[o] have you seen a fallen star anywhere?

Theea

and suddenly you're ripped into being alive

Enzo… I commit the name to memory, an unnamed feeling curling uncomfortably in my chest, a sickly smoke I don’t like the taste of. Not quite grief, not quite anger. He was a cousin I’d never meet—another one, I didn’t know about this one. Just Aoife, since my mother knew her as a baby, and most recently, Seren, since I’d been keeping my ear to the ground lately.

I can’t imagine losing a brother. Losing my dad had been devastating—how did she withstand the loss of three siblings? It’s all that loss that kept me in hiding with my parents, all that pain they wanted to save me from. Meeting Flora, part of me wonders if I’d be among her dead family if my mother had stayed, if my parents were right all along.

But then Flora says exactly the right thing, and I breathe away the feeling. “Yeah. I can’t just put my head in the sand. Can’t just pretend I don’t have some of the most heroic family in Caido—I’d be putting you all to shame, just hiding like that my whole life. Even though puberty did rock my fucking world.” I flash a crooked grin.

My hopes of just heading back to Torchline when Flora was done in the Greatwood are dashed, and I try not to look crestfallen. Flora is so soft when she goes on, like she knows how fragile my optimism is. I glance toward town, where the Skyport waits, and I’m a little more hopeful when I look back at my new cousin. “I’m gonna try and earn enough for a ticket, or find one that’ll let me work through the trip,” I say, a determined current carrying my words. “I’d really like to come see you. We could hang out on the beach, or do… anything!”

and life is pain, and life is suffering, and life is horror,
but my god, you're alive and it's spectacular

you hate the crash, but you love the rush

Flora studies the young woman across from her—the flare of resolve in her eyes, the quick grin trying to paper-over nerves—and something warm threads through the grief still nesting in her ribs. Determination looks good on family, she decides. "Skyships out of the Greatwood work a little differently." She plucks a maple seed from the moss and spins it between thumb and forefinger while she explains. "Most of the captains are fae, and will barter coin, trade goods, even stories if the mood’s right. So—"

A silver crescent slips from her pocket; she twirls it across her knuckles before pressing it into Theea’s palm. "Torchline currency spends just fine up there. Use it for passage or for the world’s sweetest pastry at the port café. Either way, you’ll make it south."

Her expression softens, blue eyes earnest in the dappling light. "Once you step off the docks in Torchline head straight for the Hanged Man—my bar on the docks. If I’m not behind the counter, someone will know where to find me. And if you feel lost before that," she adds, tapping the star-etched compass hanging at her throat, "leave a note addressed to the Doubletake. My city’s gossip network is faster than a herald spirit on caffeine."

A gust tumbles coppery leaves around their boots. Flora’s grin turns wry. "After you settle: beaches, markets, midnight bonfires—Torchline deserves the full tour. And when you want heroic? I’ll introduce you to your uncles. Ronin will try to feed you; Remi will definitely warn you not to follow me into mischief—which, honestly, is half the fun."

She closes Theea’s fingers around the coin and gives a reassuring squeeze. "Deal?"

Theea

and suddenly you're ripped into being alive

My eyes brighten with curiosity when Flora produces something from her pocket—a crescent shaped coin dancing over her knuckles. My fingers curl instinctively around it as Flora presses it into my palm, the metal cool and solid against my skin. It feels heavier than it should—like hope, like belonging—and for a second I can barely breathe past the lump rising in my throat. I didn’t think it would be this easy. I didn’t think I could feel this close to someone so fast. Gods, I wish I could tell my mom. I wish she could see this—see that it’s possible to reach for connection and find it waiting.

I blink hard, smiling so wide it almost hurts. “Deal,” I say, my voice a little unsteady but bright with everything I’m feeling. I clutch the coin to my chest for a second before tucking it safely away into the inner pocket of my jacket. I’m not gonna use it unless I have to—I’ll find a way to barter for a cheap ticket first. But just knowing it’s there, that Flora made sure I have a way south, it steadies me more than anything has since I set out.

"The Hanged Man," I repeat with a grin, feeling the words take root in my chest like a promise. "I’ve never had a drink before—real alcohol, I mean—so I’m saving my first one for your bar. Only seems right." My grin tilts a little mischievous. "If I’m gonna make questionable life choices, I want it to be with family."

