The afternoon sunlight lay warm across the grass, gilding everything in a soft, sleepy glow. Yoru lay on her back beside Aira on a checkered picnic blanket, the fabric heated pleasantly beneath her. Above them, the clouds drifted in slow, lazy shapes, changing forms with each passing breeze. The day felt gentle—quiet in a way Yoru treasured, untouched by assignments, expectations, or the usual whirlwind of campus noise.

  Aira, however, was anything but quiet.

  She gestured wildly in the air as she spoke, fingers carving dramatic shapes against the sky.

  “—and instead of being happy for me he was like, ‘I don’t know, he seems kind of careless’! Can you believe that? And I told him, ‘No, once you guys actually meet you’ll change your mind,’ but then Hyakki didn’t show up yesterday even though we waited an hour! Turns out he got food poisoning, but UGH—I wish he told me earlier, because it looked so bad, and knowing Akio, he’s probably going to think he’s right…”

  Yoru turned her head slightly on the blanket, studying Aira’s animated face. Even frustrated, Aira carried a brightness to her that made the air feel lighter.

  “I’m really sorry that happened,” Yoru said softly. “That’s… such unfortunate timing.”

  Aira let out a dramatic exhale and flopped her hands behind her head. “Ugh, yeah… I just want them to be friends, you know? Not that they need to be, but these are two people I really care about, and I don’t want to feel like I have to pick between them.”

  Then, in a shift that felt quintessentially her, Aira tapped her chin with a grin. “Besides, I need to prove to Akio that I’m right and he’s wrong.”

  Yoru let out a soft laugh—more breath than sound—and returned her gaze to the clouds.

  “You really care a lot about what he thinks, huh?” she murmured.

  Aira shrugged, cheeks puffing slightly. “No, not really… okay, maybe a little. But that’s because he’s my brother, and he’s normally hard to impress anyway.”

  Hard to impress.

  The phrase stirred something tender and sore inside Yoru.

  Her thoughts drifted to her own brothers. To Damien and Callum, whose shadows felt impossibly long.

  Callum, the rising star of the Solarium. Charismatic, sharp-witted, endlessly driven. Everything he touched seemed to turn into praise—commendations, promotions, admiration. He carried achievement the way some people carried breath.

  Then there was Damien—a prodigy, top of every class, effortlessly talented, revered by professors and peers alike. A theater director who could command a room. Smarter than Callum, in Yoru’s eyes—sharper, more thoughtful, somehow always five steps ahead.

  And then there was her.

  Lyla, who had no titles. No distinctions. No leadership positions. No dazzling future laid out neatly before her. Average grades. Average accomplishments. A quiet life overshadowed by two extraordinary brothers.

  Of the three of them, she had always felt like the smallest star in the constellation—present, yes, but dim beside the brilliance of the others. Sometimes she wondered if they were disappointed in her.

  Her voice emerged softer than she intended, brushing the quiet like a fragile thread. “When you argue with your brother… are you scared he’ll get mad?”

  Aira considered the question quietly, her gaze drifting back up to the drifting clouds.

  “Well… to be fair, Akio basically never gets mad,” she admitted with a small laugh. “So no, not really. And when we do disagree, we just… talk it out. Hear each other out. We’re family, you know? It’s not perfect, but we usually find some kind of middle ground.”

  Yoru listened, fingers curling lightly in the picnic blanket. Her voice emerged small, almost hesitant.

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  “You’re brave,” she murmured. “I… I don’t think I could ever argue with my brothers.”

  Aira blinked and turned her head toward her. “Really? You guys don’t argue at all? Like—ever?”

  Yoru hesitated.

  Her gaze fell back to the sky, but her thoughts slid inward—to her family, to the two figures who defined so much of her world.

  Callum had always frightened her in a quiet, oppressive way. Not because he yelled or threatened, his disappointment was sharp enough. His presence filled every room, every conversation, every expectation. He called her Lyla even after she’d told him she preferred Yoru. She’d wanted to correct him. She hadn’t dared. It felt… wrong. Too bold. Too presumptuous.

  And Damien—

  He was different. Softer, in ways that weren’t obvious but were unmistakable to her. He noticed things. He helped in small, unobtrusive ways. He didn’t push her away the way Callum did. His approval felt like sunlight breaking through clouds—rare, warm, achingly precious. And because of that, the thought of disappointing him tightened something deep in her chest.

  Arguments? Raising her voice? Risking either of them turning cold?

  Yoru’s breath trembled faintly.

  “No… not really,” she said at last. “I don’t want to let them down.”

