CHAPTER 83 — A LONG BREAK

THE FALLEN LIGHT

CHAPTER 83 — A LONG BREAK

Percy Grant waited for the strongest man in the world to fall asleep before sneaking out of the house.

That was the first mistake in his plan.

The second was deciding that his grandfather actually was asleep.

The third was believing himself exceptionally clever as he crept downstairs with his shoes in his hands. Holar sat in the darkened living room, watching his little grandson skip the third stair. Percy had learned that it creaked. Holar had learned that Percy had learned. Neither had mentioned it to the other.

Percy stopped at the front door. He reached for the handle, but his fingers did not close. For an instant, he saw something other than metal: a white streak piercing his palm, the thin sound it made before reaching his chest. He realized he was holding his breath and slowly let it out.

The door was still a door. His hand was still his hand.

He opened and closed his fingers once. Then he turned the handle.

Holar stayed where he was. He only glanced toward the trees outside. Beyond the garden wall, Galahad dipped his head. When Percy rounded the street corner, a shadow began following him from several rooftops away.

Eleanor's voice came from the kitchen. “Did you give him permission?”

“No.”

“You watched him leave.”

“He thinks he escaped.”

Eleanor went to the window. Out in the street, Percy was balancing on one foot to put on a shoe. He wobbled, caught himself against a wall, and checked whether anyone had seen. Satisfied that nobody had, he glared at the wall.

“Better,” Eleanor said.

Holar nodded. A few days earlier, Percy would not even have admitted he needed to lean on it.

The healers could find no damage in his body. His heartbeat was steady. His nerves, muscles, and bones had been restored. With Eleanor's help, he had reached Advanced Core Level Three. Yet he sometimes gripped a glass too tightly or stopped before completing a step. At night, he would touch his chest and wait for his heart to beat a second time.

Time had taken what happened out of his body. It had not taken it out of his memories.

The Flame of the Chaos Fire Dragon lay quiet within him. Percy's mind was not yet as quiet. That was why he rested: to learn to trust that his unbroken leg would carry him, even when the memory of falling told him otherwise.

That morning, he wanted to try without explaining it to anyone.

He also wanted to make up for Clara's birthday.

His own had passed too. At some point they had both noticed, looked at each other, and found something else to talk about. Percy was tired of talking about something else. Just because a day had gone badly did not mean they had to lose every good thing that belonged to it forever.

He took out his Shiri and sent William a message.

“We're having a birthday party for Clara. Secret. Don't tell her.”

William replied almost immediately.

“Date?”

Percy sent the date, the time, and the location: the garden. Then he added, “Everyone should come. Find somewhere to hide the presents.”

For a while, William did not reply.

“William?”

“I'm thinking.”

“It's a birthday. Not a war.”

“Not yet.”

Percy decided that was an unnecessary remark and turned onto the street where the shops were opening.

Clara left through the front door.

“Mom, I'm going shopping.”

“All right. Let me know when you're coming back.”

“Don't tell Percy.”

Eleanor's cup stopped short of her lips. “Why?”

Clara leaned closer and whispered. Eleanor listened to the entire explanation. The garden, the date, and the time were identical. Keeping her face straight required more effort than some of her recent battles.

“I see,” she said at last.

Clara smiled, pleased. “I'm a good child.”

“Why are you telling me that?”

“Percy probably sneaked out.”

Holar coughed in the living room.

Clara called William on her way out. When the conversation ended, he put his Shiri on the table, looked at Nathaniel eating breakfast opposite him, and divided a sheet of paper down the middle.

On the left, he wrote P. On the right, C.

Nathaniel swallowed. “Why are there two plans?”

“Because they both want to surprise the other.”

“Two cakes?”

William stared at him. “That is the least important thing I need to think about right now.”

Nathaniel dragged his chair around beside him. “Then you think about the important things. I'll take care of the two cakes.”

Percy found the Phoenix Necklace in the third shop.

There were more spectacular pieces in the display. Some glowed. Some spun slowly in place. Others trembled continuously, as though trying to justify their prices. The necklace did none of those things. It was a small bird with its wings half spread, a dark ember resting among its pale golden feathers.

When Percy stopped in front of it, the merchant stopped describing the other boxes.

“Thirty-five thousand AWE-Dollars.”

“What does it do?”

The man took a closer look at the little customer who had not retreated at the price. He laid the necklace on velvet and pointed out the fine seals along the inside of the chain.

“The protective layer works continuously. It reduces the effect of an Advanced Five attack by ten percent. Twelve percent at Four, fourteen at Three, sixteen at Two, and eighteen at One. Twenty percent at Core Twelve or below. The reduction doesn't keep increasing against weaker attacks. And above Advanced Five, you cannot rely on this protection.”

Percy picked up the bird. It was light. The protection was useful, but it was not what had stopped him at the window. He had read the second description on the label.

“The recall?”

The merchant's tone changed. “One use. The necklace binds to one person, and the Orin signature it will summon belongs to another. When the wearer is in mortal danger, the seal locates them and pulls the bound person to their side. It won't fight for them. It won't heal them. It only brings help.”

“Before it's too late.”

“If the seal works, it won't waste time waiting.” The man studied Percy's face. “But it won't ask whether help is ready, either.”

Percy waited.

“You could be wounded. You could be in another battle. It could be a trap. The necklace cannot judge any of that. And once its wearer accepts the bond, they cannot remove it. You can't present it as a gift and explain the conditions afterward.”

“I'll explain first.”

The man set a demonstration seal beside the box. “Then I'll put an explanation in the box for both of you to read.”

Percy kept the necklace in his hand. Thirty-five thousand was a great deal of money—more than a third of the ninety-nine thousand he had earned in the tournament. But the calculation in his head was not about money. A door, a road, a corner... Sometimes a person did not have to be very far from someone they loved to be unable to reach them.

“I'll take it.”

The merchant enclosed the instructions in the box. He matched Percy's Orin signature to the seal and showed him that the second bond would only complete when Clara accepted it. Once the emergency recall was used, the ember in the bird's chest would crack. That mechanism would never activate again. The necklace and its protective weave would remain.

Percy carefully put the box in his bag.

He spent even more in the next shop.

The Core crystals occupied two main shelves: Advanced and Awakened. The Good-grade crystals on the Advanced shelf were priced at four thousand AWE-Dollars. The Epic ones cost twenty-five thousand. The Awakened shelf was divided into Epic and Legendary. Percy only looked at that shelf. The merchant noticed him looking but did not offer a price. They reached a quiet understanding on the matter.

Percy stopped in front of a Good-grade crystal. “Five years?”

“Its normal working lifespan. Even if you advance, its internal structure functions for around five years. After that, it becomes useless.”

“It doesn't raise your level.”

The merchant smiled. “Don't give money to anyone who tells you it does.”

He pointed to two stone slabs behind the counter. The marks came from two mages at the same Core level, but one was much deeper than the other.

“Picture two Advanced Two users. Same technique, same target. One might break a quarter of a wall. Someone who has trained with a crystal up to their current capacity could reach forty or fifty percent. They haven't advanced. They are using the power they possess more densely, with less waste. Results vary.”

Percy turned a crystal between his fingers. Its interior was not a single solid mass. Tiny paths for energy ran through it in successive layers. “Only as much as the Core can accept.”