The mention of Ronin and Remi sends a ripple of excitement down my spine. "I love hearing about them," I say, sitting up straighter. "I can’t wait to meet them. And to see you," I add, flashing her a playful smile.

When Flora teases about pastries, I laugh, a brighter, freer sound than I think I’ve made in days. "Pastries are definitely a weakness," I agree, "but also a strength. I learned everything I know about baking from my mom—and when I settle in Torchline, I’m baking you the best snickerdoodles you’ve ever had." I nudge her shoulder lightly, warmth crackling in my chest like a spark waiting to catch. "And I’ll even save the first one for you. No stealing from the oven early. Probably."

and life is pain, and life is suffering, and life is horror,
but my god, you're alive and it's spectacular

you hate the crash, but you love the rush

Flora’s grin softens into something warm and terribly proud as Theea presses the coin to her chest. "Good," she murmurs, tipping her head so a curtain of curls spills over one shoulder. She reclines onto her elbows again, ankle crossing over knee as the canopy dances sunlight across their shoes. "The Hanged Man will roll out the red carpet for your first real drink," she assures, voice lilting with playful ceremony. "We’ll start you gentle—maybe a Torchline float with extra pineapple—and work our way up to the Doubletake. That one’s been known to kiss patrons goodnight before they finish the glass." A wink follows, equal parts promise and warning.

Talk of Ronin and Remi draws a fond exhale. "They’ll adore you. Just be prepared for obnoxious family dinners and probably a lot of crying."

At the mention of snickerdoodles Flora’s stomach gives an appreciative growl. "Now you’re speaking my love-language." She bumps Theea’s knee with her own. "I solemnly swear not to pilfer a single cookie until you hand it over—though if they cool on the counter unattended I can’t be held responsible for what Spice does." Overhead, a faint trill suggests the little dragon approves of the loophole.

Theea

and suddenly you're ripped into being alive

I laugh, the sound slipping out before I can stop it. "Gentle first, huh?" I say, grinning. "Torchline float with extra pineapple—sounds really damn good. But don’t think I’m backing down from the Doubletake. If you can handle it, I can too." I give her a crooked smile. "You’re not leaving me as the family lightweight."

When she talks about family dinners, I light up too fast to hide it. "I can't wait," I say—too quick, too eager—and immediately try to smooth it over with a shrug, hugging my knees in tighter. "I just—I'm used to having someone around. All the time. So." I scrape my boot lightly against the rock. "It'll be nice. Different. In a good way." I tack the last part on quickly, shooting her a sideways smile. I’m not looking for pity. I’m lucky, even when it’s lonely. I know that.

The soft trill overhead yanks my attention upward, and when I spot the little dragon tucked among the branches, my breath catches. "Oh my gods," I gush, grinning like an idiot. "She’s yours?"

I’m instantly, pitifully jealous in the best way. "She’s gorgeous," I say honestly, still staring. "I used to dream about getting myself a companion, like my parents. Figured I'd find someone to stick with me, eventually." I laugh under my breath, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. "If Spice ever wants an extra human to curl up on, I’m available. No bond needed."

and life is pain, and life is suffering, and life is horror,
but my god, you're alive and it's spectacular

you hate the crash, but you love the rush

Flora’s heart squeezes at the quick, almost desperate flash of eagerness that lights Theea’s face. She knows that feeling too well—the hungry, aching hope for belonging—and she tucks it away carefully, like a seashell too fragile for rough hands. "You’ll fit right in," she promises, her voice low and certain as she bumps Theea’s shoulder with her own. The queen doesn't mention Seren's recent death, not wanting the other girl to feel like she was going to be slotted into the outline of someone she couldn't hope to match herself against, but gods Flora was sure that her presence would soothe something still sharp and shattered in both of her dads.

When Theea’s gaze swings upward, catching sight of Spice, Flora can’t help but laugh, the sound bright and affectionate. "Yup. That’s Spice," she confirms, following Theea’s awe with obvious pride. The little dragon preens beneath the attention, flaring her wings just enough to catch a shaft of golden light and scatter it like a prism through the leaves. "She sort of... picked me." Flora’s smile softens into something fond and a little bewildered, like even now she can’t quite believe it. "Ronin found her up in the Cordillera. Something had killed her mother and eaten through all of the eggs except for one."

