The infirmary was quiet, sunlight pouring in through the windows and casting warm golden patches across the floor. Will Solace, barely ten years old, sat cross-legged on a cot, his nose scrunched in concentration as he tried to wrap a bandage around a practice dummy’s arm. It wasn’t going well.

From across the room, Michael Yew leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed, watching with an amused smile. Lee Fletcher stood beside him, tossing an apple up and down in one hand.

“He’s doing it backwards again,” Lee murmured.

“I know,” Michael replied, but didn’t move. “Let him figure it out.”

Will huffed in frustration, lips pressed tight in determination as he tried again. His tiny fingers fumbled, but he kept at it, tongue poking out the side of his mouth.

After a moment, Lee gave in, walking over and crouching beside him. “Here, sunshine,” he said gently, fixing the wrap with practiced ease. “Over, not under. See?”

Will looked up, eyes bright. “Ohhh,” he said, then grinned. “Thanks, Lee!”

“Anytime, mini-doc,” Lee ruffled his hair, and Will giggled.

Michael walked over too, placing a hand on Will’s shoulder. “You’ll be running this place one day,” he said, pride in his voice. “Just don’t forget who taught you everything.”

Will beamed up at both of them, warm and glowing in the light. In that moment, with the war still far away and the world outside quiet, it was just three brothers — a tiny sunbeam and the two who made sure he always had a sky to shine in.