Dichotomy

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Something ugly was growing inside her.

That was all Tai could think as she followed her mother and her father, with Kohe in his arms, to the healer's dens. Most of her mind, she kept separate. Soft and light and warm and coiled in Kohe's, where she could feel taut fear beyond what she could soothe, and she didn't like it, but she kept that from her sister. She said nothing, or not in words, giving impressions of warmth and safety and happiness. She didn't dare touch her sister while they walked, but whenever she caught her eye, she gave a bright smile, and she kept Kohe's light-blankets wrapped close.

Everything else, though, was building inside her mind, inside her gut, congealing into something cold and hard and black and ugly. Tai didn't like it. She didn't like it at all. She was almost afraid of it, of this unrecognizable darkness that seemed to be comprised of everything she hated and nothing she was. She had her mother's Empathy. She knew things like hatred and bigotry and cruelty and evil existed. But she had never felt them before, not like this. She didn't understand them. She didn't like them.

She couldn't see beyond the pair and fear in Kohe's mind to tell what had happened, but it had been something bad, and it hadn't been an accident. Someone had hurt her sister, hurt her a lot, and Tai couldn't understand why. She thought of asking her mother, but Rora's mind felt strangely distant, too, even as she walked close to Tai, a tension in her body that Tai knew meant her mother was very, very close to snapping.

In fact, Kohe was the only thing keeping Rora in her mind right now. She didn't dare wreak havoc with Kohe the way she was. She would see her daughter to sleep, make sure Tai and Mori were alright. And then she would find the people who had done this to her daughter, and she would kill them. Mori would object. Lyra would object. The Grand United Council would object, but she would make them understand. And perhaps not. Perhaps she would be punished for her crime. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. What mattered was that Kohe had wandered away, and she had been beaten, and the scum that had done it were alive and well and waiting for vengeance.

"Mama?"

Tai's voice came to her from far away, tinged with an edge of barely contained fear. At once, Rora had tensed, Telepathy ready for the enemies that had dared returned for Tai's life, but --

"Mama, what? What is it?" Rora looked down at Tai almost blankly, vaguely surprised to see tears in her daughter's eyes. "Why are you scared? Why are you angry? What, Mama, what?"

Rora took a single deep breath, shoving the rage down deep, deep, deep as she could. Mori would not keep her from this, if she had to hold him back. But now was not the time.

She made herself smile at Tai. "It's alright, little monster. I'm just worried about your sister."

Tai hiccuped and quickly blinked away the tears she could feel forming in her eyes. She didn't want to cry. She hated crying. It made her sad. It made everyone sad. And that only made her sadder.

"She's gonna be okay, Mama," Tai said calmly, but Rora could feel the hint of desperation coiling in the back of her daughter's mind. Up ahead, Kohe caught Tai's eye again, and Tai gave a bright, sincere smile, not a trace of fear in sight. It disappeared as soon as Kohe looked away again.

It nearly broke Rora's heart. She smoothed Tai's hair down away from her eyes and reached to trace a star on her wing. To her surprise, Tai pulled away without even seeming to have noticed what she did, moving faster to be closer to Kohe. Rora's hand hung in the air a moment and then she shoved away the grief and surprise, too. She hoped her daughter's attackers would be many. This was far too much rage for a single person.

"Taibug?" Rora started, trying to sound casual. "How was your flying lesson today?"

She saw Tai's wings droop infinitesimally.

"I'm gonna go help Kohe, Mama."

She ran ahead before Rora could say anything else.

--

"Good."

Lyra's face remained impassive, her tone cool and stoic, but she knew Rask could feel the flood of relief that washed over her so strong, it threatened to buckle her knees.

It didn't. Instead, she took another long look over the empty, well-lit streets of the Eastern District. She'd narrowed their search down to an area of just a few blocks, a section the district had sanctioned off years ago, after the Aavan started moving into the cities. She did not look back at Rask as the Keepers she'd sent to collect suspicious parties returned, rank and file, to stand before her, but she offered what comfort she could as she felt pain and anger swirl through him.

"You should go to her," she said, still without looking at him. "They'll be on their way to the healer's dens by now. I'll catch up when I can."

In front of her, her Keepers had assembled a small, ragged group of seven Cerebrae, each of whom glared defiantly through the dusky twilight at Lyra, who finally, finally smiled.

"The child has been found," she announced. "And her attackers will be punished. Severely so."
 
Tai kept smiling and Kohe kept cringing at it when she looked away.

That wasn't sincerity, not really. Oh, Tai could conjure it up and Kohe wasn't an Empath, but she could feel her sister. She could feel the dark emotions in her, how scared she was, how angry and desperate, horrified and grieved. Kohe knew it was there and she knew that Tai was trying to pretend it wasn't for her sake. It worried Kohe.

Her mother was a molten river of fury, raw rage and intent. Kohe couldn't feel that, but she knew it anyway. She knew that the moment she was in safe hands, Rora would be gone, out for blood. It worried Kohe. And her father, so eerily calm, so stiff against her, so quiet as his mind swirled through hundreds of thoughts without ceasing...he worried Kohe.

Uncle Rask with his anger, his need to sink his claws and fangs into something, to vent the fear and frustrated failure, rage out on something. That worried her, too. The same with Aunt Lyra, her cool, calm, cold demeanor, every bit as dangerous as everyone else. It worried Kohe, as well. In fact, as they grew closer to the Healer's Den, it was worry, not pain, not fear, that started to overwhelm the young Demisan until even her body started to reek of the scent and her Father nearly stopped, looking down at her in confusion, concern of his own.

"Kohe?"

She just shook her head, burying her face in his shoulder again and Mori picked up his pace, finally arriving at their destination where he reluctantly put his daughter down on the bed that her blood was soon staining. But Kohe made no sound. Not of pain, not of relief and as the Healer's and Whisperer's swarmed around her, mismatched eyes snapped to Rora and there was both a child's longing for a mother, but also something much harder, something commanding.

"Don't go." A mixture of a request and an order.

A Healer Aavan touched her shoulder, trying to assess the damage of her dislocated arm and Kohe bit back a cry that had Mori surging forward with a snarl, but those scarlet and sapphire eyes pierced him, too, and he stopped suddenly, his own violet eyes wide, dilated with anger and protective fear. Kohe's were dilated with pain and her voice rasped with it, but it held no less control.

"No! They're doing what needs to be done, Papa. Leave them."

The Healer looked relieved when Mori slowly backed down, not sure what was said between daughter and father - and Tai and Rora since Kohe's mind was open to them, too - but grateful that he wasn't about to be thrown across a room as he got back to work.

Kohe let him, looking now to Tai, her sister who was trying so hard to be strong and the young, black-white haired Demisan reached out and took Tai's hand, her slender fingers enveloping her sister's differently built ones, thumb running across Tai's knuckles soothingly. "It's all right Pejkia. It's all right to be angry, to be scared and sad. It's all right. You don't have to hide it from me. I know. It's all right, Tai, I promise."

---

Rask snarled in satisfaction to her words, looking at the seven and his fangs nearly aching to rip into their throats. But that would be too quick, too good for them. No, they would know pain before they died. They would know Rora and Mori's wrath before they died. That was fitting punishment.

"Uncle Rask?"

The gold Aavan had taken a step forward, to leave the Eastern District, when Kohe's voice flooded his head and Rask stopped, shocked, relieved, instantly questioning. "I'm coming, little one. I'll be right there. It's all right."

"Bring Aunt Lyra."

Green eyes blinked in surprise and Rask looked back to his mate, but Kohe's voice came again, soft and requesting, but he HEARD that note of firmness to her words, something he couldn't quite pinpoint but knew was there. "Please, Uncle Rask. I want her here, too."

Rask nodded slowly, his mind giving assent and he felt Kohe slip away even as he turned to Lyra, his mind alone gathering her attention and green eyes met tangerine, confused and worried. "Lyra, she wants you. Kohe wants you to come. Now."
 
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Rora said nothing when Kohe asked, demanded, she stay. What choice did she have? Her little girl was lying here, bleeding and broken, and asking for her mother to stay, the frightened plea just as clear as the strange insistence. Had she guessed what it was Rora intended to do? Had she 'known' it as she sometimes heard Tai put it? It seemed likely. More often than not, the child seem to know far more than Rora, far more than anyone should. And that was what so unsettled her. What kind of mother was she that she couldn't protect her daughter from the awful truths she shouldn't have to deal with?

She kept -- or tried -- to keep her thoughts carefully blank for Tai's sake, too, but Rora knew they were feeding off each other. She could feel the strain in Tai's smile, just as Tai could feel the cold wrath swirling in her mother's mind. Of course Kohe had known what Rora wanted to do. Her temper with the children was legendary. It shouldn't have been. It was an appalling thing for a mother to leave with her children. But it was.

So, when Kohe asked that she stay, she just nodded once, took a deep breath, and tried to let the anger go, focusing more on her daughter's fear and pain, soothing away what she could, humming a gentle lullaby for Kohe alone.

"I'm here," she said with a smile that almost looked sincere. "I'm here, little one. I'm right here."

--

Tai was horrified.

Kohe, she was certain, did not know what she was saying. Her mind was addled with pain and fear and exhaustion. Alright? Alright? Nothing was alright! Tai had always trusted Kohe to be the good one, the smart one, the right one. She was the one who knew, and yet she seemed to know nothing of this.

Nothing was alright. And nothing could ever be alright ever again.

Kohe would recover, she knew that. Kohe would recover in body, if not in mind from this horrible thing, but for Tai, the damage had already been done. Sometimes, when she got scared, Tai remembered that day in the forest, when she had gotten too cocky and too tired and had nearly died. She had been afraid that day, yes. Afraid she would be taken from Kohe and her parents and never allowed to see them again. It was a fear that ran so deep, it was instinctive.

This fear was not like that.

Tai hated water like she hated darkness. She feared them, their power over her, knew they could hurt her. But she also knew water could not hate her back. And darkness -- most darkness -- did not loathe her, did not want to kill her from spite or cruelty. It simply was, as she was. As she had been, untouched by the ugliness now growing inside her. Water was not an evil thing. Darkness, in and of itself, was not evil. And because those two things she most feared had not been evil, Tai had wrongly assumed that evil did not exist.