“Exactly. You can't exceed the capacity of your current level. When the assimilation reading reaches fifty percent, you've absorbed what you can at that stage. Throwing more money at it won't create another level.”

Percy nodded. Taking the same classes as wealthy children did not mean training with the same resources. Even so, a crystal did not eliminate the work. Mishandled denser power would simply make for a more expensive mistake.

“Two Epic crystals.”

The merchant wiped the counter again. “Two?”

“One for me. One for Clara.”

Another fifty thousand AWE-Dollars.

Percy checked his balance on his Shiri. Out of ninety-nine thousand, he had spent thirty-five on the necklace and fifty on the two crystals. Eighty-five thousand gone. Fourteen thousand left.

As he closed his bag, he felt he had made a very grown-up decision. Then he caught his reflection in a barber's window, and the feeling vanished.

His hair looked like a small monster's nest.

Once the barber fastened the cape around his neck, Percy watched the scissors. His shoulders tightened at the first snip. The man stopped.

“Did that hurt?”

Percy looked at his own face in the mirror. “No.” He waited a moment. Then added, “Just a second.”

The barber waited. Percy took a breath, felt his feet against the floor, and nodded. The scissors began moving again. With each falling lock, the face in the mirror seemed a little more familiar.

“How much would you like off?”

“Enough for Clara to notice.”

The man tried not to smile. “That's a rather imprecise measurement.”

Percy considered it. “But not so short she can't pull it.”

This time, the barber laughed.

The first thing Clara bought was a small, dark bracelet.

The item called Life's Echo had no great gemstone. A fine silver line ran through its black weave, visible only up close. Beside it lay a paired piece about the size of a thumbnail. The bracelet transmitted its wearer's heartbeat to that little stone. Enough to know that a distant heart was beating. It read no thoughts and revealed no location.

The merchant was explaining how the signal would change in critical danger when Clara interrupted.

“What if it stops?”

The woman slowly set down the stone. “Then this stops too.”

Clara nodded. She disliked the answer, but she needed to know it. She did not want an object that promised life, pretending to do something it could not. She only wanted never again to stand outside a door, trying to guess whether anyone would come out.

She paid thirty-five thousand.

She spent much longer in the second shop. There were colors, fabrics, measurements, and messages to Eleanor to consider. She sent Holar a drawing too. He did not reply for some time.

Then a single word arrived: “Pink?”

Clara: “Yes.”

Holar: “Does Percy know?”

Clara: “Surprise.”

That must have satisfied him. He offered no further objections.

She paid twenty thousand AWE-Dollars for the large bed, which could extend as they grew. Its wooden frame was pale. Its cover, pillows, and upholstered headboard were pink. Of her hundred-thousand tournament prize, she had now spent fifty-five thousand. Forty-five thousand remained. Eleanor and Holar would handle the walls and joining the houses.

Once she finished the purchase, Clara messaged William again.

“My present is big. Can you hide it?”

“How big?”

Clara sent the measurements.

William read the message twice. Then he crossed out the entire right-hand side of his plan.

Nathaniel leaned over. “Is it a cake?”

“No.”

“If it were a cake that size, I could hide it.”

William put his head in his hands.

Preparations took several days. Percy tried hiding Clara's present in his room, then abandoned the idea because she spent half her time there. Clara left her little box with Charlotte because Percy looked absolutely everywhere. William's lists multiplied. Marcus moved decorations in through one door and out through another, depending on which of their owners must not see them.

Arthur listened to instructions from both sides and finally brought his fist down on the table. “I'm not lying to anyone.”

A few minutes later, when Clara asked, “Is Percy planning something?” his face went rigid.

“Arthur?”

“I'm... going to see my father.”

And he went.

Richard found his son standing in the doorway of his study. Arthur watched him for a moment. Then he asked, “If two people are planning a surprise at the same time, which one are you betraying?”

Richard put down his pen. “Why are you asking me?”

“You're an adult.”

For the first time, Richard found the powers granted by that title inadequate.

On the evening of the party, Percy and Clara were each trying to lead the other into the garden. Both noticed how unusually cooperative the other was being. Both credited the flawless execution of their own plan.

Everyone was already in position. The fence between the two houses had been removed, and long tables stood around the tree. Little colored lights hung from the branches. The breeze carried the smell of food toward the open doors. Students, families, teachers... Percy saw his class first. Then Richard, Rowena, Olsen, and Wycliffe. A little farther back, Nathaniel was arranging the dishes his mother had brought.

Holar and Eleanor stood on opposite sides of the garden entrance. Galahad remembered to hide his two little packages behind his back at the last possible moment.

“Surprise!” Percy shouted.

“Happy birthday!” Clara shouted.

They turned to each other.

Behind them, fourteen children stood with their mouths open, unable to decide whose name they were supposed to say.

Nathaniel's head appeared between the two cakes. “To both of you. Can we cut them now?”

Clara looked at the cakes, then at Percy. The small bag in his hand. The surprise in her eyes. Arthur's strange behavior over the last few days... Everything clicked into place.

“You too?”

Percy laughed. “You too.”

William held up his two lists. “Next time you decide to surprise each other, speak to each other instead of me.”

“Then it won't be a surprise,” they said together.

William folded the lists and put them in his pocket. “You're right. I resign.”

Marcus passed beside him. “They give you more jobs when you do that.”

Percy wanted to object. Clara took his arm, and he decided against it.

Nathaniel insisted they open his present first. This was not impatience. There was simply no room left on his side of the table. When he lifted the lid of the large container, the scent of warm dough and spices drifted out. The smaller box beside it held sweets Clara liked.

“My mother made them,” he said. “I helped.”

His mother looked over from the back. Nathaniel corrected himself. “I carried them.”

“Four went missing on the way.”

“Quality control.”

Percy took a bun, broke it in half, and offered one piece to Clara. When Nathaniel glanced at his mother, she was smiling. His gift could not come close to the price of any of the other boxes. But when Percy reached for a second piece, he asked her for the recipe, and Nathaniel suddenly stopped thinking about prices.

Arthur's box contained two pairs of training gloves. Percy's were black; Clara's were pale, with reinforced palms and adjustable wrists. Arthur had commissioned them from the craftsman who made his own training gear.

“You can practice without tearing your hands apart.”

Percy slipped one on. “Don't you want to beat me?”

“I want to beat you. Not your bandages.”

Clara held up her gloves. “You'll have to beat mine too.”

Arthur's mouth curved. “One at a time.”

William brought two notebooks. When Percy opened his, the first page contained a list of his mistakes. He turned to the next page, where the list continued. Then the next.

“Is this a present or an indictment?”

“The first section contains my observations. You'll fill in the rest.”

“How much did you leave blank?”

“Enough to demonstrate my faith in you.”

Clara's notebook contained layouts for light techniques, with spaces to record the date of each attempt and the amount of Orin spent. She checked the back cover. A little sentence waited there: Repeating a result is not the same as understanding how it happened. She closed the notebook and thanked William. He had given her somewhere to work through what Holar had told her a few days earlier.

