A branch creaked overhead.Syndra felt Tamsin shift beside her, just slightly, like a predator adjusting its stance.
“Oakley,” Tamsin said gently, “your mother is not reckless.”
“I never said she was.”Oakley’s gaze dropped back to the fire.“But she doesn’t see danger in people the way she should.She’s ...trusting.”
Syndra felt something twist in her chest, warm and sharp all at once.“She also has excellent judgment,” she said quietly.“Better than mine was at her age.”
Oakley snorted.“You’re old as dirt, how can you even remember?”
Tamsin said mildly, “Your mother tamed a dark elf, drawing out the light, though small, in him.She was a catalyst for change because of their relationship.”
Leaves rustled again, closer this time.
Syndra nodded solemnly.“It was impressive.”
Oakley blinked.“Wait—what?”
“She is not weak, and she’s not easily manipulated,” Tamsin finished.
Oakley went quiet.
Syndra watched his shoulders tighten, the way his hands curled into his knees.The firelight flickered across his face, catching the grief he tried, and failed, to hide.
“But Rezer isn’t my father,” Oakley said softly.“Who knows if he has any light, or good, left in him?”
“Triktapic spent centuries as a dark elf assassin,” Syndra replied.“Yet he is the reason light and dark stand together now.”
Oakley opened his mouth.Closed it.Then said, “That’s ...different.”
“Why?”Tamsin asked.“Because you’re afraid Rezer will hurt her?Or because you’re afraid of her replacing someone she lost?”
The forest seemed to still.Oakley froze.Even the fire quieted, flames shrinking low as if listening.
“I don’t really remember my dad,” Oakley said after a moment.His voice was rough.“Just pieces.But my mom does.And if she lets herself fall for someone again, and it goes wrong ...”He swallowed.“I don’t want her to break.”
Syndra moved before thought could stop her, crossing the small distance and bumping her shoulder gently into his.He startled, then sagged just a fraction.
“You’re allowed to want her safe,” she said softly.“You’re just not allowed to decide who she’s allowed to be brave with.”
Oakley groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face.“I hate when you make sense.”
She smirked.“Age and grace.”
Tamsin snorted.
Oakley glanced at him.“Why is it grace when she does it, but when you do it?—”
“Wisdom,” Tamsin supplied.
“Bossiness,” Syndra corrected.
Oakley laughed.The sound faded too quickly.The fire crackled sharply, embers shifting without wind.Syndra felt it then, the pressure.The forest leaning closer, intent sharpening like a held breath.
Oakley shivered.“Do you guys feel that?”
Syndra lifted her gaze to the dark beyond the firelight.Roots hummed beneath the soil.Leaves brushed together though the air remained still.“Yes,” she said grimly.A shudder ran down her spine.Whatever was out there, it wasn’t just listening anymore.It was waiting.Expectant.
The fire’slast breath guttered into smoke, leaving the clearing dim except for starlight threading through the canopy.Tamsin’s skin prickled, first with unease, then with something colder.Not recognition, not memory, but something older than both.A pressure he couldn’t name.