She had been wrong. She had been very, very wrong. And now Kohe was hurt, her body throbbing in pain, her mind riddled with fear, and she was trying to tell Tai that it was alright?

No. Nothing was alright.

Tai stepped forward gently, gently, gently lifting Kohe's hand to her lips to press a tender kiss there. With her other hand, she made a butterfly, amber flecked with the silver of the coming moon. It fluttered about for a moment then alit in front of Kohe's nose, sparkling in the dim light of the healer's den. It would stay lit until Kohe wanted it gone.

"Go to sleep, 'setta," Tai said, using her free hand to stroke Kohe's hair. She wouldn't argue with her sister. She knew Kohe would know she was lying. But neither could she tell her how wrong she was. Kohe needed calm now. She needed warmth and light and joy and all those things Tai had been so effortlessly before she'd learned how stupid, how naive she'd been.

So, she changed the subject. What else could she do. "I'll be right here when you wake up, sissy. Go to sleep. No one will hurt you anymore. I promise, okay? I promise."

She would not be made a liar again.

--

As Rask turned to leave, Lyra had the three Telekinetic Keepers on her detail bind the hands of the seven offenders. Her two Pushers had already exacted confessions from each of them, and technically, their fates would be left up to the Council...but Lyra had a few choice words for them, first.

She was just choosing these words when Rask rumbled in her head. She turned on him, half annoyed he hadn't left yet -- and then she saw the fear and confusion in his eyes. The words sank in.

Kohe wanted her there?

The child had always been strange, seeming to know far more than she ought, than anyone ought. And Lyra knew perfectly well that if Kohe had a choice, Aunt Lyra would be the last person she'd need there. She'd expected a visit in the morning, or after she was fully recovered. The only reason she would want Lyra now...

Lyra's face went slack, her mind racing with a new fear.

"Goddess," she muttered, studying Rask's face for the pain she kept expecting. "Has she seen...is she...will she..." Somehow, she couldn't say the word. Maybe she didn't really want to know the answer. She started after Rask before remembering her Keepers had been left with the culprits.

She turned on her heel, new fear making her words sharp. She Pushed the seven -- hard, watching with a cold satisfaction as the intensity of her command made them all cringe.

You will remain dumb and mute until my return, she commanded, locking eyes with each of her Keepers to ensure they understood as well. My Keepers will take you to the city, to the Keeper's Collesium, and you will wait. And know this: if the child dies, you will know her suffering in the worst way.

The last words were nearly shouted; one of the Cerebra cried out in pain. Another had blood trickling from his nostril. Lyra pretended not to notice.

She stared at them a moment longer, and then she was following Rask as quickly as she could afford.
 
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Rask shook his head to his mate's question, horror sweeping through him at the thought, but he could reassure himself that it wasn't happening, that his charge wasn't dying and that stabilized him. He started to speak, to shift even as they started to move toward the Northern District. "No, she's not dying. She's badly injured, but not dying."

There was relief so profound in that statement just as there was surety and Rask shifted up into his larger form, already taking off even as Lyra vaulted her way to his back. It was a short flight, but worth it as they made better time than if they'd walked and they were immediately directed to the room Kohe was stationed in.

Rask didn't need to be told, the twins' presence like a scent to him, leading him the right way.

--

Kohe watched the butterfly for a moment, truly soothed by the familiar presence of it, by her sister's comforting touch, but when Tai spoke to her, she shook her head, the light disappearing, though her intention had not been to rid herself of it. No, she was shaking her head in a 'no' gesture, something determined and steely in her gaze, but not toward her sister. It just was and even as a Whisperer started to touch her rib cage gently, trying to assess the damage, the Demisan spoke and her voice was for everyone present, Rask and Lyra entering the room then, too.

"No."

She grit her teeth against a scream, growling savagely instead - the first time she'd ever done so - as her ribs were pushed back into place. The Whisperer looked nervously to Mori and Rora, but Kohe was looking at them as well, eyes alone saying she could handle this, that she knew it was needed. Coddling her was not going to heal her. Still, her Father was now closer to the bed, touching her foot, almost afraid to touch anywhere else.

"Kohe, sleep, baby girl. It will help."

When she could breathe again, Kohe spoke again, forcing herself to a sitting position despite the protests that Mori and Rask immediately started to voice.

"No. No, I will not sleep. I will not relax. I will not let all of you do what you're planning to do." She bit out, the Healers and Whisperers taking her convenient positions to start working on the long, deep claw gauges across the expanse of her back. Her Father looked surprise and then worried, faintly guilty and her Uncle...well, he looked as if someone had struck him and Kohe's eyes traveled from him to her Mother, to her Aunt and her mismatched eyes practically blazed. "Do you think that maiming and killing and making those seven scream before you kill them will change what happened? Do you think it will please me? I will know. I will see it. Just as I've seen your brother die, Aunt Lyra and your sister, Aunt Risa, Mother. Uncle Rask's torture, Father's captivity. I see it. I see everything!"

Tears were streaming now and Kohe didn't care, didn't wipe them away as she gripped Tai's hand tightly, needing her support, needing to know her sister hadn't left as she broke down, as she revealed the pains of the last three months. They would have to mend each other, in private, later, but right now, she really needed Tai, needed to know that her sibling was on her side even if no one else was. "I don't want to see that. I don't want you to DO that. They cracked my ribs and bruised me up. That is all they did. That doesn't warrant death, no matter what their real plans were. It didn't happen. Is that the way you want Tai and I to grow up? Thinking that just because we're angry, we should be above the law, kill as we wish, extract justice we feel is fair? Are we really so much more important than everyone else that you are justified in killing in our name?"

Mori looked as if he might speak and his daughter's eyes caught him, stilling the words. "You are supposed to be Rulers, to be wise and just, to make peace and show mercy. I have seen a future without it, I have been to a future without it and this road leads to it."

There was a silence, a very heavy silence and Rask only slowly broke it, much subdued in the face of the Demisan's words. But something else had caught his attention and he was sure he was not the only one.

"Kohe....you said you've 'been to a future like this'...and you say these seven...they didn't do that to you?"

Kohe's tears dripped down her face as the commanding force seemed to leave her and immediately there was nothing but a child, a scared, broken child in pain and scared beyond belief as she nodded, confirming her Uncle's words.
 
Tai didn't move as Kohe spoke, save for a violent trembling she couldn't control. She couldn't move. She was afraid to move. She knew if she moved, she would go and do all those things Kohe had just given light, tangibility to. Suddenly, the ugliness inside her had a name and a purpose.

It was hatred. Tai hated those people who had hurt her sister, and she hated that she hated them. She had never hated anyone or anything before. It took a tremendous amount of energy. It took all the light she'd ever seen, ever touched, and it made her feel cold and black and ugly inside. It made her want to do things, bad things, to those people, to all the people Tai had said. The ones that had hurt Mama and Papa and Uncle Rask and Aunt Lyra.

It made her want to scream and cry and run away.

She didn't. She didn't move. She hardly breathe. She just stood there and held Kohe's hand and shook like a leaf in the wind.

Rora didn't move, either, as a pride she didn't know she had the capacity for rose in her. Her rage was not soothed, nowhere near it. But she knew, too, what it would cost her daughter, both her daughters, if she killed those people. She put the thought out of her head and stepped forward and lay a hand on Kohe's brow. The Healers had completed their initial assessment. There was no reason Rora could not heal her daughter as she had once healed Mori, as she had once healed Tac.

She did not understand what Kohe had said, and for the moment, she did not care. She could no longer watch her daughter in pain, not when she had the capacity to fix it. Another Cerebra Healer stepped forward, recognizing Rora's intent, but Rora only shook her head.

"Let me," she said gently, and the Healers began to aid in that which Rora could not.

She bound the rib first, feeling a flare of pain in her side before a swell of relief as the bone was restored to its former status and strength. The countless scratches and slashes came next as Rora's power, fueled by her rage, spilled over Kohe's body, knitting flesh shut in a matter of moments instead of hours or days. She could not restore the blood Kohe had lost, but that was easily enough done by the Healers. Kohe's shoulder came last. Reduction by Healing was a kinder and gentler process than simply jerking it out of place, though it would leave Rora tired and cranky over the next few days. Just as well. Better she exhaust herself healing Kohe than using her power to do what she really wanted to do.

Kohe would feel a strange, dull pain in her shoulder, then a sudden, sharp stabbing, and then quiet, cool relief.

Rora didn't move when she'd finished, instead staying at her daughter's side to gentle comb her fingers through her daughter's hair. Both she and Tai could feel the relief of the healed wounds ebbing through their bodies, though Tai still hadn't said a word, nor so much as shed a tear since she'd found Kohe. The other Healers began to administer fluids and other medications.

It was Lyra who finally asked, as gently as she could, "What happened, pia? Where did you go?"
 
Kohe knew the change that came over the room as the lust for blood and vengeance cooled even if the anger did not. She didn't care about that. They could be enraged all they wanted, so long as they didn't act on it like they'd been planning to. But they wouldn't, at least not right now, and that reassured the Demisan. What made her relax, however, was her Mother's touch and the healing, warm energy that came with it. Kohe let out a small sob of relief, whimpering only when her arm was healed and then there was no more pain. Nothing but the aching of her body from the impacts, but that was not enough to even truly register in her mind right now.

No, the pain was gone - even if the scars were not - and Kohe let herself lean back into the bed, uncaring about the blood. No, all she was concerned about now was her sister as she pulled Tai into the bed with her and then pulled her twin close, curling around her protectively, soothing her white-purple hair with a far steadier hand than her sister's shaking body.

She said nothing, simply held Tai, and leaned into Rora's caring fingers as she looked to their Aunt, scarlet and sapphire eyes showing a haunting pain, a knowledge that made Rask hiss between his teeth because he KNEW that look. He'd FELT that look, had given Lyra that look when they'd first started to speak of his past, years ago. He knew something of that pain and to see it in Kohe...

"I'll show you."

