The manor’s sunlit library had become Nicole’s sanctuary for teaching her children the delicate art of magic control. Sunbeams slanted through tall windows, catching motes of dust that danced like tiny stars. Nicole sat cross-legged on a thick rug, silver-white hair loose over her shoulders, her once-celestial glow now softened by years of mortal warmth. Before her sat Boreas and Elowen—seven years old, legs folded neatly, eyes wide with solemn focus.

  “Magic is breath,” Nicole said softly, holding out her palms. A faint thread of starlight uncoiled between her fingers—slow, deliberate, weaving into the shape of a tiny bird that fluttered once around the twins’ heads before dissolving into harmless sparkles. “It listens to what you feel. So feel it gently.”

  Boreas reached out instinctively. A violet ripple answered—too fast, too bright. The sparkles flared into a sudden burst that singed the edge of a nearby curtain.

  Elowen tried next. A gentle breeze rose, but it carried her excitement: books fluttered open, pages turning wildly, one tome slamming shut with a bang.

  Nicole laughed—patient, warm—and caught their hands. “Too much heart. Try less. Feel the quiet inside you first.”

  The door burst open with a small explosion of smoke and giggles.

  Klee bounded in, backpack jingling ominously, eyes bright with mischief. “Miss Nicole! I heard magic lessons! Can Klee join? Klee brought her best bomb—uh, I mean, her best helper!”

  Nicole’s smile faltered only slightly. “Klee, darling, we’re practicing control today. Very small, very gentle—”

  But Klee was already rummaging in her pack. “Klee can do gentle! Watch!”

  She lobbed a tiny, suspiciously fizzing Jumpy Dumpty toward the center of the rug.

  The resulting blast was small—by Klee standards—but perfectly timed to coincide with Timmy’s daily bird-feeding visit outside the open window.

  A startled squawk, a flash of feathers, and suddenly Timmy’s entire flock of finches and doves erupted into panicked flight—straight into the open library window.

  Feathers everywhere.

  Timmy himself tumbled in after them with a yelp, landing in a heap of birdseed and singed overalls. The birds, dazed but unharmed, perched on bookshelves, chair backs, and Boreas’s head, cooing indignantly.

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  Klee stared at the chaos, then at the smoking crater where her bomb had detonated.

  “Uh-oh,” she whispered. “Klee… Klee did a big oopsie.”

  Nicole sighed, already rising to help Timmy up. “Klee—”

  But Jean appeared in the doorway like an avenging angel of paperwork—cape billowing, expression thunderous.

  “Klee!” Jean’s voice cracked like a whip. “Explosives inside city limits—again? And endangering civilians and wildlife?”

  Klee’s lip wobbled. “But… but Klee was helping with magic control!”

  Jean pinched the bridge of her nose. “You are awarding yourself one full afternoon in the disciplinary room. No bombs. No glitter. Just reflection and copying the Knights’ code of conduct. Fifty times.”

  Klee’s shoulders slumped. “Yes, Acting Grand Master Jean…”

  She trudged out, head hanging, muttering about “mean paperwork ladies” while Timmy gathered his traumatized birds and fled.

  Nicole exchanged a look with the twins.

  Boreas whispered, “Do you think she’ll really copy it fifty times?”

  Elowen nodded solemnly. “Jean always means it.”

  Nicole dusted off her skirts. “Come along, loves. We need reinforcements. Your father is at Angel’s Share—again—and I suspect your uncles are enabling him.”

  The three of them walked through Mondstadt’s bustling streets, the twins holding Nicole’s hands, still buzzing from the morning’s chaos.

  Angel’s Share was lively even in the early afternoon—Varka at the corner table with Kaeya and Diluc, bottles already half-empty, laughter booming.

  Varka spotted them first. “My heart! And my little pups!”

  He rose, sweeping Nicole into a kiss that made Kaeya roll his eyes and Diluc look away awkwardly.

  Kaeya leaned back, smirking. “To what do we owe this delightful family invasion?”

  Nicole arched a brow. “Klee just accidentally flambéed Timmy’s birds. Jean’s locked her in the disciplinary room. Again. And our twins nearly set the library on fire practicing ‘gentle’ magic.”

  Diluc cleared his throat. “I… see.”

  Boreas tugged Kaeya’s cape. “Uncle Kaeya, can you teach us how to freeze lakes so Klee can fish and the lakes don’t go boom?”

  Kaeya grinned wickedly. “Now that’s a request I can get behind.”

  Diluc shot him a warning look before turning to Elowen. “And you, little wind. If your breezes ever get away from you… focus on something small. A candle flame. One leaf. Anchor to it.”

  Elowen nodded seriously. “Like you do with your claymore?”

  Diluc’s ears turned faintly pink. “Something like that.”

  Varka laughed, pulling both twins onto his lap despite their protests. “You two causing trouble already?”

  Boreas leaned against his father’s chest. “We’re learning control, Father. But Miss Jean says we have to clean up what we break.”

  Nicole sat beside them, accepting a glass of dandelion wine from Diluc. “And they will. But first… perhaps some uncle time? Gentle uncle time.”

  Kaeya raised his glass. “To gentle chaos—and the poor sods who have to raise it.”

  Diluc sighed but clinked glasses anyway.

  Nicole watched her family—boisterous father, mischievous uncle, stoic uncle, and her two extraordinary children—and felt the familiar warmth settle in her chest.

  Magic control was not learned in a day.

  Neither was family.

  But in a tavern full of laughter, surrounded by people who loved them—flaws, explosions, singed birds and all—they were learning both.

  One gentle, chaotic step at a time.