Charlotte's presents were two emergency kits that could attach to a belt. She opened them one by one: bandages, splints, clean cloths, and cards in her own handwriting explaining where everything went. Percy reached toward a little pouch. Charlotte lightly slapped his hand.

“Learn the order before you start rearranging things.”

“I was curious.”

“I packed it because I'd like you to stay alive. Not so you could taste everything.”

Nathaniel looked up. “Who would taste it?”

Charlotte looked at him. Nathaniel moved half a step away, taking his plate with him.

Marcus gave them two small field markers. Once placed, they could be found by someone familiar with their Orin. “One for the way back. One for a meeting point,” he explained. When Percy started examining the mechanism, he added, “Use them to hide from each other and I'll take them back.”

“Because you couldn't find me?” Clara asked.

“No. Because then I have to find both of you.”

The other boxes were smaller, but nobody set them aside. They tested Daniel's training ropes together, trying the knots that could be released quickly. They turned over Theodore's two little hourglasses and launched an unnecessary argument over which would empty first. Percy took the red pen from Elias's writing set. When Clara suggested using it to correct his work, he switched to black.

William reached for Lucas's wooden geometry puzzle the moment it came out of the box. Lucas covered it with his hand. “It's not for you.” Noah had brought two pocket compasses. Adrian Cole had brought a book about the sky, with broad margins for their own notes. When Professor Adrian Wycliffe reached for it, the other Adrian said, “That one's not for you either, sir.” Wycliffe withdrew his hand.

Sophia's package contained hair ties and a little mirror. Percy could not find which part belonged to him until she pointed out the P on the back of the mirror. “So you can look at yourself before leaving the house.” Amelia had embroidered two bookmarks, a pale one for Clara and a dark one for Percy. He immediately slipped his into William's notebook. Ethan's present was two thick towels.

Percy asked, “Why towels?”

“In case you decide to jump into water for no reason again.”

Ethan was smiling. Percy understood and touched his shoulder. They were refusing to let that camp belong entirely to its painful memories.

Richard had brought two sturdy travel bags. As he described the adjustable straps and the compartments inside, he watched Arthur arrange the new gloves on the table. Once, his son would have wanted to give the biggest gift. Now he was checking whether there was a gap around Percy's wrist.

Richard broke off and smiled. When Percy asked why, he said, “The size is right.”

Rowena's box was heavy. Inside were stone and metal samples, along with a simple experimental apparatus the two children could study together. Percy's eyes lit up when he opened it.

“Your grandfather tells me you ask questions,” Rowena said.

Holar turned his head. “I understated the matter.”

Percy leaned toward the table. “During the battle with the first King Monster, did you compress the earth in the third layer, or after you opened the conducting channels?”

Rowena studied him for a moment. Then she pulled out a chair and sat down.

“I was going to wish you both a happy birthday first.”

Percy's face fell a little.

“But if you've been taught the answer incorrectly, I'd better fix that.”

Wycliffe looked up from farther down the table. “I taught him.”

“Then let's hear from you too, Adrian.”

Clara picked up a piece from the box. “The exam has started, Professor.”

Percy made no attempt to hide his laughter. Wycliffe held out his own package. “Take this before I change my mind.”

Inside were an old but well-kept fountain pen and two library permits giving access to upper-year resources. The permits did not override borrowing rules. They expanded the books the children could consult. Percy touched the worn surface of the pen.

“I signed my first teaching application with that,” Wycliffe said. “You don't need a faster pen to get your thoughts onto paper anymore. Sometimes you need to slow down and reread what you've written.”

“Weren't you going to sign your retirement application with it too?”

“If that day ever comes, I'll ask for it back.”

Percy put the pen in his pocket. “It might get lost.”

Wycliffe gave him a threatening look. But when he saw Percy take the pen out again and carefully settle it into its box with both hands, he said nothing.

Olsen's Ashstep Boots tightened to fit Percy's feet. The soles offered roughly a five-percent improvement in movement, and the ankle supports reduced the risk of twisting a foot during sudden changes of direction. They resisted fire. The moment Olsen saw Percy's expression, she raised a finger.

“Normal fire. If you're thinking of testing them against your new flame, call me first.”

“I wasn't thinking that.”

“You are now.”

Percy did not answer.

For Clara, Olsen had brought a sheath fitted to her new wand. The thirteen-point-four-centimeter wand did not disappear inside it; a small movement of her wrist brought it neatly into her palm. Clara tested it three times. On the fourth, Percy stepped back.

“Could you try that without looking at me?”

“Safety inspection.”

“Professor Olsen, look, she's already—”

Olsen adjusted Clara's grip. “Loosen your wrist a little.”

Percy turned to his grandfather. “Nobody is helping.”

“It's your birthday,” Holar said. “Get used to it.”

Cliff had come too. He waited quietly at the edge of the crowd until his turn, then set down a carrying case he had prepared for Blaze. Clara received a small, sturdy maintenance kit. As Percy tried to settle Blaze into its case, the wand shifted in his hand.

“We're not fighting,” Percy told it. “It's a present.”

One corner of Cliff's mouth lifted. “Sometimes even good things take a little persuading.”

Galahad did not ask Percy to open his present in the middle of the crowd.

He called him to the back of the garden. The sounds of the table still reached them: dishes, conversation, Arthur and Lucas arguing over how to put the solved puzzle back together. Galahad did not turn his back on any of it. One ear remained turned toward the others.

This chapter (and the rest of the story) is published on NovelPhoenix; the copy you're reading was made without permission.

Percy opened the box to find a folded, dark shoulder cloak. The cloth was not new. One edge had been repaired in a paler thread, and a small patch remained inside the seam.

“I wore it on my first hunt,” Galahad said. “I had it shortened for you. There's enough folded in to let it out as you grow.”

Percy took the cloth in his hands. It lacked the stiffness of something newly bought. Use had softened it. It had been folded many times.

“What will you wear?”

“I have other cloaks.”

“But not another one of these.”

A faint smile appeared on Galahad's face. “No.”

Percy looked at him. “Is that why you're giving it to me?”

Before answering, Galahad glanced toward the garden. Percy found the answer there. His brother had been watching him everywhere these past few days. When he spoke, when he laughed, when he got up for a glass of water. As though Percy might disappear again if Galahad looked away for a moment.

“Big brother.”

“Hm?”

“Were you angry with me that day?”

Galahad turned immediately. “No.”

“Because I wanted to leave?”

“No, Percy.”

“Then why are you angry with yourself?”

Galahad's jaw tightened. Percy laid the cloak across his knees and waited. This time, he did not ask another question.

“Because I was there,” Galahad said at last. “I wasn't somewhere else. I wasn't back in the city. I was right there, and I still...”

The sentence broke. He pressed a finger against the edge of the box. The thin wood creaked. He pulled his hand away at once.

“When I carried you, I thought stopping would mean I wouldn't make it. So I ran. I ran faster. Then the healers arrived, and I still felt as though I needed to keep running.”

Percy lowered his head and looked at the old patch in the cloak.

“I know.”

“You know what?”

“They told me. About your legs.”

Galahad made a dismissive gesture. Percy caught his hand.

“I wanted to go home. You were taking me.”

“I didn't get you there.”

“You did.”

Galahad shook his head. “Not like that.”

Percy's voice grew small. “I didn't want it to happen like that either.”