It was all Kohe said, all the warning she gave before her mind stretched out to the five people in the room she trusted - along with Aunt Yenna, Uncle Rask, Aunt Siya, Uncle Rogan and her grandparents - most in the world and her memories of the last two hours flooded their consciousnesses.

--

She'd disappeared laying down and that's how Kohe appeared where she landed, her body hitting the ground from at least two feet in the air. Her cry of pain as her ribs jolted was lost in the clamor around her, one cry among many and mismatched eyes looked around quickly, scared as the Demisan scrambled to her feet, realizing she'd landed not on the ground, but a body, two bodies. That alone threatened a scream in her throat, but it froze there as she started to absorb what was around her.

The sky was dark, so very dark, but flashes of electricity and fire streaked across the heavens and she could make out the form of Aavan battling the darkness, battling forms on the ground....and ships. Fast, sleek ships that shot laserfire and plasma at said Aavan, at the clusters of darkness....at the ground. And the ground was even worse.

Bodies tangled and struggled, feral growls and screams, sounds of weapons firing, the earth rising and falling like it was being shaken violently this way and that. Massive Aavanian bodies flew through the air to crash into the ground, thrown by invisible forces and then the darkness consumed the body even as forms, animal like forms or tall, broad-chested forms would go after the Cerebrae who'd thrown the Aavan. Said forms also attacked Aavan and it took Kohe all of a moment to understand that the unfamiliar species was with the Darkness and the other two, the Cerebrae and Aavan were against each other as well as the other two species.

It was chaos, a bloodbath and Kohe had landed right in the middle of it.

She watched the violence with horror and escalating terror, unable to understand what had happened, where she was and then something snarled behind her. Turning swiftly, her tail raised in instinct she'd never had to use, prepared to strike...and then Kohe started to shake, fear overwhelming the momentary flash of bravery as she took in the snarling jaws dripping red with blood, glowing eyes that saw nothing but an enemy, not a child.

Kohe didn't move, frozen and it wasn't until she felt something slash into her thigh, pain registering along with the warmth that started to pour down her leg that she understood her own mortality. The Demisan bolted then, her leg screaming at her and the creature behind her snarled in satisfaction for the chase, leaping after her. Kohe screamed as claws caught her side and the creature released her again, playing with her as the Demisan stumbled and kept going, staggering over the bodies that littered the ground. She gave a shriek as the great body of an Aavan plummeted to the earth before her, showering her in earth and rock, slicing a cut in her forehead even as she scrambled to stop, breathing hard, her heart hammering in her chest as she sought an escape that didn't exist.

As far as the eye could see, this battle raged, nothing to be seen but the dusk of a false evening, orange and red of flames and lasers, the ominous smell of electricity and blood. So much blood. And the sound of the ships overhead and the screams of the dying and injured. There was no escape and Kohe knew it even as she sensed the presence behind her.

The blow raked fire across her back and she screamed, but fell, fell and didn't try to rise again, not sure she could. And the creature closed in...and then met its own end in a stream of acid from an Aavan who moved on just as quickly, leaving the young child in a heap, along with the hundreds, the thousands upon thousands of dead around her.

And as she watched, Kohe suddenly understood, as if the knowledge had been whispered into her ear.

This was the future.

The pulling sensation she'd felt before started then and this time, she didn't fight it, welcomed it, prayed it would take her where she wanted to be. With Tai, with her family. Home.

She shut her eyes as the world grew dizzy and then black...and she opened her eyes to sunlight, to her own street, to her house not fifty feet away. Seeing it, Kohe forced her body to work, to rise, and she stumbled her way to the door and inside.

--

Kohe blinked, releasing their minds, and her own was exhausted, utterly so. She wanted to sleep now. To do nothing but sleep for a long time, but her mismatched eyes took in those around her, weighing their reactions.

Her Father was standing still, his hand on her foot as if he couldn't remember how to move it away and he looked very pale, eyes wide, speechless, but not disbelieving and he finally moved, wordlessly coming to her head and slowly placing a kiss on her crown before doing the same to Tai and Kohe noted in that moment that he was silently crying as he pet their hair down gently, shakily as if he was afraid of losing them.

And Uncle Rask had sat, looking ill and yet...not entirely surprised. No, he looked stricken, grieved. He looked at her with the affection and hurt of an Uncle, but also with something deeper, like one soldier might do to another and Kohe saw it, understood it and nodded just a bit before her eyes flickered to her Mother, to her Aunt, awaiting their reactions.

But she never let go of her sister, knowing that Tai...Tai was going to need her. Tai who was so broken right now, too. It broke Kohe's heart.
 
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Tai was going to be sick.

She knew it the moment Kohe all put them back in their minds, gently carrying them away from a future that had been so cruel to her. She knew it just as keenly as Kohe had they day Nana Sumilah had baked the twins not one, but two starfruit tarts for their fifth birthday, and made the mistake of leaving them alone. She was going to be sick just as soon as she got Kohe to sleep, because Kohe needed sleep now. Tai knew even without her mother's Empathy. Kohe was tired and sore and exhausted, and the next several days -- no, the next several years, but especially the next several days -- were going to be very hard for her sister, and Tai wouldn't, couldn't leave her anymore. Flying lessons would have to wait. Everything would.

And Tai...Tai didn't get. She didn't understand. She and Kohe had known other children as they'd grown up, though their playmates had mostly been each other. How much to avoid something like what had happened to Kohe today, she wasn't sure. But she had watched them all, brothers, sisters, Aavan, Cerebrae, fight each other. Never serious. Always petty things. I want to play this game, that's my toy, not yours. Tai had always watched in open mouthed amazement until Mama told her to stop. And when she'd asked why they fought their friends, their siblings, their people, Rora had smiled and said, "That's just what people do sometimes, little one. People fight."

"But why, Mama? Why can't they be nice? Can't they feel when the other person's sad?"

Rora had given her a kiss and a snuggle. "No, little one. Not many people can. And it makes them sad, and it makes them lonely. And they fight."

Was that where this led? Those creatures that had attacked her sister? Had they been sad and lonely, too? Had they thought killing a child would help? Tai would never be as good at knowing as Kohe, but she understood people. She knew them.

She didn't understand this.

Or at least...she hadn't until tonight.

She wrapped her arms around her sister, careful to avoid places where Kohe was still sore, and she held on tight. Without even thinking about it, she made a bubble, thin and light and warm, and she spread it over Kohe, between her older sister and everything else in the world, all those things she could no longer trust now that she knew everything had the capacity to hurt, to hate. Even Tai herself.

Behind her, above her, Rora was pouring herself into Kohe's care again, knowing if she didn't exhaust her powers here, she would go somewhere else and do something worse. She pulled blankets from the shelves and draped them over the twins, tucked careful pillows under Kohe's head, and then Tai's, and resolved that once Kohe was deeply enough asleep, she would take her daughter to the bathroom and clean the drying blood away, gently, so gently, promising nothing would wake her daughter but her daughter.

Lyra stood silent, but she felt her breath catch as the wave of familiarity went through her, remembering Rask, how she'd had to fight to get through to him, hoping, praying, Kohe would not turn out the same.

No one said anything until Tai mumbled quietly in their heads. "Kohe has to sleep now," she said, just a tremor of emotion she kept hidden from her twin. "Kohe is tired and she has to sleep now, okay? It's time for Kohe to go sleep."

She could feel her sister's worry over her, coloring her exhaustion, making it hard for Kohe to rest, and Tai burrowed closer, speaking only to her sister.

"I'm okay, sissy. I'm okay. You go to sleep, okay? It's okay now. I know you're tired. You go to sleep, and I'll stay right here, and you'll be okay. I can keep you safe, Kohe, I promise. I'm gonna keep you safe."
 
Kohe wanted to weep for her little sister, but she felt too exhausted to even cry and so she simply held Tai tighter, not wanting her twin leaving while she slept because much as she didn't like it, sleep was unavoidable now. No, she couldn't stay awake, not when Tai was speaking to her softly, her words a balm in Kohe's shaky, oversensitive mind and the Demisan finally smiled just a bit as she brought her forehead to her sisters, her voice soft as she started to drift off.

"I'll protect you, too. Together. Both of us together. How it should be."

Nuzzling into her sister, Kohe let her mismatched eyes shut, her mind extending one last time to the adults in the room, sending love and gratefulness to her Mother, the same and warmth to her Father who was so shaken up. To her Aunt she sent calm and to her Uncle....words. "It's not your fault, Uncle Rask." Her eyes opened briefly, meeting his green eyes. "Please tell them. Please explain." She let Lyra hear that, let the others hear it, knowing they wouldn't understand. Not yet.

And then she drifted off completely, unable to stay awake any longer.

--

Rask sucked in a slow, but harsh breath once she was out and then let it out shakily, placing his head in his hands for just a moment as his body shook. Never - NEVER - had he wanted to see a sight like that again. He'd lived that, had been involved in that and he'd never wanted to experience it again, barely wanted to remember it. Knowing his niece, his ward, had been part of it now, too, it tore at Rask's heart savagely. And all that time trying to protect the twins, trying to make sure they remained innocent and untouched by the world...it was all gone now. Brutally ripped away and now the gold Aavan DID find himself becoming sick, turning to the sink behind him and retching long after his stomach was empty.

He shuddered with tears he wouldn't let fall - not yet - and wiped his mouth, rinsing with some water before looking back at Mori and Rora, green eyes briefly meeting Lyra's before going back to the twins.

Tell them.

The little one didn't know what she asked.....only, she did. And that's what hurt the most. She did understand. She shouldn't have to. Neither of them should have had to understand...but Rask opened his mind to all of them - Tai included. She knew the horror. The little monster should know the hope, too, slim as it was.

"What did she mean?" The question came from Mori, the black Aavan's quick mind having missed nothing and he watched his not-brother rack his hand back through his hair, swallowing hard, subconsciously moving closer to Lyra as he started to speak.

"What Kohe saw was a future. That is where she was. It's...it's the future I am from."

Violet eyes widened, that news unfamiliar. They'd found out some about Rask, but not everything. Not exactly how he knew to protect their children, not why he'd been sent back, not where he was really from, what time and what was happening. They didn't know his story, not really. They only knew he was Asesee's descendant, that he'd traveled back in time, that he protected the twins. But they didn't know much more than that, hadn't needed to. He had been their brother, friend and he was still on their side. That's all that had mattered in truth.

