Liozel stood at Diantha's side, his claws gently curled around the hem of her dress.

  "Can I play with Denji again?" he asked, blinking up with all the gravity a baby tyranno-lion kitten could muster.

  Diantha offered him a patient smile, though a flicker of surprise crossed her face. I too felt the same, not at the request, but perhaps at how easily affection bloomed around her lately. "He's still very small, Liozel. You must be gentle."

  "I can be," he promised, puffing out his chest in a show of honor. "I remember."

  "Do you, now?" she said, amused.

  "Yes," he insisted. "No roaring near him. No leaping over him. And no biting unless it's snack time."

  "That last one—"

  "That last rule is uniquely yours," I said, stepping in beside them before Diantha could correct him. "But I'm proud you're learning."

  He beamed at me as if I'd handed him a medal.

  Diantha shook her head, laughing. "Alright. But only if you sit with me. I'll hold him, and you can sit nearby."

  Liozel opened his mouth in a cheer, but quickly tamped it down into a controlled little chirp. "I'll be careful."

  I settled next to Liozel, before nuzzling his head with my own. "Seems GamaGen taught you well."

  He held up a paw, like a knight swearing fealty, and I smothered a grin. Then, Diantha shifted Denji into the crook of her left arm and leaned over, scooping Liozel into her other. Though nearly the size of a small child, he melted easily against her side, a content rumble heard vibrating in his throat.

  She glanced at me. "Would you sit with us? I think he'll need help keeping his paws in check."

  I nodded and followed her to the padded bench near the window, where Sapshorla's dried herbs hung, and the air still smelled faintly of clove and cedar bark. I sat on the edge, close but not crowding, and watched as Diantha settled in with a boy in each arm—Denji cradled against her chest, and Liozel curled into her side like a warm, wriggling scarf.

  "Need a hand?" I asked, offering to move the cushions strewn near the drying herbs.

  Diantha gave a grateful nod, and I quickly set up a resting spot for her to recline. When she did, she took her time arranging the boys.

  I crouched nearby, folding my knees under me, content to listen, but I didn't expect what came next.

  "Miss Diantha…" Liozel whispered, lifting his eyes. "Can you tell me more about my dad?"

  Diantha's body stilled, her gaze distant. For a heartbeat, she wasn't here in the clinic anymore. She was somewhere else. Somewhere old. Her gaze drifted toward the window like she could see back through time.

  "I didn't know him well," she said finally. "But I did meet him."

  Liozel straightened a little. "When?"

  "At the Tectonic Moot. I was much younger. Not yet Jalkra's wife. I was seated beside his father… Jalkra III. The despot."

  I blinked. There's a Jalkra Senior? Somehow, I wasn't surprised.

  Diantha caught my expression and smiled faintly. "He made my skin crawl in ways even Jalkra never could. But beside him… your father was different. He carried his power like a storm carries its silence."

  Liozel's tail flicked. "Was he really big?"

  "Bigger than anyone I'd seen," she said, warmth touching her voice. "He was the Rift Rex Duke. The lion-maned king of the beasts who could tear the sky open with his roar. His presence felt like gravity."

  I leaned in a little. "That's not a metaphor, is it?"

  "No," she said, eyes gleaming. "When he roared, he didn't just shake the ground. He fractured space. They say the Rift Rexes were born from collapsed stars, shaped by the same screams that formed the early realms."

  My skin prickled. I watched Liozel's eyes widen, awe probably blooming in his chest.

  "Did he say anything to you?" I asked, surprised at how much I wanted to know.

  Diantha nodded. "He said: 'The one who protects what cannot defend itself—that's the one who defines tomorrow.' I didn't understand it then."

  "Do you now?"

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  She glanced down at Denji and brushed her cheek against his soft crown. "I think I'm beginning to."

  Liozel nuzzled closer. "I wanna be like him."

  "You already are," I said. "You protect without being asked."

  "And you guide," Diantha added, looking at me now. "You didn't have to welcome us into your home, KiAera. You didn't have to make room in your life for a hundred misfit monsters, and you certainly didn't have to share this moment."

  "It's not about obligation,” I said. "It's about what I want this world to be. What I want them to grow up seeing."

  Diantha studied me for a long moment. Her eyes didn't hold judgment. Just depth.

  "His father," I asked, "where did he go?"

  "He disappeared," Diantha said as she flickered her gaze at Liozel. "Long after the Moot.. I've heard rumors. No roar. No death. Just gone."

  "Do you think he went back through the holes he made?" I asked quietly.

  "Maybe," she said. "Or maybe… he saw something coming. And chose to vanish before it arrived."

  My stomach turned. Was she talking about Dominus? Or something bigger?

  Liozel tapped my leg. "When I'm big… will you take me to see where the Rift Rexes lived again?"

  The words hit hard enough to take me aback. To Vulkhanzar. To where his grandmother, Idalia, still resided. But chained for some mysterious reason.

  "Yes," I said. "I'll take you. But first you'll need to grow several heads taller than Amber."

  Liozel gave a little squeaky gasp.

  "Even taller than Amber?" he asked, scandalized.