At Theea’s offer, Flora pretends to weigh it seriously, one finger tapping thoughtfully against her chin. "Hmm. You do seem like you’d make an excellent nap pillow," she muses, then flashes a grin. "Careful what you offer, though. Spice is an absolute menace once she’s decided you’re hers. You’ll be finding frozen socks and half-eaten pastries in your boots for months."

Theea

and suddenly you're ripped into being alive

I squint up through the trees again, watching Spice catch the light like she’s showing off—and if she is, honestly? Fair. "Frozen socks, stolen pastries, a healthy disrespect for personal space…" I laugh under my breath. "Sounds like the kind of dragon anyone would be lucky to get stuck with. And trust me, frozen socks are a lot better than wet socks."

Spice catches the light just right, and I can't help smiling wider, even as something softer stirs in my chest. I rest my chin on my knee for a moment, pretending to just watch the branches sway. Maybe someday, I think.

I lift my head and nudge Flora’s knee again, smirking. "If Spice is taking applications for new pillows, I should probably start baking bribes now. Snickerdoodles first, then maybe a batch of lemon tarts. Do you think she prefers pastries more, or compliments?" I tilt my head thoughtfully.

A gust sends a rain of leaves tumbling past us, and as I watch them whirl, something tight and warm threads through my chest. I thought setting out on my own would feel braver than this. I thought it would be easier. But it’s been... cold, honestly. Cold and damp and lonely. Leaving my mom still twists guilt like wire around my ribs most days. I didn’t expect to find the weight of that choice more than I’d find my way. I've done my best to keep it positive, keep moving forward, don’t look at that little box of inconvenient stuff like existential dread or mommy issues or the hopeless spiral that I'll never make it there.

And yet here Flora is. Bright, steady, messy and kind. Like a warm light through the fog I’ve been wandering in.

I smile, more real this time, and flick a glance her way. "You know," I say, voice a little more casual than it probably should be, "I think meeting you first might’ve been the best thing that could’ve happened to me since setting out."

I tilt my head, feigning casualness even as I can feel my heartbeat thudding a little too loud in my ears. "Even if Spice ends up liking my cookies more than me."

and life is pain, and life is suffering, and life is horror,
but my god, you're alive and it's spectacular

you hate the crash, but you love the rush

Flora hums, amused, as she watches Spice stretch herself luxuriously across the branch above like the moment she hears "snickerdoodle" her villain arc might be over. "Oh, she’ll take both," she says dryly. "Compliments and pastries. She’s a brat, not an idiot."

Her gaze flicks back to Theea just in time to catch that softer smile—the real one. The one that comes shyly, like it isn’t used to being seen. Flora feels something tug low in her chest, something warm and fiercely protective. She knows exactly what kind of loneliness Theea’s trying not to name. Knows what it is to fake your way forward, to carry hope like a cracked thing in your pocket and hope nobody notices the pieces falling out.

And gods, if Flora could be that warm light for her—then maybe all of this wasn’t for nothing.

"Careful," she says quietly, nudging Theea’s foot with her own. "Say things like that and I’m gonna get really attached." Her grin is wobbly around the edges but sincere, and then she leans in and wraps Theea in a tight, sun-soaked hug that smells like salt and vanilla and something a little wild. "You’re gonna be fine," she murmurs against the other girl’s shoulder. "Better than fine. And you’ll always have people here, okay? Me, Spice, and the mess of a family that comes with it."

Flora pulls back, brushing a curl behind her ear, already beginning to fish her compass from her pocket. "I’ve gotta run—stupid Queen things," she stage-groans. "But I absolutely expect you to show up at my doorstep soon. Bring cookies. Bring gossip. Bring that smile again, okay?"

She clicks open the compass, the metal gleaming briefly in the filtered light. With a wink, she whistles once, low and soft. Spice uncurls above, wings flaring, and with a shimmer of cold and a rush of wind, the two of them vanish from the forest clearing in a pulse of golden light.

~FIN