The recruits respect you, Parker said finally. Not because you’re the strongest but because you teach them to be stronger than they thought possible.
That landed differently than expected. Warmer.
They respect the lesson, I corrected. I’m just delivering it.
Take the compliment, Raynoff.
The corner of my mouth quirked. Yes, ma’am.
She left to coordinate the next training rotation.
I stood alone in the yard—scorched earth, controlled fire, and proof that power could build instead of break.
LATER, I RETURNED TO THE royal dorm exhausted. Training always depleted me more than combat.
The common room was quiet but occupied. Keane sat at the table reviewing dimensional stability reports, Wisp flickering beside him. They were still recovering but functional, getting stronger daily.
Elio was on the couch with archive documents spread around him, Echo’s scales a contemplative blue. He was recording everything that had happened for future reference, making sure the lessons weren’t lost.
Marigold curled in the armchair with a book, Scout in her lap.
No one looked up when I entered, all comfortable with our coexistence.
I collapsed onto the couch beside Elio. He shifted automatically, making room without comment, one hand finding my shoulder briefly in a grounding touch.
Training? he asked.
Six recruits learning containment protocols.
How’d they do?
Better. Still defaulting to escalation when pressured, but they’re learning.
The conversation lapsed into comfortable quiet.
This was family now, not the family I’d been born into with cold discipline and impossible expectations, but the family I’d chosen.
Marigold set aside her book, crossing to settle on the couch arm beside me. Her hand found my shoulder. Scout hopped to my knee, his tiny skeletal form perfectly comfortable.
You’re good at this, she said quietly. Teaching and helping them become more than their magic.
It’s what my mother wanted, I said.
She’d be proud.
The words hit harder than expected.
My mother had died researching peace, murdered by the council she’d tried to reform. My father had learned the same lesson, but he’d survived to see it proven right.
Both of them had come to believe that cooperation was stronger than control.
And their son was teaching that lesson to the next generation, making sure my mother’s death meant something and my father’s transformation hadn’t been wasted.
I didn’t need control to feel safe anymore. Or to be the strongest to have value.
Ember settled more comfortably on my shoulder, his flames banking to warm glow. Through our bond, I felt his contentment and understanding that we’d found what we needed.
36