For a while, neither spoke. Clara's laughter drifted across the garden. Galahad closed his eyes at the sound. For the first time, Percy saw clearly how afraid his brother was of losing that too.

“I can't tell you everything's fixed,” he said. “Sometimes I wait to see whether my hand will move. It does. But I still wait. When you ask if I'm all right, I say yes because I am all right just then. Then...” He shrugged. “Then it's another moment.”

Galahad finally turned fully toward him.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I'm telling you now.”

Tears slipped down Galahad's face. His hand reached for the back of Percy's neck, then stopped there, as though he were holding himself in check.

Percy moved a little closer. “You don't have to reach me in time every single time. But when I have something like this to tell you, don't be gone.”

“I won't.”

“Don't go away to hate yourself either.”

This time, Galahad bent down and gathered him into his arms without a word. Percy did not complain about breathing. One small hand rested against his brother's back. The other held the cloak so it would not fall.

When Galahad finally drew away, he turned his face aside. “I was supposed to give you a present.”

“You did.”

“I'd prepared the conversation too.”

Percy considered this. “We can start again if you want. I'll keep quiet this time.”

“Don't lie.”

They both laughed. Galahad placed the cloak around Percy's shoulders and fastened it. For a moment, he left his hands there.

“Show me when you get back from your first real hunt. Wherever it's torn, we'll mend it together.”

“I can't sew.”

“I'll teach you.”

Percy straightened the edge. “Okay.”

Galahad also handed him the light travel wrap he had prepared for Clara. He had wanted both of them to have something to put around their shoulders on the way home. As Percy took it, he noticed one last slip of paper in the box.

Bring it home.

He did not ask whether the words referred to the cloak.

Holar's present was a large frame. Inside were old pictures: little Percy clutching Holar's beard, Clara sitting at their table for the first time, a crooked arrangement of apple slices on a plate, a child asleep beside Galahad at the lake. The last picture was recent. They were together in the garden. Eleanor was saying something to Holar as the picture was taken. Clara held Percy's arm. Percy was smiling as though about to say something he probably should not.

“You can hang it on the wall,” Holar said.

Percy touched the pictures. Once, he could have described his entire family with one person. Now the pictures had to be made smaller to fit everyone into the frame.

Eleanor took out two keys. “First, come and see which wall.”

They did not invite everyone inside, but the students did not interpret that as a ban. They gathered at the stairs. When Nathaniel announced, “I'm only coming as far as the door,” Arthur replied, “If everyone comes as far as the door, half of us will be in the room anyway.”

Percy opened it.

Part of the hallway he used to cross to reach Clara's room was now inside the room itself. The two houses had been joined, and a passage opened between them. A broad, pale worktable stood where the dividing wall used to be. One set of windows caught the morning light; the other caught the evening. The balcony had been extended. Below it, a small practice space had been marked out.

On the left stood Percy's books, his dark wooden desk, and his black-and-gold belongings. On the right were Clara's pale shelves, her boxes of hair ties, and her little desk. There was a place for Blaze and a stand for Clara's wand. The open space in the middle was large enough for both of them to sit and work on the floor, move the table for a game, or get in each other's way at the same time.

Percy had not yet considered that last possibility.

He had seen the bed.

“No.”

Clara smiled. “My present.”

“No.”

“We're always in each other's rooms anyway. Let's share a bed.”

Percy pinched the bedspread between two fingers. Let go. Looked at a pillow. It was pink too.

“I'm never sleeping in that.”

Clara folded her arms. “You can sleep on the floor.”

“You took my room.”

“I made it bigger.”

“You made it pink.”

“I made it prettier.”

Marcus's voice came from the doorway. “Your defensive position is shrinking.”

Percy turned to him. “You're the scout. Help.”

“I am. I'm reporting the situation.”

“Diplomatic crisis during the acceptance of a gift,” William murmured. Charlotte nudged him, but she was laughing.

Percy looked around for one last escape. When he spotted two bathroom doors, he raised a finger. “Then why are there two bathrooms?”

Clara answered without hesitation. “We're still seven, Percy.”

Eleanor's laughter broke the second of silence. Percy's ears went scarlet.

“I MEANT BECAUSE THERE USED TO BE TWO ROOMS!”

“Yes,” Holar said. “They were left over from the two rooms.”

It was unclear whether he intended to help. Clara sat on the edge of the bed and patted the space beside her. Percy remained standing. Then he looked at the frame, his books, and the broad space between their two desks. Clara used to come to him every night. Now she would not need to leave through a door to do it.

“One black pillow,” he said.

Clara tried not to look triumphant. “Two.”

Percy grew suspicious. “That easy?”

Clara produced two black pillows from behind the bed.

Arthur lowered his head in the doorway. “You lost this match before it started.”

Back in the garden, Percy retrieved his bag. He put the crystal in front of Clara first. William stopped talking when he saw the Epic piece inside its box.

“Did you get one for yourself too?” Clara asked.

Percy showed her the second box. “We can train together.”

“Two at twenty-five thousand each.” William had calculated without meaning to.

Clara's eyes turned to Percy. He asked, “Could you have waited until after the next present to do the arithmetic?” William raised his hands and backed away, though he did not sit down.

When the Phoenix Necklace came out, Clara simply looked at it for a while. Then she reached to touch it. Percy did not pull the box away. But before her fingers reached the chain, he said, “I need to explain something first.”

He told her everything. How much it would reduce an attack's effect. The limits. The single-use recall. His Orin signature was already registered, but the seal would not complete until she accepted. If danger came, it would pull him to her. She would not be able to remove it.

Clara watched the bird throughout. Finally, she asked, “Even if you don't want to come?”

“Yes.”

“Even if you're hurt?”

Percy paused. “Even then.”

Holar joined them. Without picking up the necklace, he inspected the seals along its chain.

“That's a double-edged blade, Percy.”

“I know, Grandpa.”

“It brings help to her. But it could also give someone a way to bring you to them.”

Percy nodded. “I'd go even without the necklace.”

Holar had expected that answer. Still, he turned to Clara. He did not make the decision for her.

She held the chain between her hands. “Then I won't wear it and start taking more risks,” she said. “Getting hurt could bring you somewhere too, now. I understand.”

Percy's expression grew serious. “You don't have to put it on.”

“I know.” Clara settled the bird in her palm. “I accept.”

There was no grand display of light when the seal completed. The clasp quietly closed. Where the metal touched her skin, it warmed for a moment and settled. The bird rested against her chest. Clara straightened the edge of a wing with one finger. She did not pull on it to test whether it could come off.

She hugged Percy. “Thank you.”

Before he could answer, she drew back and put a box in front of him. “My turn. You have to accept this one too.”

She fastened Life's Echo around his wrist herself and held the paired stone in her palm. At the first pulse, she lowered her head. She waited for the second. The third came.

That was when Percy understood what the stone did.

“Clara...”

“It doesn't tell me where you are,” she said. “Or what you're thinking. I don't want to watch you all day.” She looked up. “Sometimes I just want to know if it's beating.”

Percy looked down at the bracelet. Then he nodded and placed his hand beneath hers. Neither said anything for a while. As Clara felt the little rhythm in her palm, Eleanor turned away.