This, though...now they needed to know this.

"THAT is the future?!" Mori exclaimed and Rask shook his head. "No. It's one future. It's the one where the twins....aren't alive. It's why I came here. It's not the only future there can be. The twins-" He looked to where Kohe and Tai lay and then back at Mori, at Rora. "-they can change it. They make it better."

Mori nodded slowly, trying to let that sink in. His children; the deciding factors of the future. He nearly snorted. Well, it made sense. He and Rora weren't exactly normal...and the twins had never been that either. The black Aavan growled softly to himself, pacing a bit. "So this future. Kohe...saw it that vividly? She projected herself into it?" Even as he spoke the words, Mori knew they weren't true, but he desperately wished they were because the alternative...

Rask was shaking his head slowly. "Mori, her name. I gave you her name. Kaloranis gave you her name and Tai's. You know what she did. Akatikari. Time Keeper. Kohe'Erana. Guardian of Time without End."

Mori sank down on the twins' bed, looking to his daughter now, both of them, his precious girls and he felt a twisting in his middle to know that for one at least, he could do nothing to stop this, to help her...and perhaps not with Tai either who would suffer as her sister did, because her sister did.

"Time. She traveled through Time."
 
Rora knew the conversation going on around her was important, but she couldn't get past the words Rask had said.

It's the one where the twins aren't alive.

Her fingers, still steady, kept combing through Kohe's white-black hair. She hummed softly, tunelessly under her breath, quietly stunned by her little girl's bravery, her strength.

And then, unbidden, unwanted, the image of her daughter, dead.

Rora made a strangled whimpering sound in the back of her throat as the sight of the walls in the bathroom, the hallway of her home, her daughter's home, covered in blood reared up in her mind. She knew she would never forget the sight of Kohe on the floor, broken and bleeding, dying. Dead?

Tai saw it, too, and all at once she was struggling, gently, in Kohe's arms.

"Mama?" she whimpered wretchedly. "Mama. Mama, I'm gonna be sick. I -- I -- "

To everyone's surprise, though none greater than her own, it was Lyra who stepped forward to gently, carefully disengaged Tai from her twin's arms, while Rora stared down at the two, her expression unreadable. The second Tai's feet hit the floor, she was running, pale-faced and gasping, down the hall and into the darkness.

Lyra put up a hand, feeling the tension in the room jump up six levels as they watched Tai disappear.

"I'll get her," she said quietly. "I'll bring her back. You should all stay with Kohe."

Rora sat down hard then, her legs no longer able to hold her up, and if she could have cried, she would have, shaky, breathless gasps as the closeness of Rask's prophecy struck her again and she recalled once more how close she'd come to losing her daughter. And then she was clambering onto the bed with Kohe, scooping her daughter gently, gently into her lap, brushing black-white hair from closed, puffy eyes, still able to feel the exhaustion and pain and fear from Kohe sweeping through her.

"H-how?" she choked out when she could finally speak. "How is that possible? How do we keep her from doing it again?" Her eyes shot to Mori's face, desperate, searching. "We have to, right? How else can we keep her safe? How -- she could go anywhere without us, and just...Goddess, Mori, a war, she stood on a battlefield, alone, and...that thing, it tried to kill her! It tried to kill her, Mori, it tried to kill our baby girl -- "

Suddenly, Rora's face went blank as the realization crept in that she didn't have to leave Kohe's side to kill those seven. Kohe would hate her for it. She knew that, and it near killed her, but she couldn't risk them finding her or Tai again, Rora knew that, too. Mori might even try to stop her, but she could be faster than him, could be stronger. And he would understand, she was sure. She could make him understand. They were not the ones who had nearly killed Kohe, but they were the ones who had sent her away. They were the ones who had put her in danger, had triggered this strangle, untamable powers of hers, and if they thought they were just going to get away with their crime, they were very, very wrong.
 
Rask looked after his mate with a gratefulness she would feel, hating how inadequate he felt at the moment, but knowing it could not be helped. Tai...Tai needed someone stable, someone who's emotions were not going to cripple her and right now, no one currently in this room now fit that description. No, his Keeper knew how to keep her emotions under wraps. It was something he both admired and grew frustrated with in turns, but it would serve little Tai well right now.

Kohe, however, had already sensed her twin's absence and shifted restlessly in her mother's arms, whimpering softly in the back of her throat, barely heard if not for the fact that every adult in the room was focused on her. It was as if she'd taught herself not to cry out, not to be heard and Rask felt another knife twist in his gut at realizing it.

He'd never wanted this to happen to the twins. Never. And he'd failed them in that regard.

He wouldn't fail Kohe now, though, as Rask had seen that look in Rora's eyes, knew it just as intimately as he knew his own mind and the things he was capable of, the things he'd done. He understood it completely and even as Mori moved toward his mate, the gold Aavan spoke, catching Rora's eyes.

"Don't."

She would know what he meant and Rask watched as Mori came behind Rora and pulled her and their daughter into his arms, his chin resting on her head as he sighed, the blue strands of his mind coiling with the violet, both soothing and sharing pain, anger, but also a resolve. "He's right, little rainbow. I want to make them pay, too. You know I do." She only had to move beyond this calm bubble around them to see the way the blue thrashed and sparked, writhing in its fury and fear, hate and blood lust. "But we can't, not like this."

Rask could not hear Mori, but he didn't have to, his own voice coming into both parent's minds. "If you lash out after she asked you, practically told you not to, do you realize what she'll do, Rora?"

Mori looked down at his child, a thought stirring in his mind and Rask seemed to echo it as he spoke, looking down at the child in question. "She'll do it again. She'll get stronger, more accurate, she'll push herself to be so and then she will go back, even if it takes years for her to learn how and she will stop this. She will stop you killing them. And you won't remember, but she will. When she comes back, everything will have changed, but she'll be the same. She will have memories that never were and never can be anymore and no one will understand her, no one will know why she carries so much pain, so much distrust for you, Rora. It will break your heart and it it will break her and it will hurt Tai as well." He knew. He knew without wanting to know and he hated every word, but it needed to be said.

".....She'd do it." Mori whispered and then he closed his eyes, his mind tense and ready to spring within Rora's, hoping not to, not wanting to, but prepared. "Kohe's always been...more, different. You know she would. We can't...we can't do that to her."
 
Lyra found Tai knelt in the next hallway over, the outside of the bathroom, her little face pale as she tried to clean up the mess she'd made on the floor. The Keeper took a deep breath and willed herself to remain calm, knowing that if she broke down here, now, it wouldn't help Tai in the slightest.

As it were, the little empath looked up at her aunt as she came in, crestfallen.

"I…I didn't make it," she said quietly. "I'm okay now, Aunt Lyra, you should go keep Kohe safe."

Lyra shook her head and forced a smile to her lips, kneeling beside her niece and brushing a strand of hair from terrified violet eyes.

"Kohe will be fine, little monster. She's with Uncle Rask and your parents. She misses you."

Tai barked a strange sound Lyra wouldn't recognize until later as laughter. It made her almost shiver, such a cynical sound coming from a girl who could find reason to laugh at a stone.

"She shouldn't. I couldn't…I can't keep her safe."

"There was nothing you could have done, Tai."

Her niece nodded, slow, painful. "I know. I know that now." She was still scrubbing at the floor, but her eyes were somewhere else, somewhere far away. Somewhere dark.

It was a long, silent moment, Lyra trying to figure out what to say, before Tai spoke.


"Why did they hurt her, Aunt Lyra? I don't…I don't undersand. She never did anything to any of them. Why would they hurt her? Why did that thing want to...to kill her?"

Lyra opened her mouth to speak and found she couldn't. This, she realized with an abrupt and distant sense of horror, would be a defining moment in little Tai's life. The moment when she really, truly realized the world was not the good, kind place she'd always seen. Lyra hesitated, suddenly afraid to answer.

"I…little monster, there are…just some things…some people…"

"Bad people?" Tai whispered. "Are they bad people, Aunt Lyra?" She sniffed, shuddered. "Mama wants to hurt the bad people. Papa, too. And Uncle Rask. And you, too." Lyra stared, unable to speak, at Tai who stared back, desperate and hopeful and terrified. "Me, too, Aunt Lyra. I never wanted to hurt anyone before, but I wanna go find those people who hurt Kohe, and…and…and I wanna…wanna…"

Her voice broke then and she leapt to her feet, only just making it to the bathroom before she was sick again. Lyra watched for a moment, feeling her heart sink lower and lower in her chest. When she looked down, she saw she had dug little half crescents of blood into her palms. Because Tai was right. Watching her niece fall apart, smelling the blood in the air in Kohe's room…Tai was right. She wanted nothing more than to go after the Cerebrae she'd left in the city, show them just exactly what they'd done to her family.

But listening to Tai sob and retch over the toilet, she knew she couldn't. She shut her eyes, exhaled, and got to her feet to go after Tai.

"Oh, little monster," she soothed under her breath as she filled a small disposable cup on the sink with water. She sat beside Tai, a hand on her back, another on her forehead, feeling the little Demisan tremble under her fingers as she finally stop retching, only to begin to sob.

"Breathe, Tai. Breathe," she commanded gently, pulling her niece down into her lap, the girl's back against her chest, taking slow, deep, exaggerated breaths as Rask had once done for her.

"See? Do what I'm doing, little monster. You'll be alright."

Tai still couldn't speak, but Lyra saw her shake her head once, back-forth, almost a spasm rather than a dissent.

"No?"

Tai shook her head again, took a gasping breath, then spoke through her sobs. "Not alright," she bawled. "Not alright. Bad. I still want to hurt those people, Aunt Lyra. E-even after w-what Kohe s-s—"

"Shhh," Lyra soothed, handing her the cup of water to rinse her mouth with. "Tai. Tai, just listen, okay? Calm down for a second, and listen. For Kohe, okay? You know she'll know you're upset, don't you?"

