The midday sun filtered through the thick canopy, casting shifting patterns of light across the forest floor. The air was warm, filled with the scent of wildflowers and the rustle of leaves. It was peaceful—a rare thing in a life that had always felt like one long battlefield.

I leaned against a tree, arms crossed, watching Casca a few paces ahead as she knelt by a patch of wildflowers. Her dark hair caught the sunlight, and for a moment, she seemed lighter, untouched by the weight we both carried.

The Moonlight Boy darted through the grass nearby, swatting at a bright yellow butterfly flitting just out of reach. His face was fierce with determination, as if the chase were some grand mission only he understood. The sight tightened something in my chest—something I couldn’t name.

“You’re gonna fall,” I called gruffly.

He ignored me. Stubborn brat. Sure enough, his foot caught on a twisted root, and he tumbled forward. My muscles tensed, but before I could react, Casca was already there.

She caught him easily, laughing as she brushed dirt from his clothes. “You’re okay,” she cooed, her voice soft and soothing.

The boy blinked up at her, wide-eyed but unharmed. His bottom lip wobbled for a second, but Casca’s touch was steady, and whatever tears might’ve come never did.

I huffed. “Told you.”

Casca shot me a playful glare. “You’re terrible at encouraging kids, you know that?”

“Kids need to learn how to fall,” I grumbled, though I felt my lips twitch despite myself. “Can’t coddle ‘em forever.”

The boy wriggled out of her arms and stumbled toward me, his small legs wobbling but determined. His gaze locked on mine, and then his tiny hand reached for the scarred, calloused one hanging at my side.

I froze.

My hands were made for wielding a sword, not for this. But the boy stood there, waiting, patient and trusting. Slowly, I let out a low sigh and took his hand.

His fingers were warm and impossibly small. “Guess you didn’t learn your lesson, huh?” I muttered, though my grip was steady, protective.