Krezin finally slipped out of the hall like a thief escaping a treasury of boredom.

  It wasn’t the work that grated. It was the wrapping of it. The endless ribbon of rules and manners and voices that all seemed to begin the same way:

  My Prince, you mustn’t…

  Dragonfire to that.

  He waited until the next patrol passed, their boots clicking in neat, obedient time. The moment their shadows turned the corner, he sprinted. Quiet as he could manage. Fast as he wanted. He took the west stairwell two at a time, hand sliding along the cold stone rail.

  With every step, the air tasted less like polished marble and more like him.

  The west tower was his favorite for a reason. It didn’t care about court etiquette. It didn’t care about schedules. It only offered sky and sea, and the long, clean line of Mylain’s cliffs where the world fell away into salt and wind.

  At the landing he slowed, surprised.

  The door to the open balcony was already ajar.

  A breath of ocean swept into the stairwell, cool and sharp, carrying gull cries and the distant thunder of waves. Krezin exhaled like he’d been holding his lungs hostage all day.

  He toed off his shoes and kicked them aside, careless and unrepentant, then stepped out onto the stone.

  And there she was.

  Kairi sat at the edge of the balcony with her legs folded, skirts gathered, hair tugged back in a braid that looked like it had been done in a hurry. She stared out over the sea like she could memorize it and keep it in her pocket for later.

  Krezin couldn’t help the smile that rose.

  “Little coal,” he said softly, the nickname tasting like home.

  Kairi glanced over her shoulder, and her grin was instant, bright as sunrise.

  “Little scale,” she shot back. “You survived lessons!”

  He made a sound that was half groan, half dramatic death rattle, and dropped beside her with a heavy sigh. The stone was cold through his trousers, but it was the kind of cold that felt honest.

  “I escaped those awful lessons,” he muttered, leaning back on his palms and letting the wind ruffle his hair.

  Kairi’s brows lifted, the way they always did when she was pretending to be stern. “Rush and Father will be upset with you if you don’t take them seriously.”

  He shrugged like it couldn’t possibly matter, like he wasn’t already calculating how long he could hide here before someone noticed.

  “I know how to do all of it,” he said. “I’m a prince. I grew up a prince. I can do the prince things with my eyes closed.”

  Kairi laughed and flicked his arm.

  “Ouch. Hey,” he grumbled, rubbing the spot as if she’d struck him with a sword instead of a finger.

  “They just want us properly prepared for Name Day,” she said, and her tone softened around the edges. She tipped her head, studying him. “They don’t want the royal family embarrassing itself in front of all of Mylain. Or Tearia.”

  Krezin snorted. “We’re the twins. We’re going to embarrass them no matter what.”

  That earned him another laugh, and then Kairi leaned her shoulder lightly against his.

  “Besides,” she went on, gaze drifting back to the horizon, “maybe we can be embarrassing in other ways. Like not being blessed at all.”

  He turned his head to look at her, startled by the thought.

  Kairi’s smile turned wicked in that quiet, mischievous way only she could manage.

  “The Dragon and the Phoenix can take one look at us and say, ‘Those twins are too much trouble. Skip this generation.’”

  Krezin barked a laugh, quick and bright. “Maybe me,” he admitted. “But not you.”

  Kairi hummed, skeptical.

  He nudged her knee gently with his. “You’ve wanted this for so long. You deserve a good Name Day blessing. A healing blessing. A proper healer-princess story.”

  Her expression shifted, just a flicker. Not fear exactly. Not doubt. Something quieter. Something she tried to tuck away.

  “Trinity didn’t get healing,” she said, voice careful. “Do you really think I will?”

  Krezin didn’t answer right away.

  He watched the sea instead, the waves rolling in steady rhythm, the horizon sharp as a blade. Then he thought of Trinity, all righteous fire and sharp words, the kind of person who could walk into a room and make truth feel unavoidable.

  Then he thought of Kairi, who carried gentleness like armor and kept trying to fix the world with her hands even when it hurt.