“Thirty-five thousand,” Clara said at last, gathering her voice. “Fifty-five with the bed. I have forty-five left.”

Percy looked at her. “I spent eighty-five on the necklace and crystals.”

Clara raised an eyebrow. “I won the room too.”

A short laugh escaped Holar. Percy glanced at his grandfather and abandoned his reply.

“You got your hair cut too,” Clara said.

Percy's face brightened. “You noticed?”

“When we came into the garden.”

“Why didn't you say anything?”

She brushed her fingers against the short lock still falling over his forehead. “I wondered how long I'd have to wait for you to mention it.”

Percy narrowed his eyes. “Cheater.”

Clara smiled. “Get used to it.”

Percy was about to leave the table when Charlotte brought over the second package.

“We have one more present.”

“From who?”

“All fifteen of us.”

Arthur led Percy into the middle of the garden. This time, he did not thump his shoulder or make a joke. William looked at the class; the lists he had used throughout the planning were in his pocket. Nathaniel set his plate on the table. Marcus signaled to the last two classmates still talking.

Clara squeezed Percy's hand, then joined the others.

Percy's smile slowly faded. “What are you doing?”

Charlotte opened the package. Inside lay a black-and-gold cloak clasp. From a distance it seemed a single piece. Up close, the metal carried different marks: scratches from the edge of a practice guard, old grooves from training equipment. Each of them had contributed a small piece from something they had used. The craftsman had fitted the surfaces together without erasing their histories entirely.

Fifteen names were engraved on the back.

“When you competed to become class president, you won,” Charlotte said. “We didn't all choose you because we liked you. Some of us didn't like you at all.”

Arthur pressed his lips together. Percy glanced at him. Arthur held his gaze.

“At camp, you said you had chosen us,” Charlotte continued. “And that you'd spend a lifetime trying to make us accept you.”

Percy's expression changed. He remembered saying that. He had smiled when he said it. That had not made it any less true.

William took over. “When you stepped down, your presidency ended. What you gave us didn't. So we didn't want a name the academy could give you.”

Charlotte lifted the clasp. “When we couldn't see a way forward, you made one for us. This time, we're choosing you ourselves.”

Arthur lowered himself onto one knee.

Percy reached toward him, but William knelt too. Charlotte, Marcus, Nathaniel. A small stone caught beneath Daniel's knee; he quietly pushed it aside and straightened again. Behind them, Theodore, Elias, Lucas, Sophia, Noah, Adrian, Ethan, and Amelia did the same.

Clara knelt last. She looked at Percy with the resolve of someone taking responsibility for her own promise. There was no submission in her face.

Fifteen of them.

“Our Pathmaker,” Charlotte said.

Then they spoke together. Their voices were not equally loud. Some came in a word too early. Someone paused for breath and fell behind. None of them looked at a sheet of paper.

“In life and in death, we promise to stand beside you. To raise you when you fall, and share what you cannot carry alone. When your road grows dark, we will not leave you there. Today, we choose you, Percy Grant. Not only until school ends. For as long as we live, we want you to be our Pathmaker.”

For a long time, Percy could not answer.

He saw the children kneeling before him and, at the same time, the children who had not wanted to run one more lap at camp. Nathaniel's bleeding arm. The notebooks William had filled over and over. Charlotte refusing to close her book. The day Arthur offered him a hand. The nights Clara refused to let his go.

When Charlotte held out the clasp, he took it. Then he walked into the space among his friends and knelt too.

Nathaniel whispered, “This was the part where you stood up.”

“You didn't send me the schedule.”

One corner of William's mouth twitched. Percy attached the clasp to his cloak and rested his hand over it. His fingers trembled a little.

“Then I'll swear too,” he said. “If I start thinking I know everything and stop listening, I'll let you stop me.”

Arthur looked up. “I'm going to remember that part especially.”

“You can remember it a little less.”

A small ripple of laughter passed among them. Percy drew a deep breath.

“I can't promise we'll always win. Sometimes I'll make the wrong choice. Sometimes I'll need your help. When I do, I'll try not to hide it.” He glanced briefly at Galahad. “If one of you falls and I can reach you, I'll lift you up. If I can't, I'll ask the others. We'll do it together.”

Clara's eyes were wet. Percy did not look away.

“I'll try to be strong for you. But I won't only stand beside you on the days when I am strong. When I'm scared, when I'm tired... I'll still be your friend. In life and in death. And I won't pull away from you just because I can't reach everything on my own.”

He thought for a moment.

“I might make training a little easier.”

Fifteen heads rose at once.

“I said a little.”

“That was the clearest part of the oath,” Nathaniel said.

Percy laughed. Then he lifted his face toward the first stars. He expected no voice. No answer came. Here, in the middle of his own small world, he wanted to remember what he was saying.

“If there's no road left ahead of us, I'll make one,” he said. “But we'll walk it together. I promise.”

Clara held out her hand. Percy took it. Arthur took his other hand, and then they were all helping one another to their feet. Nathaniel rubbed his knee, but this time he did not complain.

Eleanor looked down at her hands resting on the table's edge. She drew a breath, not yet to speak, but to find out whether her voice would work.

“The future has begun.”

Holar kept his eyes on the children. Percy's new clasp was too large for his shoulder. One day it would fit.

“I suppose they won't be children anymore.”

Richard watched his son. Perhaps it was not the first time Arthur had knelt before someone. But it was the first time he had done it without any obligation, keeping his head high. Richard set down his glass. “He made his own choice,” he said quietly.

Rowena nodded. “A promise made like that changes the person who makes it.”

Olsen's gaze moved from the clasp on Percy's shoulder to Charlotte. Instead of reaching for a handkerchief, the girl was holding her friends' hands. Wycliffe counted his students' names in his head, the way he took attendance in class. No one was missing. For that moment, it was enough.

Galahad stepped forward. His voice was clear enough for everyone to hear.

“The First Spark of Hope begins.”

Percy turned toward him. Galahad smiled. This time, he was not trying to hide all the fear behind his eyes. But he was smiling.

Percy took his own Epic crystal from his pocket. He slowed his breathing and sent Orin into its outer veins. Six thin pieces, each a little wider than a coin, separated along the lines he carefully chose and settled into his palm.

Olsen's gaze sharpened. Once he secured the rest of the crystal, Percy nodded to reassure her. He was taking his time. Holding the pieces in the air, he shaped what he had seen: the tree, the lights, their families standing behind them. His fifteen friends kneeling in the middle, with him kneeling among them.

It was a still picture. It was not perfect. Nathaniel's face came out too wide on the first attempt. When he objected, Percy fixed it. William touched his nose when he saw his glasses sitting crooked in the image. They were crooked in real life too.

All six pieces held the same sixteen children.

Percy kept one for himself. He gave the others to Clara, Arthur, William, Charlotte, and Marcus—the five people he had wanted beside him when he founded the First Spark of Hope. Then he raised his Shiri and sent the picture inside the crystal to the class group chat.

“Nobody gets to ask whether they're included again,” he said.

Nathaniel found himself in the picture. “Do I really smile like that?”

“Worse,” Arthur said.

“I took artistic liberties,” Percy said.

