Cecil nods as Nalani approaches us, slightly out of breath but smiling. "All sorted. We can continue."
I return her smile, careful to keep my expression light. Unburdened. "Good. Now, Cecil... let's practice."
I settle onto the stone bench at the edge of the training area, watching as Nalani guides Cecil through the basics.
His movements are awkward at first - uncertain, like someone learning to trust their own body again. But there's something underneath that uncertainty. Something resilient.
He's got potential.
I glance at Nalani. She sees it too. I can tell by the way she adjusts her approach - patient but firm, never condescending. She wouldn't bother with this kind of careful instruction if she didn't think he was worth the effort.
Our eyes meet across the garden and she smirks at me - teasing, knowing. She's always been too perceptive for her own good.
"Aethera," her voice filters through our connection, private and warm. "I think he's ready."
She glances at Cecil, then back to me, her mental voice taking on a more purposeful edge. "Teach him about connections. The deeper ones."
"Nalani, not yet," I think back firmly, cutting her off before she can push further. "He isn't prepared. He needs to learn so much more before we tell him..."
I catch Cecil's questioning glance from across the garden - he's noticed us looking at each other, noticed the silence that stretched a beat too long. I smile at him, warm and reassuring, and he returns his attention to Nalani's instruction.
Good. He doesn't know about the mind connections between Celestians yet. Let's keep it that way for now.
"Later, Nalani," I continue through our link. "Cecil needs the basics first. Foundation before complexity."
I stand and walk toward them, my voice returning to its normal, audible tone. "You need to learn how to defend yourself properly, Cecil. That's the priority right now."
He pauses mid-movement, lowering his arms and turning to face me fully. "Defend? Why?"
There's genuine curiosity in his eyes. Not fear - not yet. Just the simple desire to understand.
How do I explain this without terrifying him?
"This world has dangers you can't even imagine," I say carefully, choosing each word like stepping stones across a river. "You're special, Cecil. Which means you need the skills to protect yourself from anything - or anyone - who might approach you with ill intent."
That's vague enough. True enough. But not the whole truth.
Nalani shifts beside me and I feel her presence in my mind before she speaks aloud.
"Aethera... about the twins..."
My jaw tightens. "Nalani. Stop."
But my mind is already spiraling despite my outward calm.
Nebrys and Kairos. My sons. Cecil's fated partners.
The knowledge sits heavy in my chest - precious and dangerous all at once.
Some Celestians would do terrible things if they knew. Use Cecil to hurt my sons. Use my sons to control Cecil. The possibilities are endless and all of them end in pain.
I glance at Cecil, who is now laughing - actually laughing - as he dodges one of Nalani's playful strikes and stumbles over his own feet in the process. He catches himself, grinning, and tries again.
He's completely clueless. He has no idea what's waiting for him. What I'm keeping from him.
The guilt twists in my stomach but I push it down.
Not now. Not when he's finally starting to look lighter.
Cecil stops suddenly, his smile fading as he catches my expression. "What's going on? Is everything alright?"
He's too perceptive. Just like them.
I smooth my features immediately, letting warmth flood back into my expression. "It's nothing, dear. Just focus on training."
He nods slowly, but I can see the confusion written across his face - the questions forming behind his eyes that he's too polite or too uncertain to voice.
I'm sorry, Cecil. I wish I could tell you everything. But not yet. Not until you're ready.
My thoughts cut deeper with each passing moment.
I'll protect him. I won't let anyone use Cecil against Nebrys and Kairos. I won't let anyone hurt any of them.
Beside me, Nalani is growing more curious. I can feel it - the way her attention keeps drifting back to Cecil, the way she studies him when she thinks I'm not looking.
I need to manage this carefully. Nalani means well but she doesn't always understand when to leave things alone.
She approaches quietly, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Aethera... the prophecy... it involves Cecil, doesn't it?"
My spine stiffens. Of course she noticed.
"Nalani, drop it," I say quietly, firmly. "Cecil's safety is all that matters right now."
She frowns, her gaze flicking to Cecil and then back to me. "Aethera... Nebrys and Kairos... do they know?"
Do they know. What a question.
