The Caelum courtyard was alive with the usual chatter of children. Marble steps led down into the broad square where pale-haired cousins gathered, their laughter echoing between the towering spires of the estate. Zane, still barely steady on his little legs, toddled along with determined focus, clutching a smooth stone he’d found by the fountain.
Marcus, at nine years old, was the most energetic of the group. He darted around with a wooden practice blade in hand, pretending to duel unseen foes. "Behold! Marcus Caelum, hero of legends!" he shouted dramatically, swinging wide in a careless arc.
Zane giggled at his cousin’s antics and waddled closer, holding up the stone as though it were a treasure. But Marcus, too caught up in his play, spun a little too near. The wooden blade whistled past, dangerously close to Zane’s head.
"Marcus!" Lucius barked sharply from across the yard, his tone carrying the weight of his fifteen years. "Watch what you’re doing. He’s just a toddler."
But before Marcus could even register the warning, the air itself seemed to ripple. A sudden gust burst outward, knocking Marcus back a step and sending the practice blade clattering across the stones.
There, standing protectively in front of Zane, was six-year-old Lyra. Her pale hair whipped slightly in the fading breeze, her small fists balled tight. "Don’t swing at him like that!" she snapped, her voice shrill with anger. "You could’ve hurt him!"
Marcus blinked, wide-eyed, more shocked by the invisible shove than the scolding. "I—I wasn’t trying to—"
"You weren’t careful," Lyra cut him off, her cheeks flushed. She turned to Zane, gently brushing his hair back from his forehead, her little face softening. "You’re okay, right?"
Zane blinked up at her, completely oblivious to the seriousness of the moment, and offered her the stone with a wide grin. "F’Lyra!" he babbled.
The tension broke. Lucius sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You two are going to be the death of me," he muttered, though the corner of his mouth curved in reluctant amusement.
Marcus sulked, retrieving his blade, though his gaze flicked to Lyra with new wariness. He’d never seen her summon wind like that before—gentle yet forceful, protective as a storm’s first warning breeze.
Aunt Lira’s voice called from the veranda. "Children! Supper!"
The cousins gathered quickly, but Lyra lingered a step behind, still holding Zane’s hand as though she refused to let go. The faintest smile touched her lips as Zane babbled nonsense and pointed at the sky.
For the first time, the Caelum household caught a glimpse of what lay within the youngest girl’s heart: a fierce protectiveness, soft as a breeze yet unyielding as the coming gale.