  “I think Trinity’s blessing was better suited for her,” he said finally. “Diplomacy. The ability to dig for truth and fairness. That’s who she is.”

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Kairi’s gaze stayed on the water, but her shoulders eased a fraction.

  Krezin glanced down at his calf where a strip of bandage peeked from beneath his trousers, the edge of it neat and clean. Yesterday’s sparring nick. Kairi’s hands, sure and calm, wrapping it like she could wrap the whole world and keep it from bleeding.

  His throat tightened for reasons he didn’t name.

  “You fix things,” he said, quieter now. “So healing princess you will be. Blessing or not.”

  Kairi finally looked at him, and her smile returned, softer this time. Real.

  “You say that like it’s a certainty.”

  “It is,” Krezin replied, and for once his confidence wasn’t performance. It was bone-deep.

  Then, as if the palace couldn’t stand to let them have too much peace, a bell rang somewhere far below. Distant. Official. Calling.

  Kairi sighed, long and theatrical, and leaned her head briefly against his shoulder.

  “Do you think,” she murmured, “we’ll still be us after Name Day?”

  Krezin stared out at the sea again, the wind tugging at his hair, the salt stinging his nose.

  “Yeah,” he said, voice rougher than he intended. “We’ll still be us.”

  Then he added, because he couldn’t help himself:

  “And if we’re not, we’ll be worse on purpose.”

  Kairi laughed, bright and helpless, and for a moment the tower belonged only to twins and sky and the sound of waves breaking like promises. She stayed seated a little longer, as if the sea might offer answers if she stared hard enough. The wind tugged at loose strands of her braid and carried the smell of salt up the tower.

  Krezin had one knee up, arms hooked over it, gaze roaming the rooftops of Mylain below. From here, the city looked simple. Neat. Manageable. Like life could be solved by distance. She nudged him lightly with her shoulder.

  “I’m positive the Dragon will bless you,” she said, voice bright with the kind of certainty she used when she wanted to make something true. “Bless you with abilities the draggoons get.”

  Krezin’s grin spread fast. “And why not Ash Guard abilities?” he teased. “Let me be all stoic and broody and tied to duty until I rot.”

  Kairi shrugged, expression turning thoughtful. “Maybe. But Rush is the Dragon vessel.” She glanced sideways at him. “There’s no Phoenix vessel right now.”

  Krezin’s smile softened. “So you think I’d be bored.”

  “You would be bored,” she corrected, and her eyes glittered. “Ash Guard don’t get to sneak out of lessons to climb towers and complain about etiquette. You’d suffocate.”

  He huffed a laugh, but his gaze drifted back to the city. The roofs below were a patchwork of slate and terracotta, chimneys breathing thin smoke into the afternoon air. Somewhere down there people were living ordinary lives with ordinary fears.

  “For all we know,” Krezin said slowly, “the Phoenix could have a vessel tomorrow.” He tipped his chin toward the distant temple spires. “There are plenty of people going to the temples on their Name Days to see if the Phoenix or the Dragon will bless them.”

  Kairi followed his gaze, her expression easing into something quieter.

  “Less every year though,” she murmured.

  The words landed heavier than she meant them to.

  Because it was true. The crowds had thinned. The prayers had gotten smaller. People still came, but more out of tradition than belief. More to test the gods than to trust them.

  Krezin opened his mouth, probably to argue, probably to dismiss it the way he dismissed anything that threatened to feel too real.

  He never got the chance. The air in front of them shimmered. Not like heat. Like reality blinking. And then Rush was there.

  Just… there.

  One breath the balcony was empty, the next there was a tall figure in crimson and black, arms folded, expression smug as sin, as if he’d been standing there the whole time and they were the ones who had arrived late.

  Kairi squeaked. Krezin moved without thinking, snapping up in a single motion and stepping in front of her. His body went tight, protective, shoulders squared, hands half-raised like he could fight a god if he had to.