It was a cruel move, one Rora might have killed her for if she knew, but it Tai hyperventilated, she was only going to pass out and sleep with the thought in her head that her family were the sort of people who could kill without a thought.

And it worked. Tai kept crying quietly, but she took a single breath and a gulp of water and said nothing more.

And Lyra realized she had one chance to say something she knew nothing about, didn't even know if she believed.

So, she didn't think. She shut off her mind and opened her heart, her connection with Rask, everything he'd made her in the last twelve years.

"Tai, love, did…did you know you have superpowers?"

The words stunned Lyra, sounding lame and useless in her ears. But Tai only shrugged weakly. Not agreement…but curiosity. Lyra seized the interest and held on tight.

"It's true. You do. What your mother passed on to you. You know what it is?"

"I—I can share people's sadness," she hiccuped gently, never realizing how poignant a thing she'd just said. "I know when they're happy and angry and scared. I can feel it, too."

"That's right," Lyra said gently. "And do you know why that's so special?"

Tai shrugged again. Her breathing had settled, the sobs dropping to quietly sniffling. "I can make it better."

"And that's so important, Tai. Don't you ever lose that. But you know what's even better than that?"


"Kohe's knowing?"

"Yes. And your knowing."

Tai shook her head gently. "No, Aunt Lyra. I don't have the knowing."

"Yes, you do. You have a different knowing. Just as special as Kohe's. You know what makes people sad and afraid and angry. You know what comes behind that want to hurt people."

"What do you mean?"

"Right now. You said your mama wants to hurt those people, right? But you know she's not bad. What is she, Tai?"

"I don't – "

"Wait. Just feel. What's behind the hurt?"

Tai hesistated, then shut her eyes, her little brow furrowing as she reached out to touch her mother and father and Uncle Rask, looking beyond the anger, beyond the need to hurt. Then she opened her eyes, no longer crying, but stunned. Hopeful.

"She's scared," Tai said, her voice light with wonder. "She's not bad, she's scared. Her and Papa and Uncle Rask." Her eyes softened and she reached out to touch Lyra's cheek. "And you. And me."

Lyra nodded, unable to speak for a moment. "That's right. And you and me. Do you see, Tai, how sometimes fear and sadness and loneliness can feel like other things? Like things that might make people want to do bad things?"

Tai hesitated, nodded.

"It doesn't mean they're bad people, Tai. People…most people…aren't bad. People, most people, are scared or hurt or lonely or sad. And sometimes, some people can feel that way for a very long time. It makes them want to do bad things to other people, even people who don't deserve it, like your sister."

"Like what those people Kohe saw did to Uncle Rask?"

Lyra closed her eyes, feeling a bolt of emotion run through her. "Yes, little monster. Like that."

She opened her eyes when she felt cold fingers on her cheek. Tai was reaching out again, her big eyes soft and understanding. Lyra was the knowing there, just as strong as her sister's.

"I made you want to hurt people again," Tai said softly. "I'm sorry."

Lyra shook her head. "No, Tai. You made me remember something that makes me sad. Do you see how that can happen? Those people that hurt Uncle Rask…they were afraid because they had been hurt, too. So, they took Uncle Rask, and they made him afraid, too."

"And that made you afraid," Tai finished. "Not bad. Sad and hurt and afraid."

"Yes."

"So those people…who hurt Kohe? The ones fighting each other and hurting everyone else…they're not bad? They're just…they're just…"

"They're just scared and hurt and lonely, Tai. Just like you and me. And your superpower lets you see that better than anyone else could. That's your job, little monster. And it won't be easy. There…there will be other people. Who want to hurt you, your sister, your family. And sometimes, they'll succeed. And it'll feel like there's nothing else you can do but hurt them back. But you've seen that doesn't work. That just makes the hurt and the fear keep going back around, a big cycle that includes more and more people, until everyone is hurting each other, just like Kohe saw.

"But you, Tai, you can change that. Because you know. You can see people aren't bad, aren't hurting on purpose. You can see why they're hurting. You can see the fear and pain behind it."

"Like someone hurt their Kohe…" Tai said gently.

Lyra laughed gently, finding tears of love and admiration at the back of her throat. "Yes, little monster. Just like that."

"People aren't bad," said Tai, finally sitting up on her own her little face alight with a sudden understanding that went far beyond her eleven years. "People do bad things. But they aren't bad."

"They aren't bad," Lyra agreed, pressing a kiss to her niece's temple before pulling her to her feet. "Do you want to go see your sister now?"

Tai nodded and took Lyra's hand. Lyra squeezed little fingers without a second thought.

"Will you stay with Kohe and me?"

Lyra felt something else, something entirely unfamiliar, and yet completely natural, bubble at the back of her throat. Suddenly, she wanted nothing else.

"Of course, little monster. I'll stay as long as you want."

--

For a long time, Rora said nothing, staring at Rask, her expression blank. Mori's mind cooled in hers like a balm, and yet…Goddess, yet, somehow it wasn't enough. Her mind was awhirl with thought, ideas, how she could keep little Kohe from ever finding out, how she could get past her mate, how she could trick Rask, somehow overwhelm him without hurting him – Lyra would never forgive her for that. She wasn't sure Mori, Tai, and Kohe would be able to, either.

But it would be worth it, wouldn't it? To know those monsters in the courtyard could never hurt her daughter.

She didn't know when she began speaking.

"I wouldn't have to hurt them," she said quietly. "I wouldn't even have to leave this room. I could just…" Her mind drifted back to the trial she'd had with the old council after she and Mori had finally been freed from the labs when they'd come back to the city after first Bonding, and she looked up at him, her expression still unreadable. "Those memories they Pushed on me. I could do that. They would suffer no more than Kohe. Less, even. And they would know." Then her eyes traveled back to Rask. She was no longer pleading, no longer making a case. She would protect her children.

"Do we just let them go? Knowing that they went after her for no other reason than her race? They won't stop, you know. Not for Kohe, not for Tai. What if it had been Tai out there? Or are we to expect she can just flee to a battlefield, too? Those monsters want our daughters dead, Mori. Are we to just – "

"Mama?"

Rora looked down, her expression softening at once. But Kohe was still asleep, however fitfully, in her arms.

"Mama, they're not monsters."

Suddenly, all eyes were on Tai, who stood in the door, pale-faced and puffy-eyed, but as rigidly determined as Rora had ever seen her as she clutched Lyra's hand with a white-knuckle grip.

Rora gave her youngest a strained smile.

"I know, Taibug, I just – "

But Tai shook her head, breaking from Lyra to stand beside her sister and her mother. Lyra watched, an almost unrecognized fondness in her eyes, then went to stand beside her mate, soothing the tension she felt in his mind as she watched Tai smooth her sister's hair from her brow before doing the same to her mother.

"No, Mama. We can't hurt them. That won't fix anything. That'll just make more fear and hurt."

Rora stared in open-mouthed astonishment, before her eyes found Lyra's. Tangerine eyes glittered in pride and maybe a challenge, as if to say Rora would stand alone if she went after the offenders.

Tai went on, unperturbed, now gently combing her sister's hair with her fingers. "Aunt Lyra said those people are just people like us," she said matter-of-factly. "And they got hurt and scared and sad and lonely. She said they don't know anyone like me, who can make that stuff better, instead of worse. She said I'm supposed to make people feel better, Mama. Not hurt them. Kohe has a job, and now me, too." Tai looked behind her and grinned at Lyra, her first since Kohe had been hurt.

Lyra smiled back, her hand finding Rask's, her fingers intertwining with his.

"Right, Aunt Lyra?"

"Right," said Lyra, though she now watched Rora. "And they won't go unpunished, Rora. They've committed a crime against your daughter, and against a species. But they'll be tried fairly. As people. Not – "

"Not monsters," Tai finished quietly.

Rora's eyes went from Tai, to Lyra, and back to Tai before she nodded slowly, closing her mouth. When she spoke, there were barely withheld tears there. Lyra was concerned, but Tai intercept.

"Don't worry, Aunt Lyra. She's not angry anymore. She's happy."

"I'm proud," Rora corrected gently, leaning over to plant a kiss on her daughter's temple. She looked back up at Lyra, an unspoken thank you glinting in vilet eyes. Lyra smiled and nodded once.

"C'mon," Rora said after another moment. "Time for sleep, little one. You must be tired after your lesson today. You can tell Kohe all about it when she wakes up."

Something unreadable passed over Tai's face, too quick for her mother to see, and she smiled again and nodded, climbing up onto the bed to take her mother's place beside her twin. She wrapped her arms around her sister, and kissed her on the top of the head and settled in, the emotional outburst and the day's events finally washing over her. She was asleep almost at once, all without knowing she would spend every night for the next two weeks, crouched in her bedroom, alone as her sister recovered, making perfect circles with her wings. And she wouldn't stop until she was strong enough to carry her sister away if the people who did bad things ever came back.

--

Behind her, Rora watched her youngest drop off into sleep, curled protectively around her older sister. Rora exhaled, feeling a shudder of exhaustion and fear flood through her. But there was pride there, too, and content. Nothing, she knew, would be easy for her girls. But together, they would be okay.

Lyra smiled, too, leaning her head against Rask's upper arm before turning her head to plant a light kiss on his bicep.

"I have to talk to you later," she whispered quietly. "I...I think we should consider…" She couldn't say it. There was no way to, especially not when it was technically impossible.

Still, though. There was no way to deny it, and she knew it was so strong, Rask would see it, too.

Lyra wanted to be a mother.
 
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---

Kohe could count, on her hands, the number of times she'd 'Jumped Time'. Seven. Seven times she'd gone through Time, always forward, but never again like that first time, never again so far, so foreign. No, it was Jumps to another ten minutes, another one, two or three hours and only twice had she Jumped an entire day. Each time it had scared those around her, not knowing where she'd gone or in what state she'd return, but so far, Kohe had been unharmed, untouched.

But not unchanged.

No, as she grew older, Kohe grew far more reserved, focused, quiet. She hardly spoke to anyone outside the family and even then, the person who heard her most was Tai. It was always her sister who could make her laugh, make her joyful again, her sister who could soothe away the nightmares at night that they both knew were not merely nightmares. They never had been. They were 'time dreams' as they decided to call them and Kohe knew nothing could be more accurate. It was her sister who could comfort her when she came back from a Jump, disoriented and far more shaken than she ever wanted to admit to anyone else.