Charlotte held her crystal in both hands. The faces inside did not fade when the light changed. This time they would not have to rely on remembering later. They could keep how small they had been, and how serious they had looked.

Clara lifted her piece beside her necklace. “Don't lose yours.”

Percy laughed. “Why would I lose it?”

“Sometimes you forget you're not alone.”

He did not answer. He slipped his crystal into the inner pocket of his cloak, over his heart.

Then he looked at his fifteen friends. “Now, cake.”

Nathaniel's face lit up. “A path has truly been made.”

The morning after the birthday party, Percy woke up in the pink bed.

Clara opened one eye and looked at him. Without offering an explanation, he turned over his black pillow.

“Don't say anything.”

“I didn't.”

“You thought it.”

She smiled and closed her eyes again. Percy watched the ceiling for a while. He realized he had taken two breaths without reaching for his chest. Then he saw the little stone resting in Clara's palm.

Some things would take time for her to let go of too.

Over the following weeks, the birthday boxes found places on the shelves. Wrapping paper was cleared away. Flowers were replaced. The garden became a training ground again. None of the presents stayed as clean as they had been that evening. Arthur's gloves gathered scratches. Percy added objections in his own handwriting to William's notebook. Of Nathaniel's food, only the container remained. When it was returned, it came back full.

Percy and Clara did not begin using their crystals at full tilt. Under Holar's supervision, they tried small tests first. When old habits made them send the denser Orin through too quickly, they learned where the flow tightened. Instead of enlarging his flame, Percy kept it steady within a narrow space. Clara paid attention to the light leaking from her shoulder as she summoned the angelic silhouette.

One day, she dismissed the form and found she was less tired than expected. Her wand helped her feel the direction; the crystal helped her Core deliver power there more cleanly. Her defense remained the same defense. The percentage added to her attacks had not changed. But she could sustain the form longer and notice energy spilling away during a turn sooner.

“You used less,” Percy said.

Clara recorded the result. “I'll try again.”

“After you rest.”

She looked at him. He looked back. They both started laughing. It was a strange sentence to hear coming out of his mouth.

Their classmates were working too. The programs Percy had left them were no longer pristine sheets of paper. A corner had torn off Charlotte's. Erased numbers still marked Arthur's. William had transferred his old measurements into a separate notebook. Marcus had kept some notes in his head, received a scolding from Percy, and written them down afterward.

They had known Resonance Harmonization for months. What they were learning now was that the method did not feel the same every day. It was difficult to listen to a Core's rhythm while exhausted. When they rushed, they drew in too much external Orin and spent all their attention trying to release it again.

Arthur reached the threshold first.

He sat before Richard, Wycliffe, and Percy in an academy practice room. Clara waited by the wall; the others watched from a distance. When Arthur brought external Orin close, his shoulders hardened. He looked as though he were closing a shield against an invisible attack.

“You're blocking it again,” Percy said.

“I want it to come in.”

“But you're shutting every door until you know what it is.”

Arthur clenched his teeth. Percy did not launch into a lecture. He picked up a small stone and, rather than striking Arthur's shield, set it on the table just beyond its edge. Arthur opened his eyes and watched.

Richard spoke quietly. “Defense doesn't mean keeping everything out.”

Arthur closed his eyes again. He released most of the energy he had drawn. He compared the tiny portion that remained against his own rhythm. He waited without breaking it or forcing his own Orin into the foreign rhythm. Slowly, the stiffness at his Core's boundary eased.

A low sound came from the practice-room floor. Fine grains of sand gathered beneath his palms. They did not shoot into the air. They held together, forming a small, crooked wall.

[ADVANCED CORE: LEVEL 1]

[ELEMENT: EARTH]

The wall crumbled when Arthur opened his eyes. He tried again. This time, instead of stacking the same shield twenty times, he considered where the force would go. Its lower edge settled against the ground. When Percy sent a small Orin strike at it, the pressure spread toward the edges rather than building in the center until it burst.

Arthur grinned immediately. “Again.”

“Let's not demolish the wall on the first day,” Wycliffe said.

Arthur looked at his father. Richard nodded. That day, he did not tell his son to hit harder.

William reached his own threshold two days later.

His breakthrough was quiet. Moisture clouded the outside of the glass on the table. Then a fine line of frost appeared. William checked at once. The water had not frozen solid. Movement had slowed only along the edge he selected.

But he had stopped four times before reaching that point. After every error he added a correction, until too many corrections caused him to lose his Core's natural rhythm. Percy did not close his notebook. William did not need to stop thinking. He needed to decide which thought to use, and when.

“Go back to your third measurement,” Percy said. “Why did you add the adjustments after that?”

“To compensate for the delay.”

“A delay that hadn't happened yet.”

William studied the page. Then he crossed out two of his own lines. This time, he waited for a response before changing the resonance. He did not deny his low affinity. Instead of speeding up the flow, he divided it into smaller portions.

When the boundary opened, he kept his eyes closed. He followed one full circuit of the new flow. Then a second.

[ADVANCED CORE: LEVEL 1]

[ELEMENT: ICE]

William placed three little pieces of ice on the table. Percy looked at the distances between them rather than their size. William was already thinking about closing off an area, slowing one person while leaving another a route through.

Nathaniel leaned forward in his chair. “Can you cool down food?”

For once, William did not answer immediately. He slid one of the pieces toward Nathaniel's glass.

“Only yours.”

When Charlotte's turn came, an anatomy textbook lay open on the worktable.

She wanted to advance and leave no gaps in her knowledge at the same time. While she listened to her Core, injuries, blood vessels, and treatment sequences crowded together in her mind. When she remembered the stillness in Percy's chest, her breathing shortened. The energy before her scattered.

Charlotte almost struck the table. Instead, she held her head in her hands.

“The same place again.”

Clara sat down beside her. “You didn't run away this time.”

Charlotte looked at her. Clara held her new wand, but she was not using it. She was simply there.

Olsen placed a small, living twig on the table. One leaf had been crushed. “Look at the parts that are working.”

Charlotte saw the damage first. Then she waited. She noticed the fine flow inside the stem, the unbroken veins, the leaf still holding itself upright. In trying to fix everything at once, she had been forcing even the functioning parts into the order she wanted.

She was doing the same thing with her Core.

After a while, pale green light appeared between her fingers. The unbroken side of the twig straightened a little. The crushed leaf did not become perfect. Charlotte saw that and stopped. Knowing how much she could help mattered more than pretending the rest did not exist.

[ADVANCED CORE: LEVEL 1]

[ELEMENT: NATURE]

Charlotte did not cry. First she examined her hands. Then she carefully placed the twig in water.

When she saw Percy smiling, she raised a finger. “Hurt yourself so I can test this, and I'm not speaking to you.”

Percy opened his mouth. Clara cut in. “Neither am I.”

“I HAVEN'T SAID ANYTHING!”

“We know you,” William said.

Marcus advanced last.

While everyone else looked inward, he listened to footsteps beyond the door. If a friend's breathing quickened, his attention went there. If a shadow moved outside the window, his thoughts scattered. His scout's instincts would not let him leave his post, even while training.

Percy sat beside the door. Clara moved to the window. Arthur pulled his chair around in front of Marcus.

“We're keeping watch today,” Arthur said.

