Lunar blinked, pulling her hand from the glass. She straightened, smoothed the hem of her shirt, and stepped toward the dining area.
The closer she came, the louder the sounds grew—clattering cutlery, overlapping chatter, the shuffle of feet on polished tile. Even after a week, Lunar still wasn't used to waking up to so many voices. Her old home had been quiet. Peaceful. Just two pairs of footsteps.
Here… it felt like a small storm lived in every hallway.
She stepped through the wide doorway and into the dining room.
Three heads turned toward her.
They were all so different she sometimes forgot they were siblings, all foals of the same black and blue-clad mare.
At the far end sat Persian Caviar, the eldest of those still living at home. Morning light fell across her wavy brown hair, which swept over one of her deep hazel eyes in its usual lopsided curtain. She cradled a porcelain teacup between her fingers, stirring it in slow circles that looked almost ceremonial.
Lunar wasn't sure if Persian was fully awake or simply existing in a state somewhere between dream and reality. But even in that half-dazed state, Persian's gentle attentiveness slipped through—like the way she quietly nudged a stack of napkins toward the center of the table the moment she noticed Lunar walking over.
Persian lifted her gaze, a faint smile ghosting across her lips. "Morning, Lunar," she murmured, voice soft, warm, unhurried. "You look more awake than me."
Lunar hesitated, the habit of choosing her words carefully still clinging to her. She opened her mouth to answer—but any reply was swept away by a sudden burst of movement at the table.
Namawa Caviar nearly sprang out of her chair.
"Lunar!! Good morning!!" she exclaimed, leaning halfway across the table, her short frame barely clearing the edge of the table as she bounced on her heels. Neon-blue hair flared around her head like a restless flame, catching the morning light, and her matching blue eyes sparkled with uncontained energy. Though she was two years older than Lunar, Namawa was noticeably shorter, something she compensated for with sheer volume and motion. "Did you sleep okay? Did you have dreams? Did you—oh! Wait, no—Saiya said you, um, kinda didn't—BUT STILL, good morning!"
Her legs jittered beneath the table, knocking into a chair leg with a sharp rattle that sent cutlery clinking. A spoon tipped dangerously before Persian caught it mid-slide without even glancing down.
Lunar blinked, momentarily overwhelmed by the verbal flood and the bright energy radiating from Namawa, especially so early in the morning.
"…Good morning," she managed.
Namawa beamed as if she'd just won an argument no one else knew they were having.
"See, Persi? She talks!" Namawa declared, jabbing a finger triumphantly in Lunar's direction. "I told you she talks in the morning!"
Persian lifted her teacup and took a measured sip, her expression perfectly composed. "I never said she didn't talk," she replied evenly. "I said you talk too much."
Namawa slapped her hands over her ears and turned her head away with exaggerated defiance. "Yeah, yeah, can't hear you! Too busy being right!"
One moment, the space beside her felt open. The next, a presence was there—quiet, precise, close enough that Lunar could see her reflection faintly on the polished table surface.
Anonym stood just a little closer than necessary.
She was only a year older than Lunar, and nearly the same height, yet she carried herself with a composure that made her feel taller somehow. Her straight black hair fell neatly to her shoulders, not a strand out of place, framing a face that looked strikingly familiar. The deep blue of her eyes solidified it—strikingly similar to Black Caviar's that Lunar sometimes felt as though she were looking at a younger reflection of the woman who had taken her in.
Those eyes studied Lunar with calm intensity. "Your hair is uneven," Anonym said matter-of-factly.
Lunar stiffened at once. Her fingers twitched toward her crown, self-conscious. "…O-Oh. Sorry, I didn't really—"
"It's fine." Anonym reached out before Lunar could finish. Her movements were careful and deliberate as she brushed a stray lock from Lunar's cheek, tucking it neatly behind her ear. The touch was brief, light, and oddly gentle.
"Now it's even," Anonym concluded.
She withdrew her hand immediately and returned to her seat, lifting her cup and continuing with her milk tea as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
For a heartbeat, Lunar just sat there. Then—slowly, almost shyly—she let a small smile appear, directed not at anyone else, but squarely at Anonym's turned profile. "Thanks, Anonym."
Anonym paused mid-sip, and Lunar could see her ears flushed pink instantly. "Its nothing," she muttered, eyes firmly fixed on her cup.
Persian laughed, noticing the exchange. " Really sis? One thank you from Lunar and you're already like… this?"
Anonym pointed a threat at Persian without looking. "I will spill juice on you. Orange juice."
"Thats too far!"
As the spectacle goes, Lunar lingered at the edge of the table, her fingers resting lightly against the back of an empty chair.
They were loud.
They were unfamiliar.
They were overwhelming.
And yet… they were warm.