It was Tai who first realized that Kohe had developed Telekinesis in her thirteenth year, a late bloomer as it showed after puberty had come and gone. It was her sister who made the connection between the trashed room in the morning and Kohe's debilitating headaches and consequential nose bleeds. It was Tai, her amazing, talented, highly-observant sister who would first know that an herb or medication Kohe was on to try and help with the headaches, to help her sleep or to suppress her telekinetic abilities at night were reacting badly with her system.

And they all did at some point.

It was to Tai that Kohe first showed her pictures, the art she was growing progressively better at, possessing a natural gift for drawing. It was Tai who suggested that Kohe use that ability to draw what she saw, to help vent it out, therapy of a sort. It was her twin that had kept Kohe sane in the last four years.

And it was her sister that had blossomed. Yes, she would always have a different build than Kohe did. She'd be heavier set, shorter and Tai would always look like she had a thin layer of the soft babyish look that most lost when they became teens, but on Tai...it was cute and pretty, giving her dimples and an innocence that could instantly make people relax and smile. Her sister had grown into her looks with wild white-purple hair that had only grown longer and more gorgeous the older she got and she'd developed the beginning of curves that Kohe would never have. She'd maintained her curious nature, despite the years and was more prone to laughing, smiling, chattering than she was to anger or sadness. She could always be trusted to greet strangers with friendliness and while she was by no means stupid, her powers alone warning her of things she should be wary about, neither had she let them jade her.

There was one thing Tai had never outgrown in any way, though, and that was how clumsy she could be. Put her on her own two feet and she'd fall over. It was now a running joke between the sisters and they loved it, just as they loved each other.

As for Kohe, however, she didn't recognize much of a change in herself physically unless it be that she'd gotten taller, now taller than her mother and sister at 5'4 and not likely to grow any taller. She was still as slender as ever, but there was muscle to her now, a developing chest and her hair had thickened into a prominently white mane streaked with black. The only change she really, truly noted about herself, though, were the silvery-blue markings that now adorned her arm, shoulder and face. They'd shown up on her thirteenth birthday and had not gone away since. They further marked her different, even from Cerebrae and Aavan, but that didn't bother Kohe overmuch.

It was how she was meant to be and she knew that.

Perhaps that was what bothered Kohe the most. That she knew. She always knew. It was the knowing that was so frustrating sometimes and it left her far too conscious of everything around her. It took Tai to draw her out of her shell, to engaged her in something far less thoughtful and so it was that Kohe learned how to run. How to truly run for speed and then distance, to continue at a lope for hours and her sister; Tai FLEW. And oh, how beautiful Kohe thought her!

If there was one thing she would ever be envious that her sister had and she did not, it was wings, the ability to fly. She'd grown proficient, graceful and DEADLY with her tail, hardened scales and lightning reflexes, and training with all her Aunts and Uncles, Mother and Father, had made Kohe a decent fighter already.

But it wasn't flight and Kohe would always be a healthy-jealous of that gift her sister had that she did not. But she would support and cheer Tai on the entire way; had, did. She loved her sister and loved how flying thrilled her.

That's what they were doing now. Tai was flying, elegant as a dove in the air, as always, and Kohe was running. Her bare feet hit the compact ground of the plains with a steady beat that almost matched her heart and her breath came in controlled gusts as her lithe body ate up the ground, mismatched eyes always keeping Tai in sight, grinning when her twin abruptly changed directions and Kohe was forced to do the same, dust rising from her spinning heals, thick hair flying, her tail touching the ground as she leaned too far, a practiced move that sent her back to her height quickly and sprinting after Tai.
 
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Tai laughed, the sun catching in the dark purple strands of her hair as she flew.

"C'mon, slow poke, you can do better than that. First one to the canyon gets...um...gets to be the first one the -- Oh -- " Tai's voice was cut off abruptly as she had to tuck her wings close, quick as though they'd disappeared. Immediately, she plummeted almost ten feet closer to the earth, close enough she could reach out and touch it as she skimmed below the low-hanging branches of the tree she'd nearly struck looking back over her shoulder.

No sooner had she dodged them than she was unfurling opalescent black and purple wings, flapping powerfully to find her place in the sky again. Below her, she knocked over a small fruit cart with her downdraft, turning to give the Aavan seller a sincere and inexplicably charming smile.

"Sorry, Nacht!" she called. "I'll fix it later, okay?"

She could feel the blue Aavan's doubt and irritation in her mind, but it was colored with amusement, so she grinned again and flew on looking back at Kohe.

"That doesn't count!" she shouted.

In four years, Tai had grown, if not in stature, than in all the ways that really mattered.

Sort of.

She was taller than her mother, but shorter and softer than Kohe. It was never anything she'd complained about, though. She had worried for a long time her wings would never be strong enough to do anything important. Aavan -- save for Uncle Rask -- had wings only in their larger forms, and those larger forms gave them larger, stronger wings. In the beginning, especially after Kohe's 'accident' (her mother called it that, and Tai secretly hated it, because nothing about it had been accidental), she'd spent long hours flying with her father and Uncle Rask, on several occasions, resting only when they gently rose from beneath her and she collapsed, back spasming, unable to lift her wings again. But she had gotten strong, very strong for it, and while her wing span could not match her father's, her size made her faster than almost all of the full grown Aavan. And where she lacked grace on the ground (nearly everywhere), she made up for it in the air. She had taught herself half a dozen tricks, mostly through trial and error, and error, and error, and hundreds of bruises. But she could turn on a dime, flip easily loops in the air, and bank like her life depended on it.

Of course, it hadn't, never had, and never might, if her parents had anything to say about it. They'd all come away from Kohe's first Time Jump well and happy enough, but Tai knew Rora at least, had never forgotten about it. She was strict on her daughters, paranoid and overprotective to a fault. It was better now that they were older, and Tai's Empathy had progressed to the point where she could lie via feelings outright to her mother, and Rora would never suspect a thing. She did, sometimes, especially if Kohe needed a few moments alone, though for the most part, there was no danger to be had. The part of the city where those Cerebrae lived had been sanctioned off, those Cerebrae forcibly removed from the city. And while Tai understood what they had done and why, she'd never been sorry they left.

Everything else had been simplicity, light as air for Tai, as most things were. She'd never learned Kohe's quiet introspection, her somber outlook, and while she was protective of and gentle with her sister, it had always been easier for her to laugh things off than sit and sort through problems. She'd grown stronger in that aspect of her life, her ability with light moving beyond cute and into powerful, even dangerous, should it come to it, though it never had. She, too, trained with their aunts and uncles, though never as seriously or for as long as Kohe, needing something else to keep her attention.

The something else could be climbing a tree, flying, racing with the other Aavan and Cerebrae children (still no Demisan), flying, eating, flying, or really anything that didn't require sitting still for too long. She would always err on the side of following Kohe, but only until something brighter, shinier, new found her attentinon, and then she was off in a flash, though she checked back on Kohe nearly every five minutes, every bit her mother's child.

Tai could also feel things growing more and more strained between her aunt and uncle. They weren't in danger. Whatever they were, they were still madly, completely in love. But they hurt, too, hurt so bad that sometimes even Tai couldn't stand to be around them. It was Kohe who'd told her they wanted to have a child of their own, and it was Aunt Siya who'd explained most Cerebrae just couldn't.

"We just weren't made that way," she'd explained. "Just like...well, your mother is a special case. Just like I'm a Prodigy, and Uncle Rogan is a Pater, your Aunt Lyra is a Pusher, not a Matron, Tai. She might never be able to have children. We're trying. She's trying. But..."

But Lyra and Rask wouldn't give up. Kohe had seen too many futures with too many children to just stop. For nearly four years now, they'd tried, diligently, submitting themselves to study by Siya and her Prodigies after the first year, undergoing countless tests, schemes, rituals and the like. All for nothing. Whatever Kohe saw hadn't come to fruition yet, and both Rask and Lyra were getting discouraged. She could feel a darkness coming back to Lyra, rearing its head like it hadn't in years, a guilt and self-loathing so strong, it made Tai want to cry. She tried to tell her aunt Rask didn't blame her for not being able to bear his children, that he understood, knew it wasn't her fault, and Lyra always smiled and nodded and said she knew. And then she turned away from Tai and went right back to that guilt.

She'd been worse than usual the last few weeks, opting more often than not to spend long hours in bed, sleeping, as though the disappointment of her barren womb had become too much to bear. She snapped at Rask and avoided him, trying to hide her frustration and disappointment, failing because what else could she do?

It hurt to see the two people who had nearly raised her so distraught, and Tai did what she could to raise their spirits, but she knew only one thing really would. And that, she couldn't give them.
 
Kohe skidded around the cart with all the grace of an elite predator, bounding after her sister with a speed that belied her form. She was Aavan as well as Cerebrae, and she definitely got her speed from the former half. It served her well now as she raced her fleet-flying sister to the canyon not far from the city, nearly beating Tai, but knowing in truth that she never would and Kohe was all right with that, laughter spilling from her lips as they both finally stopped, gasping for air, well pleased with themselves.

Finally straightening and pushing her wild mane of hair back - kept completely loose today without ties or braids - from her face, Kohe looked around, knowing the sight well and yet never growing truly bored of it, even now seeing the beauty with the eyes of an artist.

But then she wasn't seeing anything around her, not it was something else entirely that flashed through her mind and the Demisan brought her fingers to her temple as an instant headache bloomed behind her eyes. Kohe inwardly cursed these day time dreams that always caused a nosebleed, but seemed to be growing more numerous, but she watched it nonetheless, knowing better than to try and push it away. That hadn't resulted well last time.

That headache had lasted for two days, varying in intensity. She'd been miserable.

Even as Kohe watched the images play out before her, though, she was aware of her twin and she held up a finger, a signal between them that she was all right, just watching and nothing distressing was happening yet. If her tail started to thrash, though, and her hands stayed clamped to her head like her skull would split open, that was a bad sign. Kohe was calm right now, though, resigned to the pain, to the lack of control over what she saw and when she saw it.