Marcus started to speak. William showed him his watch. “Ten minutes. You can leave that much to us.”

Marcus closed his eyes. On the first attempt, he reached outward again. On the second too. During the third, he heard footsteps, felt Arthur rise, and stayed where he was.

His shadow deepened beneath his feet. The lights in the room did not go out. Marcus did not disappear. But the dark outline his body cast across the floor stretched slightly beyond its accustomed edge. He realized he could feel that line along with his own Orin.

[ADVANCED CORE: LEVEL 1]

[ELEMENT: SHADOW]

When he opened his eyes, he looked at the window first. Clara was still there.

“Nobody came in,” she said.

Marcus smiled. “I know.”

That evening, the six of them sat at the same table. Percy did not spread out an elaborate plan. William opened his own notebook. Charlotte named the subjects she wanted to study. Arthur described the weak lower corner of his new shield. Marcus explained that his shadow did not replace sight and that he was not yet certain what he was sensing. Clara listened to them all.

So did Percy.

After a while, he realized the work at the table kept going even when he said nothing. He leaned back in his chair. The feeling was better than he had expected.

Olsen's breakthrough did not begin when Percy struggled to extinguish a flame. It began when he asked why the target kept cracking after the flame was gone.

“Because the heat is still there,” she told him.

Percy crouched beside the stone. “I withdrew the fire.”

“You didn't withdraw the energy it left behind.”

Olsen fell silent as the answer left her own mouth. She knew that principle. She had taught it for years. But when it came to her own Core, she kept expecting a stronger flame to open the same door. While controlling fire, she treated the heat left behind as merely an outcome.

She ended the lesson that day. That evening, she kept working. The following morning, she did not offer Percy a new answer. She prepared her own measurements. She tracked the flow where her flame began, the change where it died, and the loss between the two. As she reduced the pressure building around her Core, she noticed herself feeding it again out of habit.

Once a spell dispersed, the Orin left outside no longer held the same arrangement it had possessed on leaving. Olsen had been forcing it back into its old rhythm as she recovered it, creating resistance at the boundary, then sending more power to overcome that resistance. This time she separated the returning flow before admitting it to the center. She waited for one small portion to harmonize again and released the rest. An experiment that began with less energy left more inside her Core by the end.

Wycliffe joined her. He described learning to distinguish foreign energy during his own advancement. Olsen listened, tested, and told him her fire presented a different problem. They argued late into the night. When Percy put his head around the door, both said, “Go to sleep.”

On the third morning, the practice target did not blacken. The heat reaching its interior spread evenly; the air outside was not suddenly scorched. For the first time, Olsen stood at the threshold that had resisted her for years without forcing her way against it.

No enormous blaze rose into the sky when she reached Awakened One. The small fires around her all steadied at once. She could feel more clearly where her own Orin ended and where its effect continued.

Percy ran toward her in delight. A step away, he stopped and stared.

“What is it?” Olsen asked.

“The lessons are going to get harder now, aren't they?”

She tapped his forehead with two fingers. “Finally, the right question.”

Percy tipped his head back. Clara burst out laughing.

Eleanor's work took longer.

Remaining at Half-Step Interplanetary was not a matter of filling an Orin reserve that happened to be low. She had power. She had years of training, mastery earned through work with three elements, and control learned in countless battles. Asking for a stronger wind did nothing to resolve what remained incomplete.

Holar trained with her before dawn. Sometimes they sat for hours without speaking. Sometimes Eleanor got up and argued, then returned the next day to try the very point she had disputed. During the first few days, Percy asked questions. Rather than answering, Holar indicated the space in front of Eleanor.

“This is her work.”

Percy stepped back. He was learning that wanting to help his aunt advance did not mean he had to find every answer himself.

Wind was Eleanor's strongest element. She could move the air at a chosen point, create enough pressure to scatter an assault, or turn a leaf without tearing it from its stem. Now she listened beyond that first movement. Where did the air she pushed go? What filled the space she emptied? What larger order surrounded the one she imposed?

One morning, the leaves in the garden remained still for a long time.

Then the balcony curtain swelled slightly. At the same instant, a small flag at the street corner turned. Banners hanging from the academy towers changed direction one after another. Far away, a fine line traveled across the lake. The edges of the clouds over the city opened with a harmony almost too subtle to see.

Eleanor was not commanding each one separately. She felt the movement connecting them and stopped building her Orin into a wall against it. Her three elements were different. She did not try to make them identical. She held each element's order within her Core without allowing one to undo what another had opened.

When the circulation that had remained incomplete for years finally closed deep inside her chest, her knees bent slightly. Holar did not reach out. Eleanor found her own balance.

[INTERPLANETARY: LEVEL 1]

Across the city, high-level mages turned their heads. Richard went to a window. Rowena watched the fine dust on her desk drift in one direction. The academy's protective instruments registered the rising wave, then settled back into balance without needing to sound an alarm.

When Eleanor opened her eyes, she first saw Clara, almost motionless with pride. Then Percy came running.

“Auntie!”

She gathered him into her arms. Percy did not object when his feet left the ground. Clara reached them a moment later. Under the combined weight of both children, Eleanor took half a step back.

“Interplanetary One,” Holar said.

Eleanor looked at him over the children.

“Still, be careful carrying two of them at once.”

She smiled. An empty garden chair slid neatly behind him. Holar sat without looking.

Percy whispered, “Grandpa, do you ever get surprised?”

Holar tilted his head. “I do. I also know when to sit down before I fall.”

The new ruling was announced worldwide a few days after Eleanor's advancement.

Holar Jun did not make a long speech before the screen. The text approved by the Council lay beside him. Richard and Rowena had helped prepare the announcement; the academies had submitted their implementation plans. This would not remain a decision made by one family.

“Resonance Harmonization has changed the age at which young people can advance,” Holar said. “Our rules for training and deployment will change with it.”

Students listened in the academy's common hall. Percy and Clara sat near the back. William had a pen ready.

“Students under fourteen are prohibited from participating in monster incursions and outside hunting missions. Applicants who have reached fourteen must possess at least Advanced Core One and a verified elemental understanding of forty percent. Meeting those requirements does not by itself constitute approval for deployment. Field readiness will be assessed separately.”

Whispers spread through the hall. Percy straightened.

“Affinity and understanding will not be treated as interchangeable,” Holar continued. “High affinity does not mean you fully understand the consequences of your power.”

Clara touched her wand's sheath. What Holar had told her in the garden was now being said to the whole world.

The moment the broadcast ended, Percy messaged his grandfather. A reply came shortly afterward.

“You too.”

Percy stared at the screen. He had not even written the word exception yet.

Nathaniel read over his shoulder and laughed. “Your own invention got you banned.”

Percy put away his Shiri without answering. His first surge of protest eased when he saw Arthur quietly constructing small versions of his new shield beneath the table. Charlotte had opened her book. Marcus watched the crowd at the door. William was rereading the conditions in the announcement.

Percy had given them a way to grow stronger. The world now had to consider when the children running down that road should be sent to war.

Galahad found him in the garden that evening, still reading the new rules.

“Angry?”

“A little.”

Galahad sat beside him. “I'm not.”

Percy looked at his brother, then touched the crystal inside his cloak. “We have time to train.”