  Aira stretched her arms above her head, then settled back onto the blanket with a soft huff.

  “Yoru, you’re not letting anyone down,” she said firmly. “You’re way more talented than you think, and you’re Sentari now—that’s a big deal! Like, huge. Not many people can do that. Or are brave enough. I don’t think I could ever!”

  The words were meant to comfort, but they struck something raw.

  Yoru’s breath stilled. She remembered the way Damien had reacted the other day—not with anger, not even with surprise. Just a faint shift in his tone, a thread of disapproval woven through otherwise neutral words.

  Most people wouldn’t have noticed, but she had learned to read him in subtleties—the quiet downturn of his gaze, the pause before a sentence, the softness or sharpness of a breath.

  “…I’m not sure I should’ve joined the Sentari,” Yoru whispered.

  Aira sat up a little, a frown tugging at her features. “Why do you say that? I thought you liked it.”

  Yoru’s hands tightened gently in her lap.

  “I do like it,” she said, voice barely above the breeze. “But… I just feel like maybe it was a mistake. And that I let Damien down. He… he doesn’t want me to join.”

  Aira shot upright again, brows furrowing with sudden, laser focused intensity as she turned to Yoru.

  “Okay, bestie—be honest. Is he controlling?”

  The question hit Yoru like a splash of cold water. She blinked rapidly, startled.

  “N-no! Not at all!” she blurted, sitting up halfway before catching herself. “It’s not like that. He never stops me from doing things I want to do. It’s just…”

  Her voice softened, fingers picking nervously at the edge of the blanket. “I think maybe he’s worried about me? That’s what your brother told me, at least.”

  Aira paused, considering. Then, with a dramatic exhale, she flopped back down onto the blanket, limbs splaying slightly as she stared up at the sky.

  “I mean… I don’t know Damien that well,” she admitted. “But if Akio said that, then he’s probably right. They’re friends—if you can even call whatever that is a friendship.”

  She rolled her eyes fondly, then after a moment added, “But Yoru… you’re your own person. No one gets to decide what you can and can’t do.”

  Yoru lowered her gaze. “Yeah… you’re right,” she murmured. “But I think I just… feel bad for making him worry.”

  Aira rolled onto her stomach, propping her chin on her elbows, feet kicking lazily in the air behind her.

  “Don’t feel bad. That’s just what older brothers do. Akio worries about me all the time—he’s always like, ‘Why do you have to pick such a dangerous profession?’ and ‘Why do you care so much about vigilantes?’ He just doesn’t get it because he only likes weird boring nerd stuff. But in the end, he still supports me.”

  She tapped the blanket thoughtfully. “I think Damien’s probably the same. He’s also kind of a weird nerd like my brother. Except more dramatic.”

  She paused, then added with the gravity of a judge passing sentence, “He’s kind of a Karen. No offense.”

  Yoru let out a soft laugh, unable to help it.

  “No, you’re right. That’s totally fair.” Her smile wilted into something fragile. “I mean… Damien has always looked out for me. I think he does mean well. I just… hope that maybe one day I can make him proud.”

  Aira flopped onto her back again, arms splayed above her head.

  “Honestly? You should just do things for yourself. Do what makes you happy. And besides—” She flicked Yoru’s arm lightly. “I’m sure he’s probably already proud of you. He just hasn’t told you yet.”

  The words settled over Yoru like warm sunlight—quiet, gentle, and impossibly comforting. She stared upward, the clouds drifting slowly across a pale blue sky. She hadn’t talked to Damien since their last conversation. She’d been giving him space—avoiding him, even. But Aira’s words nudged something in her chest.

  Maybe he is proud of me. Maybe he just didn’t say it.

  And maybe… I should keep chasing my dream anyway.

  Just as the thought began to settle fully, Aira suddenly flailed all four limbs into the air like an overturned beetle.

  “GAH! Akio is so annoying!”

  Yoru jolted slightly at the outburst. “…Where did that come from?”

  Aira rolled over dramatically, eyes lighting up with renewed energy. “Okay—did I ever tell you about this? Because last week there was this TV remote in our apartment—”

  Yoru couldn’t help it—she laughed. The tension eased from her shoulders as she listened, her smile growing brighter with every absurd detail Aira launched into.

  And for the first time all afternoon, the knot in her chest loosened. The warmth of the sun, Aira’s animated storytelling, the easy companionship—it all wrapped around her gently.

  Everything felt just a little bit lighter.

  ─ ? NEXT CHAPTER POV ? ─

  Akio