And this time...she was unsure if that was a bad thing as the images cleared away.

Kohe blinked out into the distance, the silvery-blue marks on her skin shimmering in the sun, but also with something else, a sheen of light all their own, a hint of a powerful aura about them before that faded too and Kohe looked to her twin, mismatched eyes meeting violet with a hint of a smile.

"We have something to tell Aunt Lyra." she whispered and then darted away, knowing Tai would follow.

--

Rask hated what this was doing to his mate.

He didn't blame her. He never could. He'd been her mate for sixteen years now. He knew her better than he knew himself, loved her with everything he was, both good and bad. He adored her and knew very well the trouble her species had with childbirth. He'd known this going into it. There was no surprise in it and he held no blame or impatience or anger, not even irritation toward Lyra.

But he knew his mate didn't always believe that and the gold Aavan HATED it.

He wanted a child. She wanted a child.

Rask knew he'd always want her more, though. Even if she was never a mother and he never a father, he would still love her, want her, desire her, think she was enough, KNOW that she was enough. He just wished he could make her understand that, that he could take the grief and disappointment and bitter failure away from both of them. It was a poison between them and when Lyra finally started to snap, to become withdrawn and self-blaming....Rask was at a loss for what to do for the first time in sixteen years when it came to their relationship.

So he kept away because that is what she asked of him. He kept away and he grew weaker, starting to grow sick from the separation, but he didn't invade his mate's boundaries. But he cried. Often, in both pain for their failure and a mixture of grief and haunting memories he'd never wanted to see again. And Rask waited and prayed for a miracle, for anything, SOMETHING to happen.

Because he no longer knew what to do, how to fix this and that hurt more than even being apart from Lyra did. He couldn't FIX it, and it plagued him severely.
 
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Tai laughed in delighted victory, throwing a fist into the air in an exaggerated motion as she turned to face her sister, hovering easy on the warm gusts rusing from her old training grounds. She'd never told Kohe (though she didn't doubt her twin knew, even if they never spoke of it) she still visited the place, three times a week, dragging heavier and heavier rocks down the canyon as she strengthened her wings. She knew Kohe was more proud than jealous of her flying, and that was fine. But she also knew if Kohe was ever in danger again, she'd be much safer in the air than on the ground, and Tai had no intention of leaving her sister behind.

She'd just turned to brag about her win, when she felt a bolt of by-now familiar pain shudder through her skull. The brief whimper was not in pain, but in sudden concern, and in and instant she'd folded her wings to her sides, opening them just before her toes hit the ground, a graceful a landing as she'd ever performed.

"'Setta? What -- " Kohe held up a single finger and Tai went quiet, though she was prepared to send up the alert. She couldn't feel the pain growing in her sister's mind beyond control, but she didn't want to wait until Kohe was stifling whimpers, either. Tai flexed her wings, wondering if today would be the day when she showed her sister what she had been training for.

But, no. Almost as soon as it had started, Kohe was straightening, almost smiling at Tai, and then suddenly, Tai was smiling, too, happy beyond belief.

She didn't even have to ask. Kohe was gone, running down the roads again, and in a flash, Tai was behind her, a giggle she couldn't contain bubbling from the back of her throat.

--

Lyra was alone in their bedroom, where she'd spent most of the last two days. Where she'd spent an increasing number of days over the last month, over the last two weeks, and where Rask was spending less and less of his own time.

Because of her.

Everything he felt now was because of her. She knew -- knew -- he didn't blame her, couldn't, wouldn't blame her, even if he ought to. She knew how her guilt hurt him, and only felt worse for it. But even if she hadn't meant it, even if she couldn't fix it, she knew it was her fault. He would not be so miserable if only she could find it in her to speak to him. He would not be miserable at all if only she could do what they'd been trying to do for four long, agonizing years. It would have been easier if they'd never hoped in the first place. But she'd been stupid, overzealous, and now her hope was killing them.

She'd been having nightmares again, for the first time in a long time, waking up drenched in a cold sweat, and shaking, nauseas and aching, dragging herself to the bathroom to retch and sob quietly, with horrible images in her head, most of them of Rask, of those early days, when she'd nearly butchered their Bond and killed him in the process. She was the reason he couldn't speak. She was the reason any child they did have would never know his voice. She was the reason he could hardly look at her, cried with pain she couldn't fix, because she was too deep in it herself. She couldn't have the child she wanted and it hurt almost worst than anything she had ever known.

She could feel the pain and illness flooding through him now, and she wanted him back. She wanted him to come back to their bed and put his arms around her and kiss her and tell her it would be okay, somehow, it would be okay. She would try to believe him, just for a minute, just long enough to say she loved him, instead of snapping at him, like she had been for two days now.

She couldn't help it. She wasn't sleeping anymore. She was tired all the time, her appetite was gone, her head, her body ached. She wanted him here now, wanted him to crawled in the bed with her, and pull the blanket up around her shoulders and whisper her to sleep and she could draw him in with her and apologize. But she didn't dare ask. She knew he was avoiding her for her own sake. She couldn't drag him back to her miserableness now.

Lyra gave a quiet moan as the room pitched to one side for the umpteenth time that day. It felt too warm in the cramped room, like all three suns sat on their glass ceiling, staring in at her, mocking with their light. Sweat pasted orange locks to her forehead and soaked the sheets behind her, and she realized she was thirsty, but didn't dare drink for fear she'd be sick again.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen Rask. She'd been too tired, too hot to lay with him last night, and had snapped at him again when he'd tried to kiss her, chaste and soothing, meaning to calm her temper and her headache. He'd gone away because she'd asked him to, and now...now...

Goddess, did he hate her?

She felt uncharacteristic tears burning at the back of her throat and rolled over to bury her face in his pillow, breathe his scent deep.

"Rask?" she whispered to the quiet, stifling room. "Rask, please? I'm sorry...I'm so sorry, please come back. Please? I...I won't even speak, just...just let me know you're alright. Please, Rask...I love you..."
 
Rask had stepped outside, where he'd actually been for the last two day - except at night when he went into the heat cavern - and wasn't far when Lyra's voice came into his head. The gold Aavan hesitated for all of two seconds before moving, nearly flying through the house as her voice itself sent a jolt of strength through him, combating the sickness starting to spread quickly due to the grief and pain that drove it faster through his system.

It was given a pause for the moment by Lyra's words and then he was slipping into the room, slowing, trying to remain quiet as he approached the bed and carefully sat down, his green eyes drinking in the sight of the Keeper, uncaring of her state of dress or hygiene. She was beautiful to him and his hand reached out without thought to brush against her hair, but Rask hesitated before he reached her, suddenly unsure about even touching her for the first time since that first few months together, sixteen years ago. He wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to gather Lyra close, to hold her against him and kiss her until the tears stopped, to croon to her until she went to sleep, to curl around her protectively as she slept, keeping the nightmares away.

That is what he wanted, what he felt she needed.

But he hesitated because she'd already rejected his touch and Rask.....it had filled him with a cold, coiling, poisonous fear that he dared not give voice to, dare not let Lyra see yet. Not when she was like this, so despairing. It was the last thing he wanted her aware of right now and the gold Aavan, in this moment, met her tangerine eyes, even hesitating to ask.

--

Kohe gasped as she came to a stop before Lyra and Rask's home, hands on knees as she panted a bit, having run all the way here. But it was worth it if only because what was going on with their Uncle and Aunt was about to get much worse if this intervention didn't take place. This time, for the first time in a while, Kohe was glad of her knowing as she finally straightened and gave Tai a glance, tail lashing nervously before she stilled it and the end curled along her ankle and calf as she walked, under control again.

Sometimes it was hard to control it, though, as it seemed to act out of subconscious desires.

Right now, though, Kohe didn't have the time to be knocking things over and letting it cause trouble while she was distracted. No, they had to get to Uncle Rask and Aunt Lyra NOW.

And they did, coming into the room without knocking. Or at least Kohe did, having opened the door and she felt sadness coil within her when Rask jumped, looking guilty, scared...young, just as she'd seen him many times in her time dreams. The Demisan didn't focus on him so much as Lyra, though, her mismatched eyes piercing the Keeper as she walked calmly to the bed and folded her arms, cocking a hip, tail tapping the floor slowly, just the tip as the rest trailed out behind and to the side of her body.

A white brow rose.

"Aunt Lyra, what are you doing?"

"Kohe-" Rask's voice held a warning kind of growl, but Kohe didn't even look to him, pinning the Keeper with her gaze alone, needing nothing else. "No, Uncle Rask. She's giving up. She can't do that."

"She has right to! This isn't her fault! No amount of trying is going to make it happen! She shouldn't have to torture herself about it!" the gold Aavan snarled, frustrated and angry, protective of his mate, venting it and now Kohe did look at him, head tilting, expression gentler. "Did you ever think to ask?" she asked softly and Rask blinked, for once not following Kohe's logic when he was the one who usually could.

"What?"

"I've seen the futures both you and Lyra could have. Did you not to think to ask me if I saw one with a child?"

The gold Aavan looked as if he'd been struck and Kohe smiled just a little before she looked to Lyra again and this time her tail reached out, gently as she touched Lyra's stomach after a moment, smile widening slowly, gently. "I don't have to tell about that now, though. He's already here."

Mismatched eyes flickered from her sister, to the gold Aavan to the Keeper, solemn and yet so incredibly happy. "Your child is already here."
 
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Lyra shut her eyes, hid the tears brimming behind her eyelids as Rask sat down and put out a hand...then opened them again as he never reached his target. She was alarmed at first, thinking the worst, through some strange, new, irrational paranoia. Then she was confused, searching his eyes, his face for an explanation. Or had she really become so repulsive he no longer wanted to touch her?

She could feel in in his mind, not disgust, not on the surface, but fear, wariness, and for Lyra they may as well have been one and the same. In a few short weeks, she had pushed her mate so far that he could no longer touch her without fear of setting her off. The realization made her ache at a bone-deep level. She wanted to touch him, wanted to ease into him, to apologize, to beg him to take her back, to give her another chance. She wanted to sleep forever, him at her side, even if she could never truly speak to him again. It would be no less than what she deserved.