"Nalani, enough." My tone sharpens just slightly—not anger, but a clear boundary. "Please. Focus on training Cecil. He's not ready yet."
And neither are they, if I'm being honest. None of them are ready for what's coming.
Nalani nods slowly, though I can see the mischief already forming in her eyes. She's never been good at letting things go completely.
"Fine," she says, her lips quirking into a small smirk. "I won't tell him."
A pause. Then-
"But Cecil will want answers soon, Aethera. You know he will."
My jaw tightens.
I know. Gods, I know.
"He'll get them," I say quietly, my eyes finding Cecil again.
He's practicing strikes against the air now, his form improving with each repetition. Focused. Determined. Beautiful in his earnestness.
A gentle smile spreads across my face despite everything.
"When I decide it's the right time," I continue. "Definitely not now."
I watch him for a few moments longer - the way he moves, the way he adjusts when Nalani corrects him, the way he doesn't give up even when he stumbles.
If this is the person my sons' future is with... I don't mind at all. They deserve someone like him. And he deserves them.
"Cecil," I call out.
He doesn't even flinch anymore. He's getting used to the mental connection, even if he doesn't fully understand it yet.
"Yes?" His voice reaches me—slightly breathless from exertion but warm.
"Are you tired?"
He stops, a huge smile spreading across his face.
"No, I'm not tired yet. Why?"
He's exhausted. I can see it in the way he's holding himself. But he won't admit it.
"I think you should take a break," I say gently. "You look tired, dear."
He exchanges a few quiet words with Nalani before walking toward me, his steps a little less steady than they were an hour ago.
I pass him a glass of water I'd prepared earlier—cool and infused with mild restorative herbs.
Nothing strong. Just enough to help.
"Here. Drink this."
He mouths a quick 'thanks' before drinking the entire glass in one go, his throat working as he swallows.
Nalani steps forward and gently takes his hand, her fingers brushing over the bracelet I gave him earlier.
A soft shine surrounds it - rose-gold light that pulses once, twice, before fading and leaving a delicate star etched into the surface.
Cecil stares at it, wonder clear in his expression.
"What is this for?"
Nalani giggles softly, warmth radiating from her in waves. "It's proof of our friendship, sweetie."
"Thanks..." He turns the bracelet slightly, watching the way the star catches the light. "Wow. It looks even better now."
He treasures small kindnesses. He's not used to them.
The thought aches in my chest.
"I think we should return you to your world, Cecil," I say, noting the pale cast to his skin and the dark circles beginning to form under his eyes. "You need rest."
"Okay..." He hugs Nalani - brief but genuine - before turning toward me. His voice is quieter when he speaks again. "Do you think you could stay with me? Until I fall asleep?"
Something in my chest clenches.
He's asking permission to not be alone. When was the last time someone stayed with him?
"Of course, dear," I say softly. "I'll stay."
Nalani hugs him once more, whispering something I don't quite catch, before disappearing in a shimmer of pink light.
I take Cecil's hand - his fingers are cold despite the warmth of the garden - and let my powers wrap around us both.
The golden glow rises, gentle and controlled, and in a matter of seconds we're standing in his room.
The transition is smoother this time. He barely stumbles.
We settle on his bed and I'm about to stand - to give him space to change, to settle - when I pause.
"I'll look around if you don't mind," I say, keeping my tone light. "I need to check if there's anything that could summon demons or other negative entities. Standard precaution."
He stays silent. Doesn't nod. Doesn't move.
That's... unusual.
I'm halfway to the door when his voice stops me.
"I am a monster myself."
I freeze.
"Why should you protect me from my kind?"
The words are quiet. Hollow. Like he's stating a fact rather than expressing an opinion.
I turn slowly and kneel in front of him, taking his hands in mine. They're trembling.
"What do you mean, Cecil?"
He won't meet my eyes. His gaze is fixed somewhere past my shoulder - distant and unfocused.
"I was the one responsible for my mother's death." His voice cracks slightly on the word mother. "I don't deserve to be treated like someone precious after what I did."
What?
I stare at him, my mind racing.
There's no way. If he had killed someone—if he had caused a death deliberately—I would have known. The Celestians would have known. That's not why he was brought here.