  I ruffled the fur between his ears. "At least. She's the current measuring stick for greatness around here."

  He hummed thoughtfully, then looked down at Denji with sudden gravity. "Then Denji'll have to grow even bigger. So we can go together."

  "A pair of kings in training," Diantha mused. "That'll be a sight.”

  I looked at her. Really looked to find there was no calculation in her voice. No courtly mask. Just a tired, kind woman with fire still tucked behind her bones.

  "We'll go together," Diantha added. "And show Denji what came before."

  A silence fell, gentle and full. The kind that said none of us wanted to break it. I caught myself watching the way Denji's hand curled instinctively toward Liozel's fur, like even in his infant haze, he already recognized a kindred presence.

  One with claws and fire and a future not written by someone else's hands.

  "What do you know about the Rift Rexes now?" I asked Diantha. "Not the legends. What's left of them?"

  Her expression tightened just slightly, as if I'd tugged at a memory she'd rather keep sealed. "Not much. They fractured long before I became part of Jalkra's circle. Scattered and divided. Some say they fell to infighting. Others say they were culled."

  My ears twitched. "By who?"

  "I don't know," she admitted. "Jalkra never spoke of them with respect. He only referred to them as 'failed titans.' Monsters too proud to kneel, too fractured to rise."

  She turned her eyes toward me again, searching. "But I wonder, KiAera… what if they were just ahead of their time? Too wild for a world that wasn't ready for freedom?"

  I swallowed hard. "Or maybe they were ready, and the world just got scared."

  Liozel shifted again, resting his tiny paw over Denji's back. "I really wanna meet one. Another like me."

  "You will," I promised. "But when you do, you'll need to remember what makes you different."

  His ears perked. "What's that?"

  "You're not just a monster born of strength," I began. "You're growing up in a place where strength means protecting others. Not dominating them. That's rare. That's yours."

  I felt Diantha's gaze on me again, measured and steady. She was quiet for a long breath before she spoke again.

  "You're building something dangerous," she said softly.

  I met her eyes. "Yeah. I know."

  "Dangerous to people like Jalkra. And to everything he thinks keeps order in this world."

  I tilted my head, curious. "Do you want me to stop?"

  "No," she said immediately. "I want you to keep going."

  That surprised me. Not the words, but the conviction behind them.

  "You're not what I expected," she added. "Neither was he, back then. Liozel's father. He didn't speak often at the Moot, but when he did, it was like hearing something world shattering wake up. He wasn't too loud, but monsters listened. Because even silence bent around him."

  I glanced at Liozel. "Sounds familiar."

  Diantha's smile was slow. "It does, doesn't it?"

  I let the quiet settle again.

  Through the open window, I could hear the distant chimes of Perl's voice singing another verse with GamaGen. The echo of laughter from the others outside. Life pulsed in this place like it wanted to keep going.

  But somewhere beyond that… I felt the pull of something darker. Watching. Waiting.

  "Diantha," I said, "why do you think he disappeared?"

  She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she held Denji closer, brushing a thumb against his cheek.

  "Maybe he saw that to protect his son, he couldn't be around. Not as a duke. Not as a target."

  "That's what you're doing now, isn't it?" I asked. "Laying low. Playing house."

  Diantha's lips twitched. "If this is house-play, it's the most dangerous game of pretend I've ever known."

  I gave a small, bitter laugh. "That's the thing, though. It's not pretend. We're making something real, and that's what makes it dangerous."

  ??? ??? // ??? ???

  I didn't make it ten steps from the clinic before I found Mina leaning against the shade of an UvoSath tree, arms crossed, face unreadable.

  "You good?" I asked, but carefully.

  She didn't answer right away.

  "You were with Ume," she finally said, voice low.

  I nodded.

  "And then Diantha."

  Another nod.

  Her jaw tensed. "You're slipping."

  That hit harder than I expected. "Excuse me?"

  "You're trying to keep the peace with people who'd slit our throats the moment they were told to. And now you're talking alone with them, making soft alliances under the table."

  My brows furrowed. "Mina—"

  She stepped forward. "You think this is politics, KiAera. Like if you just say the right thing, they'll stop being what they are."

  "They're people, Mina."

  "No. They're weapons. Conditioned, honed, and pointed at us by someone who knows how to break nations."

  I let the silence settle before answering. "I don't think peace is earned with words. But I think seeds can be planted. And maybe—"

  Mina interrupted, her voice lower now. "I'm not saying you're wrong. I'm saying don't let the warmth fool you. They might cry over babies, but they still burn villages."

  I looked away. "You don't trust them."

  "I don't trust anyone who smiles while planning war."

  Then her voice softened, only slightly. "But I do trust you. So don't make me regret that. I've lost too many homes already."

  I wanted to reassure her. But I didn't have easy words this time.

  Instead, I reached out, placing a hand on her forearm. "Then help me protect this one."

  Mina stared at me, her eyes flickering with something buried. I knew that hope, fear, and grief.

  She nodded. "Alright. But the second Biscuit tries to eat my boots, I'm kicking her into the woods."

  I smiled faintly. "Noted."

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