“Yes.”

“A lot of time.”

Galahad's expression changed. “Don't look at me like that.”

“I wanted to ask something about circulation at Awakened Two.”

Galahad drew a deep breath. “Of course you did.”

On the last evening before summer break, they set tables in the garden again.

This time, no one was planning a surprise. William had asked specifically. After receiving the same answer from two separate people, he had consulted Charlotte before believing it.

The students talked about where they would train over the holidays and how long they would be away from home. Some would travel with their families. Some would stay in the city. For the first time, they truly felt what it meant not to meet in the same classroom every day. Fourteen little parcels waited at one end of the table. When Eleanor said, “For the journey,” Nathaniel opened his immediately.

“My journey is to the other end of the table,” he said.

Arthur took a piece without arguing. Nathaniel started to protest, then stopped. He set the parcel between them. Richard watched for a while as they shared the food, then returned to Rowena's question.

Clara was straightening the clasp on Percy's cloak. One of the gold edges had caught on his collar. Percy looked down impatiently but held still.

“One second,” Clara said.

“It's been three.”

“Stop counting.”

When she freed the clasp, Percy took her hand. Clara stepped half a pace closer to find her balance. Percy leaned in to leave a little thank-you kiss on her cheek, just as someone called from behind them. Clara turned toward the voice.

His lips brushed the very corner of her mouth instead.

They both froze.

The touch had lasted an instant. Almost everyone in the garden had seen it.

A strange noise escaped Arthur's throat. “Ahem.”

Charlotte turned toward him, then understood what he had seen and covered her mouth. Marcus quietly shifted away from the spot Percy would look at first. William put his glass on the table. Usually he could find an explanation. This time, he could not.

Nathaniel's mouth was open. There was food in it. Charlotte pointed. He swallowed, then said with absolute seriousness, “I didn't say anything.”

“Yet,” Arthur said.

The red in Clara's face spread to her ears. Percy was no better. He still held her hand, gripping it as though letting go would somehow make what happened more obvious.

Eleanor turned to Holar. He was looking at the sky. She nudged him with her elbow.

“What are you looking at?”

“A cloud.”

“It's night.”

“There are clouds at night.”

Galahad turned away. His shaking shoulders gave him away anyway. None of Olsen's stern teaching expression remained. Rowena looked toward Wycliffe as though waiting for him to find something to say.

Wycliffe raised his hands a little. “This isn't my subject.”

Under all those eyes, Percy turned back to Clara. He had spent days thinking about what he wanted to say, finding a simpler sentence each time. Now every sentence came to him at once.

“Clara.”

She could not lift her face. “What?”

“What I said that day...”

Her smile slowly disappeared.

Percy noticed, but once the sentence began, he could not work out how to fix it in time. “I don't like you anymore. I was right.”

The laughter in the garden stopped.

Arthur straightened. Charlotte's hand closed around the edge of the table. Galahad turned back. Clara looked at Percy. The face that had been warm with embarrassment a moment before seemed suddenly smaller.

Then Percy saw what he had done.

“No, wait. Not like that.” He took her hand between both of his. “Don't cry, my sweet little troublemaker.”

A tear had reached her cheek. Seeing it only made him more flustered. He reached for the joke he knew, the old word they had understood between them for years.

“Who would like you anyway? You're ugly.”

Clara's lips parted. Arthur began, “Percy, you—”

“I love you.”

This time, the words came without catching on anything.

Percy did not look around. He stood holding Clara's hands, his entire face red, looking only at her.

“I was trying to say that liking you isn't enough,” he said. “I said it really badly. I love you, Clara.”

For several seconds, Clara forgot to breathe. Her finger touched Life's Echo on his wrist. The pulse in the stone she held had quickened. His heart was racing just like hers.

“You...”

She could not finish. Her face grew even redder. Percy felt her fingers loosen, and then her knees gave way.

“Clara?”

He caught her. Eleanor came immediately, and Charlotte crouched on the other side. Clara was breathing steadily. After checking her, Eleanor closed her eyes and let out a short breath.

“She's all right. She fainted for a moment.”

Nathaniel stared at Percy in disbelief. “He did that without magic.”

William nudged him. “Not now.”

Percy had not heard the joke. He waited without releasing Clara's hand. A few seconds later, her eyelids moved. Eleanor shifted back.

When Clara opened her eyes, the first person she saw was Percy.

He looked so worried that she thought something had gone wrong. Then she remembered what he had said. She wanted to turn her head and could not. Everyone was there.

“Did you hear me?” Percy asked, his voice very small.

Clara looked at him for a while. Her eyes filled again, but this time her face did not fall.

“I do too.”

Percy's shoulders eased. He smiled. Clara caught his collar and drew him just a little closer, adding quietly enough that only he could hear:

“Don't start like that again.”

“I won't.”

“And don't call me ugly.”

Percy hesitated.

Clara narrowed her eyes.

“Not right now.”

She began to laugh. At the sound, the last of the fear in Percy's face loosened a little. Eleanor helped them stand. Arthur swallowed everything he had been preparing to say and sat down again. Charlotte looked at William. He shook his head, smiling.

Wycliffe muttered to himself, “We'll be revisiting the correct order of a sentence too.”

Percy heard him. “Professor!”

“Dreadful introduction. Acceptable conclusion.”

This time the whole garden laughed. Galahad was among the loudest. Percy wanted to complain, but when he saw that his brother's face held nothing but laughter, he let him.

The night wore on. Plates were cleared, the last gifts packed away, and the children drifted toward the gate one by one. Nathaniel hugged Percy goodbye while carefully holding his parcel of food clear of Percy's back. Arthur tapped the new clasp with a finger. William promised to send his exercises. Charlotte said she would come for checkups. Marcus reminded them not to leave the door open.

Nobody spoke as though they were leaving forever. This time, it really was only a holiday.

At last, Percy and Clara stood at the top of the stairs. The adults' voices still carried through the house. Their new bedroom door was open. Inside were two desks, a half-finished puzzle, family pictures on the wall, and black and pink pillows side by side on the bed.

Clara paused on the threshold. Percy took a few steps before noticing she had not followed.

“What is it?”

She looked away. “What I said before...”

Percy turned back.

“I do too,” Clara said. The words were steadier now. Percy smiled, nodded as though that was enough, and turned into the room.

Clara called after him.

“Love you.”

Percy stopped.

Then he looked at her. Clara was embarrassed, but she held his gaze. The little phoenix rested against her chest. The stone in her palm carried the beating of his heart.

Percy held out his hand.

Clara took it.

“I love you more,” he said.

Her eyebrows drew together. “It's not a competition.”

“I won.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Downstairs, Holar lifted his head. Eleanor looked toward the stairs too. They listened for a few seconds. Then Holar's shoulders relaxed, and Eleanor picked up her tea again.

The argument upstairs continued.

There were children to wake in the morning. Questions waited on the table for tomorrow's answers, targets in the garden to set up again. That night, no one needed to sit beside a bed waiting for a second heartbeat.

Percy and Clara did not settle the argument before turning out the light.

They had a long break ahead of them to try.

SIX YEARS LATER.

Author's note: Here comes the timeskip. Be happy—I'm finally taking away your “But they're only seven!” excuse. :D