There must be a misunderstanding. There has to be.
My mind brushes against the connection between us - the link I established when I saved him. I've never used it to look deeper. Never invaded that far. It felt wrong. Intrusive.
But now...
I can't watch him blame himself for something he didn't do. I can't let him carry this.
I hesitate.
This is a violation. You know it is. You're about to cross a line you can't uncross.
But Cecil's hands are shaking in mine and there are unshed tears gathering at the corners of his eyes and I—
I need to know. I need to help him.
Just this once. Just to understand.
I close my eyes and let the connection deepen, slipping past the surface thoughts into the memories underneath.
The world shifts.
I'm no longer in Cecil's room. I'm somewhere else. Somewhere clinical and cold and filled with the sharp smell of antiseptic.
A hospital.
No - an operating room.
A woman lies on a table in the center of the space, surrounded by nurses and machines that beep in irregular, frantic rhythms. Blood pools beneath her - too much blood, far too much - and her breathing is weak.
She's holding something. A baby. Small and red-faced and wailing.
Cecil.
A nurse steps forward gently, carefully extracting the infant from the woman's weakening grip. The baby cries louder—sharp, piercing cries that echo in the sterile room.
The woman's eyes flutter. Her chest rises once.
Twice.
Then stops.
A doctor checks her pulse—neck first, then wrist—and his expression darkens. He shakes his head slowly.
"We can't save her," he says, his voice calm. Practiced. Like he's said these words a thousand times before. "She's lost too much blood."
The nurses move efficiently. Quietly. Covering her. Taking the baby away. Cleaning up.
Routine.
Just another day.
Just another death.
I pull back from the memory so fast it leaves me breathless.
Oh, Cecil.
I look at him—truly look at him—and he's already asleep. Exhausted from training, from emotion, from carrying this unbearable weight alone for so long.
Tears slide down his cheeks even in sleep.
He thinks it's his fault. He was born and his mother died and he thinks - he genuinely believes - that he killed her.
A complication during childbirth. A tragedy. Not his fault. Never his fault.
But he's carried this guilt his entire life.
My chest aches in a way I haven't felt in centuries.
What have I done?
I shouldn't have looked. I should have asked. I should have waited until he was ready to tell me himself.
But you didn't. You violated his trust. You took something he didn't offer.
The guilt sits heavy and cold in my stomach.
I pull the blanket over him carefully, tucking it around his shoulders. He doesn't stir. Doesn't wake. Just breathes - soft and steady and so painfully young.
I stand and let my gaze drift around his room, trying to ground myself in something other than the crushing weight of what I just witnessed.
The space is... cold. That's the word that comes to mind. Not temperature - something deeper than that. It feels unlived in. Like a stage set rather than a home.
Everything is perfectly in place. The books on the shelf aligned with mathematical precision. The desk surface completely clear except for a single pen positioned at an exact angle. The chair tucked in so perfectly it looks like it's never been moved.
It's a bit empty, I think absently. But I suppose that's just his preference.
I don't know him well enough yet to read the signs.
Don't understand what this level of control might mean.
I always thought Cecil was the kind of person who didn't care about others' opinions. Someone who lived freely, authentically, without fear.
I look back at him - small and curled beneath the blanket, his face still wet with tears even in sleep.
But now I see how broken he is.
I see the part he hides from everyone. The part that's been breaking him from the inside since the day he was born.
My hands curl into fists at my sides.
I really hope he'll get better once he realizes it wasn't his fault. Once he understands that being born isn't a crime. That his mother's death was a tragedy but not his doing.
No one deserves to live like this. Especially not someone so sweet. So caring. So determined to be good despite believing he's a monster.
I sit back down on the edge of his bed, watching the gentle rise and fall of his breathing.
I won't tell him I looked. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
But I will find a way to help him see the truth. To understand that he's not what he thinks he is.
Even if it takes time. Even if it's hard.
I'll protect him. From the Celestians who would use him. From the dangers of this world.
And from himself.
I reach out and gently brush a strand of hair from his forehead.
"Sleep well, Cecil," I whisper. "You're safe now. I promise."
Even if he can't hear me, I need to say it.
For him.
And maybe for myself too.