  Rush’s gaze flicked over him, slow and unimpressed.

  Then he smiled wider.

  “Adorable,” Rush said.

  Krezin glared. “Dragonfire, Rush.”

  Rush’s eyes slid past him to Kairi, softer around the edges, but still carrying that older-brother weight. “Little coal,” he said, voice gentler. “You going to throw yourself off the tower, or are we just breaking every rule Father wrote?”

  Kairi exhaled, relief and annoyance tangling together. “We’re not breaking every rule.”

  Rush lifted a brow. “Mm.”

  Krezin didn’t move out of the way. “How long were you standing there?”

  Rush’s smile turned lazy. “Long enough.”

  Kairi leaned forward to peer around Krezin’s shoulder. “You startled us on purpose.”

  “Of course I did,” Rush said, completely unrepentant. “If I can startle you, someone else can too.”

  Krezin’s jaw tightened, the truth of that sharpening his irritation into something more serious.

  Rush stepped closer, boots silent on stone, and the smugness fell away by half a degree. He looked at Krezin the way he looked at a blade he was inspecting, not because he doubted it, but because he needed to know where it might snap.

  “You two,” Rush said quietly, “have been avoiding the halls.”

  Kairi opened her mouth, but Rush lifted a finger, stopping her.

  “No excuses,” he said. “Not today.”

  Krezin’s glare flickered. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Rush’s gaze shifted to the sea. For a moment he looked… far away. Like the horizon held something he didn’t want to name.

  “It means Name Day is coming,” he said, voice low. “And you’re both pretending you’re only excited.”

  Krezin scoffed. “I’m not scared.”

  Rush’s eyes flicked to him, sharp. “Yes, you are.”

  Krezin’s mouth snapped shut.

  Kairi swallowed. “Rush…”

  Rush’s posture softened just enough to be family.

  “I know you both,” he said, quieter now. “Krezin jokes when he doesn’t want to admit something matters. Kairi smiles when she thinks everyone needs her to be brave.”

  Kairi’s eyes stung, and she hated herself for it.

  Rush’s gaze went back to the city, to the distant temple spires. “You’re afraid the gods won’t choose you,” he said plainly.

  Krezin’s throat worked.

  “And you’re afraid they will,” Rush added.

  Kairi’s breath hitched.

  Because that was the real fear, wasn’t it?

  Not being overlooked.

  Being seen.

  Being chosen and changed and no longer belonging only to yourself.

  Rush turned back to them, expression unreadable now. “You don’t have to tell Father you’re afraid,” he said. “You don’t have to tell the priests. You don’t have to tell the court.”

  His gaze settled on Kairi, and the smugness finally disappeared completely.

  “But you can tell me.”

  Kairi stared at him, her older brother who could step through air like it was water, who carried duty like a crown he never asked for.

  Krezin’s voice came out rough. “What if we’re not… enough?”

  Rush’s eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in intensity. “That’s not how blessing works,” he said.

  Kairi’s voice was small. “Then how does it work?”

  Rush hesitated, just a fraction.

  “Like this,” he said finally. “The gods don’t pick who deserves it. They pick who can carry it.”

  Krezin’s jaw clenched. “And if we can’t?”

  Rush’s gaze went distant again, the horizon reflected in his eyes.

  “Then we learn,” he said. “Or we break.”

  Silence settled.

  The sea kept moving, indifferent and eternal.

  Rush exhaled, as if shaking off the weight of his own words, and glanced between them with a faint return of his earlier smirk.

  “Now,” he said, tone lightening with effort, “are you two coming back down like obedient royals, or do I have to drag you by your ears and teleport you into the lesson hall in front of the tutors?”

  Krezin’s glare returned immediately, grateful for the familiar spar. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  Rush’s smile sharpened. “Try me.”

  Kairi let out a breathy laugh, and for a moment, between fear and teasing, between ocean and stone, they were just siblings again.

  Not yet marked. Not yet broken.

  Just standing on the edge of everything that was coming.