Her eyes were still on his face when Kohe entered, Tai on her heels. The latter looked half anxious, half excited, her face flushed and her hair windblown in a way that meant she and Kohe had been off doing one of their races somewhere, and had sped all the way here. At once, she thought the worst again, expecting injury, news of their parents, something, anything, she should have prevented and couldn't.

When Kohe spoke and didn't sound as though she was in pain or frightened, Lyra was almost relieved. Almost.

And then she just felt as though she were being punched in the gut. Even as Rask rose to her defense, she nodded once and sank back into the bedsheets, eyes closed as she let first Kohe's, then Rask's words wash over her.

No amount of trying is going to make it happen.

She let out a hoarse sob then, one that surprised even her, and she'd have apologized if she could find the words, but she couldn't even breathe in that moment. Her head was spinning, and the air felt heavy all around her, almost too thick to breathe.

She wanted -- she needed -- the twins gone. She needed room to breathe, to panic, to apologize and beg Rask to forgive her, to --

Something touched her stomach and Lyra recoiled so strongly, she nearly fell off the bed. At once, the fear, the panic, the loathing was gone. The exhaustion and nausea of the last two days had been replaced by a razor sharp awareness. She found herself on her feet, crouched just behind the bed, her stomach now hidden from view. The Keeper hadn't trained in weeks, and ye she felt herself tense as if to spar.

No, not spar. To fight. To kill if she had to.

All triggered by little Kohe. Lyra was staring at her niece a long moment before she heard the words she said.

Then she blinked.

"What?" She repeated what her mate said without realizing it.

Behind her sister, Tai was so excited, she was on the verge of tears, all but bouncing from one foot to the next.

"A baby, Aunt Lyra. Kohe said you're gonna have a baby. And Kohe -- "

"Kohe's never wrong," Lyra said slowly, a strange light coming to her eyes as she gazed at her nieces, first Kohe, then Tai, then finally back at Rask, her expression terrified, hopeful.

"We're having a baby," she said, a small, dubious smile touching her lips just before she passed out.
 
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Rask, to his shame afterward, hadn't caught his mate, too shocked to move, but he hadn't had to. Kohe had done it, with nothing but a brief movement of her hands, palms toward Lyra as her Telekinesis caught the Keeper and then slowly brought her to the bed, lowering her down and releasing her as the Demisan sat on the edge of the mattress, opposite Rask. Her slender fingers brushed rust-colored hair back and then those same fingers touched Lyra's stomach faintly, gently with a small, enigmatic smile.

And still Rask did not move, did not even seem to blink.

But he shook. He shook enough that if had been winter, one would fear he was in cold-shock. This was something close to it as his thoughts and emotions seemed to swirl though his mind like a chaotic whirlwind, giving him no time to sort through anything. Worry for Lyra, fear that despite this news she'd still be distant from him, disbelief that this was really happening and wasn't a dream his desperate mind had conjured up, hopeful that it was indeed real, panicked because it might be and that would mean that Lyra was pregnant, uncertain to touch her if she was, nervous about what to say or do, joyful at the idea that Lyra was PREGNANT.

That last one, that last emotion, finally made him move, finally broke the frozen state as his green eyes went to the Keeper and Rask moved to sit at Lyra's side, his hip touching her stomach and his fingers found her face first, reassuring themselves that she was all right and then trailing down to her neck, collarbones and between the valley of her breasts until he came to her stomach, stopping there, his palm spreading across the flat terrain.

It wouldn't be flat for long.

Slowly Rask smiled and the tears that had been gathering in his eyes started to fall as he struggled to laugh and cry at the same time, so profoundly relieved and happy at the same time.

And so terrified it was overwhelming.

Green eyes snapped to scarlet and sapphire, then to violet. "Is....is she going to be all right?" He was reassured merely by Kohe's smile as she nodded, rising from the bed. "She's just dehydrated, stressed. Grief is not kind to anyone." The sixteen year old Demisan gave him a pointed look and the gold Aavan ignored it, looking back to his mate.

And Kohe knew their time here was done as she looked to Tai, smiling wholeheartedly for her twin. "They have a lot to talk about. And Aunt Asesee made fruit tarts." It was said conspiratorially, as if someoned could here them and Kohe's glittering eyes were just as happy as Tai's. Aunt Lyra was going to have a baby, she and Uncle Rask would be happy again and now they were going to have tarts.

Life couldn't be better.
 
Tai waited on her toes at the edge of the room, as still and quiet as she could make herself. Mostly, she was trying to be respectful, understanding she could not share nearly as much as Kohe with regards to the good news, save for perhaps her ability to stabilize the erratic emotion in the room, but she was learning, slowly, that wasn't as helpful as she'd always thought. Kohe by now had a good handle on Tai's ability. She had learned the difference between feeling a calm that wasn't hers, and giving in entirely, ignoring whatever fear or stress Tai had been trying to ease. That always backfired. But not everybody could acclimate so well to Tai's gift. Her parents had discovered her talent a few years ago and were not so keen, though that was largely because she'd at first tried to use it to avoid getting yelled at.

Still, she understood better now and was becoming adept at wielding the talent, able to shield people from extreme anger or fear, without removing them from it entirely.

As it were, the anger, fear, grief, excitement, apprehension and so on flooding her now was a little overwhelming, leaving her able to watch in grateful silence, since she wasn't should she could regulate so many things -- mostly from Uncle Rask -- at once. But for the first time in four years, his joy overrode his sadness and frustration, and that was enough for the shorter Demisan to break into elated giggles as he finally broke free from his paralysis to sit beside Aunt Lyra -- who, even unconscious, almost glowed with ecstasy.

When Kohe turned, Tai nodded, and then brightened immediately as Kohe gave the last of the good news. Her eyes widened and it was everything she could do not to tackle her twin then and there. Instead, she just nodded wordlessly, and turned to bound out of the house, remembering at the last minute to be polite. Polite-ish.

"Bye, Uncle Rask, tell Aunt Lyra we said congratulations!" she shouted, then remembered she was shouting. "Oops," she whispered. "Sorry!"

And then she was gone.

--

Lyra woke just a few minutes after the twins had departed, slowly, as if clawing her way up through a fog of caution.

As always, she was first aware of Rask's presence, first in her mind, then at her side, and tangerine eyes snapped open, half worried at the state of his emotions.

"What?" she demanded cautiously. There was something, something large swimming at the edge of her consciousness, and it glowed hot and bright, so much so she was afraid to touch it at first. Hot and bright could mean a warm, inviting fire...or a dangerous conflagration. And Rask was unreadable.

"What?" she tried again, searching has mind. Their last few days had been rough, she knew. She missed him and snapped at him by strange turns, her own emotions unknowable. They were consumed by guilt and grief, the both of them, and --

Her expression went suddenly slack as memory started to ebb back, first a stream and then a fall of water.

She blinked slowly up at him, almost afraid to breathe.

"The twins..." she said, feeling her heart begin to race. "The twins were here." She turned her head to look at the door, then back at Rask. "Right? Just a few moments ago? They were here...you were here, and I...I passed out?" She burrowed deeper in his mind, her eyes searching.

"And they said...they told us..." She trailed off completely, heart pounding, hands shaking. As if of its own accord, her right hand edged down to her belly, found his already there. She stared, then looked back up at him her eyes swimming with tears. She shook her head once, disbelieving, then again, terrified to hope.

"Rask?" she said, breathless. "Are we...oh, Goddess, please say it wasn't a dream. We...we're...I'm...pregnant?"

It was an earnest question. And yet as soon as the words left her mouth, she knew it to be true.

After four years, they had done something right. They were having a baby.

In one fluid movement, she was up and in his lap, her arms around his neck, sobbing beyond control and not caring. She couldn't speak, so she put the words in his head, over and over and over again.

"I love you. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you."
 
Her first question, 'what' had elicited no reaction from Rask as he struggled for the words and then the second demand, he only felt even more tongue-tied and he only shook his head slowly, letting Lyra search his mind, nothing hidden from her, and then he watched her reaction carefully. He knew the moment she understood and at her third question, he nodded just a little, letting her delve deeper, not fighting it, but nervous in a way he'd not been in a long time.

Would she be happy? More than anything, that was what he wanted her to feel, but not because he wanted it, but because she did, because she was genuinely pleased about this.

Her hand touching his own sent him starting slightly, but the Keeper didn't seem to note it and Rask was glad, watching her, his fingers spread under her own now, over the life within and the gold Aavan nodded, exhaling slowly when his mate finally asked the question she was so desperate to find the answer to.....already knew the answer to.

Rask wanted to answer, he really did. He wanted to smile at her, to assure her that he'd never lost hope, that everything was fine now. But he would have been lying. He'd started to despair, just as she had and now...now there were so many things to consider and even as he tried not to think of it, those things knocked at his mind.

But one thing that unraveled quickly and stopped circling him was the deep, cold fear that he'd yet to lose. It fled as Lyra came into his arms and Rask immediately gathered her sobbing form closer, burying his face in her rust-orange hair, breathing her in, crying as well but for more than one reason, in a mixture of relief he hoped she would think was due to the baby and happiness so great it shone like the sun in his mind that was for the baby.

The relief was knowing that his fear was not valid; that Lyra had not finally grown fed up with him, blaming him for not giving her what she wanted, and therefore was punishing him by denying touch, something he'd grown to need desperately in the last sixteen years, craving it no less now than he had their first few months together.

To know that wasn't the case, to feel her in his arms now, was enough to drive that poisonous thought away - mostly; there was still a part of it that whispered 'of course she's going to be fine now, she has what she wants' - and Rask focused more on the happiness, the joy, the bliss that knowing he was going to be a father brought.

And Lyra a mother.

The gold Aavan absorbed his mate's words like a plant would light, warmth, and he placed a kiss on her head, holding her securely as she cried, the gold of his mind murmuring softly, intimately with the scarlet as it circled close, twining gently with Lyra's own mind. "And I love you. I love you more than anything, Lyra." His lips found her hair again, crooning softly against her scalp.

"A baby, Cefnarai. A baby."
 
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