Though if someone had been watching very carefully, they might have noticed his small hand come up to rest against his mother's arm.
Just for a moment.
"Thank you," Xylia whispered to Vale. "For keeping him safe."
Vale nodded. "Of course."
Rigas approached Borin, still favoring his left side, and offered his hand. "Sorry about the shield."
Borin took it with a grin. "No hard feelings, lad. Your wife's got a kick like a dragon's tail."
"More than I have time to share, friend."
Styx tugged on her father's sleeve. "Papa? Is Piers okay?"
Rigas smiled, ruffling her hair. "Better than okay. You heard him laugh, didn't you?"
"Yeah! He never laughs! That was the first time!"
"Then today is a very good day," Rigas said, though his eyes carried a sadness Styx was too young to understand.
Xylia examined Piers closely, her hands gentle but thorough—looking for injuries, signs of distress, anything wrong.
He stared back at her with those empty gray eyes.
But he'd laughed.
He'd laughed.
That had to mean something.