It was a kind of warmth she hadn't learned how to respond to yet—one that didn't feel like home, not really, but didn't feel foreign either. It sat somewhere in between, uncertain and fragile, like something that might disappear if she reached for it too quickly. So she didn't.
Her thoughts drifted.
Just a week ago, mornings had been quiet. A small countryside kitchen, sunlight shimmering through thin curtains, her mother moving softly as she prepared breakfast. The kettle's gentle whistle. Birds calling outside the window. Words were optional back then; silence had never been uncomfortable.
Now, she stood in Black Caviar's sleek, fancy dining room, surrounded by voices overlapping each other, chairs scraping lightly against the floor, cutlery clinking against ceramic plates. Laughter rose and fell without warning.
Lunar wasn't sure how she was meant to fit into all of this. She wasn't sure she deserved to.
"Lunar!" Namawa called, waving both hands enthusiastically. "Sit next to me! No—wait—sit next to Ano—! Actually—no, sit between us! Persi said the table needs balance!"
"I said no such thing," Persian replied calmly, lifting her teacup with a long-suffering sigh.
Lunar hesitated for just a moment longer, but she couldn't help it—her lips curved slightly.
Before Lunar could lower her gaze to hide it, light footsteps approached from the hallway—careful rather than hurried, accompanied by a familiar, soft voice.
"Lunaaaar~"
Black Caviar entered the dining room carrying a small girl in her arms, one hand steady at the child's back, the other braced beneath her knees. She moved with easy familiarity, , and gently set the girl down once they were fully inside the room.
The moment her feet touched the floor, Saiya slipped free of Black Caviar's hold and stepped forward, pale pink hair swaying lightly against her shoulders. She was a little shorter than Lunar, her build smaller and more delicate, but her silver eyes—bright and intent—locked onto Lunar immediately.
"There you are," Saiya said, breath soft but excited, closing the distance between them without hesitation.
She wrapped her arms around Lunar's waist in a quick, earnest hug, pressing her cheek briefly against Lunar's side as if confirming she was really there. The contact was gentle, careful in the way only someone used to measuring their own strength could be.
Lunar stiffened for half a second—then relaxed.
Saiya pulled back just enough to look up at her, fingers still hooked around Lunar's sleeve. "You said you'd sit with me today."
"I don't thi–" Lunar started, then stopped herself, the words dissolving under Saiya's hopeful stare.
Black Caviar watched from behind them, her expression soft, unreadable, but warm. She set the tray of fruit down on the table before turning away, giving them space as if this, too, was something she knew better than to interrupt.
Saiya was one year younger than Lunar—small enough that when she stood close, her gaze naturally settled just around Lunar's chin. She was lighter, too, her frame delicate, built more for careful balance than reckless speed. Her steps were light, her movements instinctively gentle, corresponding to her body's more fragile state.
Yet there was nothing timid about her presence.
Where others hesitated around Lunar at first, unsure of what to say or how to act, Saiya had simply and weirdly… decided.
Lunar remembered their first meeting clearly.
It had been the evening she arrived—bone-tired, hollow, perched stiffly on the edge of a guest bed that didn't feel like it belonged to her. The room was too clean, too spacious, every surface untouched by memory. Even the quiet felt wrong, heavy.
She hadn't cried. She hadn't spoken. She'd simply sat there, hands folded in her lap, staring at nothing.
The door had opened only a fraction.
Saiya stood in the gap, both hands wrapped around the doorframe, peering in with wide eyes filled not with hesitation, but curiosity. There was no pity in her gaze. No careful distance.
"Hi," she'd said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Lunar hadn't responded.
Saiya didn't seem bothered by that. She shuffled inside anyway, closing the door gently behind her, and sat down on the floor right in front of Lunar—as if instinctively giving her space, but not distance. Then she started talking.
She talked about the garden she wasn't allowed to run in because everyone worried too much. About how her siblings were loud and always arguing over the dumbest things, even the elder ones. About how the house felt too big sometimes, especially at night. Her voice filled the room slowly, steadily, until the silence loosened its grip and became something softer, something easier to breathe through.
Lunar listened without looking at her.
At some point, Saiya had tilted her head up, studying Lunar's face like she was piecing together something important. Then she asked, simply and without hesitation,
"Will you be my friend?"
There was no weight to the question. No fear of rejection. Just certainty.
Lunar had stared at her for a long moment after that.
Saiya didn't fidget. Didn't rush her. She simply waited, legs tucked beneath her, hands resting loosely in her lap, as if the answer, whatever it was—would come in its own time.
Something in Lunar's chest shifted. A loosening. A small crack in the frozen state she'd wrapped around herself since that morning.
"…Okay," Lunar had said at last.
