The manor felt smaller in the weeks that followed the incident.

  Boreas and Elowen had never been confined before—not like this. Varka’s verdict was delivered quietly but firmly in the family study: one full year of service to the Knights of Favonius. No solo adventures. No unsupervised ventures beyond the city walls. Every morning they reported to headquarters at dawn; every evening they returned under Nicole’s watchful eye. Grounded—for the first time in their long, ageless lives.

  They met Klee on their third day of punishment.

  The little Spark Knight was scrubbing soot marks off the headquarters courtyard wall, pouting furiously while Jean supervised from a nearby bench. Klee had “accidentally” turned Cider Lake into a temporary fireworks display in pursuit of the “biggest, shiniest fish ever.” The explosion had sent fish raining over Springvale and left the lake bottom blackened for weeks.

  When Boreas and Elowen approached with buckets and brushes, Klee lit up.

  “You’re grounded too?!” she squeaked. “Jean says I can’t go boom-boom for a whole month! It’s not fair! The fish were asking for it!”

  Elowen managed a small smile, dipping her brush. “We’re grounded for a year. We… tried to break the rules of the world.”

  Klee tilted her head. “Did you do something reckless?”

  Boreas nodded, scrubbing harder than necessary. “Yeah.”

  Klee patted his arm with a sooty hand. “If it’s for someone you love, then you’re not bad. You’re just… super brave. Like Jean when she fights paperwork!”

  The twins exchanged glances. The weight of their mother’s sacrifice pressed heavier than any chain Celestia could forge. Nicole—once luminous with starlight, now softening at the edges with the first faint lines of age—had given up eternity for them. For Varka. For love. And they had nearly cost her everything by chasing the impossible.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Nicole never left them alone for long. She shadowed their tasks with quiet vigilance: folding bandages in the infirmary while they inventoried supplies, reading aloud from old knightly chronicles while they polished armor, sitting nearby in the library while they copied reports by candlelight. She had become fully mortal—her skin warmer, her steps a fraction slower, her violet eyes still bright but now touched by the subtle wear of time. Yet when Boreas or Elowen tried to apologize again, she only pulled them close.

  “I have no regrets,” she said simply. “I could not bear a world without your father. And I could not bear losing either of you. This is freedom, my loves. The freedom to live—and eventually to rest—together.”

  Years turned like pages in a well-loved book.

  Jean was promoted to Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius in a quiet ceremony beneath the great tree at Windrise. Varka stood at her side, proud and retired, his silver-threaded hair catching the sunlight. He spent his days mentoring—not only Boreas and Elowen, but Razor (now a seasoned forest guardian) and Noelle (finally knighted, her strength matched only by her kindness). The four young adults trained together in the fields: Boreas teaching foresight in sparring, Elowen guiding winds to shield allies, Razor showing them the language of wolves, Noelle demonstrating unyielding defense.

  Nights often found Varka at Angel’s Share.

  He, Venti, Kaeya, and Diluc claimed the corner table like old campaigners. Bottles emptied, stories grew taller, laughter louder. Venti strummed ballads of their defiance; Kaeya teased Varka about “finally joining the mortals”; Diluc poured without comment but with quiet fondness.

  Nicole usually arrived near closing time—arms crossed, eyebrow raised.

  “You’re late,” she said one night, leaning against the doorframe.

  Varka grinned sheepishly, already rising. “Just one more round, love.”

  “Tomorrow’s training starts at dawn. You’ll be hungover and Razor will outpace you again.”

  Venti cackled. “She’s stricter than Jean!”

  Nicole smiled despite herself. “Come home, wolf. Your pups miss you.”

  “Well then, time to go!” He said as he rose from his chair. He kissed her temple as they left, arm around her waist as always. The others watched them go with soft smiles—proof that even legends could grow old together.

  Nicole had taken a position at the Knights’ library alongside Lisa. Together they cataloged ancient tomes, restored fragile scrolls, and occasionally shooed away overly curious mages. She moved through the stacks with the same grace she once carried across battlefields—only now her steps echoed with quiet contentment.