Saiya's face lit up instantly, bright and unrestrained, as though she'd never doubted the answer for even a second. She grinned, leaning forward on her hands.
As if it were the most important rule in the world, Saiya crossed her arms and said, "But you can't call me 'Little Sis' or "Saiya" like everyone else. I don't like that. I want you to call me something else. Something special!"
Lunar hesitated, then quietly offered, "How about, Saichan…?"
Saiya's face lit up immediately. "That's it," she said, pleased. "That's my name now. Only you can use it."
___________________________________________________
So now, standing in the dining room with Saiya's hands still holding onto the sleeve of her shirt, Lunar didn't pull away.
"Come on," Saiya said again, tugging lightly, already turning toward the table. Her grip wasn't strong, just persistent in that gentle, determined way of hers. "Sit with me. Please."
Lunar let herself be guided into the chair beside her, still trying to gather her thoughts when a sharp voice cut across the table.
"Hey! That's not fair!" Namawa shot up from her seat, curls bouncing as she pointed accusingly in their direction. "She's been sitting next to you for three days straight, Saiya! Three days! I've been counting! I'm almost running out of fingers!"
Saiya stiffened, cheeks puffing out immediately. "No! Lunar sits with me today," she said, crossing her arms. "She promised."
Lunar blinked. "I… I didn't—"
"Yes you did," Saiya replied without hesitation. "You nodded. While we were watching the TV. Remember?"
"That was when she sneezed," Persian added calmly, stirring her tea in an unhurried circle. "I'm fairly certain that doesn't count as a promise."
"A nod is still a nod," Saiya insisted, chin lifting with quiet conviction.
Namawa let out a dramatic groan and collapsed forward onto the table. "This is favoritism," she lamented. "Absolute betrayal of the sisterhood."
Anonym, seated on Lunar's other side, finally lifted her gaze from her plate. Her cool blue eyes flicked toward Namawa. "Your turn was yesterday," she said evenly. "But you spilled juice on Lunar's chair."
Namawa's head snapped up. "That was an accident!"
Anonym didn't even look up from her plate. "Sure."
Namawa's jaw dropped. "Hey! Don't just—don't just sure me!"
"Sucks to be you," Anonym added flatly, reaching for the butter as if she hadn't just declared war.
Namawa made a strangled sound, halfway between a gasp and a battle cry, pushing herself up on her hands like she was about to climb over the table.
Before she could move another inch, a calm voice cut straight through the noise.
"That's enough."
The room stilled instantly.
Namawa froze mid-lean. Anonym set the butter knife down without comment. Saiya straightened in her chair, hands folding neatly in her lap like she'd been caught doing something far more serious than arguing over seats. Even Persian seemed to finally woke up and lifted her gaze from her tea.
Black Caviar stood at the head of the table, expression composed, presence filling the room without effort.
"We do not fight before breakfast," she said evenly. "Or during breakfast. Or after breakfast."
"Yes, Mama…" Namawa muttered, sinking back into her chair.
"…Understood," Anonym replied, already reaching for her juice.
Saiya, on the other hand, broke into a small, unmistakably pleased smile. "See?" she said, quiet but triumphant. "That means Lunar sits with me."
Before Lunar could react, Saiya gave a gentle tug, pulling her fully into the chair, settling her neatly between herself and Anonym.
Lunar gave a small, polite nod to both sides, though her gaze drifted to the spread before her. Warm carrot pancakes, syrup, fresh fruit, scrambled eggs. The smell wrapped around her like a soft blanket.
She reached for her fork.
But halfway through lifting it, her mind slipped—
just a breath, a flicker, a sudden flash of stray memory.
Her mother at the stove, humming under her breath as she flipped pancakes with practiced ease. A chipped plate waiting on the counter. Morning sunlight catching on silvery hair. The quiet comfort of a kitchen that knew only the two of them.
Lunar's hand paused.
The fork hovered uselessly in the air, her breath snagging somewhere in her chest as the present thinned, the past pressing close.
Then something moved at the edge of her vision. A plate slid gently into view, nudged closer without a word.
Another pancake.
Lunar blinked, startled, and turned.
Anonym was already looking away, feigning indifference, as if she hadn't done anything at all. But her voice, quiet and even, carried to Lunar clearly:
"You spaced out. Figured you might still be hungry."
Lunar stared at the warm pancake—perfectly round, a little golden at the edges, and something in her chest flickered.
"…Thank you," she murmured.
Anonym shrugged, her ears a little red once again. "Don't mention it."
Saiya beamed beside Lunar and leaned subtly against her side, as if claiming her spot even more firmly.
Breakfast went on. Soft voices, clinking plates, the smell of syrup and sunlight—and Lunar picked up her fork again.
This morning, she felt something melting.