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Ikdrasel.
It stood at the edge of all reason — an enormous, spiralling tree whose presence could be felt long before it was seen. Its roots dove deeper than any ocean trench, threading through the bones of the earth, while its crown rose so high it fractured the sky, parting clouds like reverent curtains. From a distance, it seemed still, like a painted monument—but up close, it breathed. The air around it shimmered with a tangible hum as if the world itself whispered in awe.
Every leaf shimmered in a different hue, shifting like liquid glass in the wind. Reds bled into violets, greens into sapphire, each one faintly luminous — pulsing, pulsing, pulsing in time with the heartbeat of the world. No two were the same, and yet together they formed a perfect canopy of ungraspable harmony. Wind that passed through its branches did not whistle — it sang, in harmonies that stirred memory and emotion even in those who had never known magic.
Its bark was not merely bark. It looked like volcanic obsidian carved by forgotten gods — glossy, black, and impossibly smooth, yet ridged with ancient motion. Golden veins coursed through it, glowing faintly, sometimes slowly shifting like drifting constellations. Arcane runes flickered beneath the surface—never still, never fully legible. They weren’t written by any hand, yet anyone who saw them felt something stir in their soul as if remembering a language they’d once known in a dream.
No one knew where it had come from.
One day, the skies trembled. The stars blinked in patterns they’d never shown before. Lightning crackled across clear daylight. Then silence. And the next — it was simply there. Towering. Immovable. Impossible. Alive.
The day Ikdrasel appeared, the world changed.
Magic spilt from its branches like liquified sunlight—falling in slow streams, caught in the wind, drawn into the rivers, soaking into every stone, every root, every breath. Across desolate wastelands, flowers bloomed where nothing had ever grown. Forgotten ruins stirred as if exhaling their long-held breath. Moss crept over marble long thought dead, and statues wept tears of rebirth.
Old bones stirred in ancient graves — not all rising, but all aware. Altars once blackened by time re-ignited with blue fire that did not burn, only sang—soft, low, sorrowful melodies that tasted of memory and yearning. Children born that day opened their eyes already glowing with strange light. They hummed melodies that bent the shape of reality.
Even the air changed. Every inhalation crackled on the tongue. The world smelled of ozone, petrichor, and impossible sweetness. To walk beneath Ikdrasel was to walk through a storm of miracles. No one left unchanged.
From its highest limbs dripped radiant dew—not water, not light, but something between. When it hit the ground, the earth shivered, drank it in, and answered. Trees grew twisted with crystal fruit. Mountains whispered to travellers. Streams ran uphill for a day before remembering gravity again.
Wild magic erupted from those droplets — sometimes beautiful, sometimes terrifying, always alive. Wolves of mist that spoke in riddles. Lanterns that bloomed from the soil. Shadows that moved faster than their casters. Not all of it was safe. Not all of it was kind. But none of it was false.
Ikdrasel did not ask for worship. It simply was. A monument. A promise. A remembrance.
What had once been lost — forgotten, buried, feared — had returned.
Not with a roar.
But with awe.
Ikdrasel hadn’t just brought magic back to the world.
It remembered it for us.
And in doing so… it reminded the world how to dream again.
But as the world marvelled at the return of magic—at the blossoming forests and singing winds, at the children who could move stars with their thoughts and rivers that whispered secrets—something else stirred beneath it all.
For magic does not return in halves.
From the deepest crevices of the earth, where Ikdrasel’s roots twisted too far, too deep, too long… darkness seeped. Not shadows cast by light, but an ancient, sentient darkness — alive, pulsing, waiting.
It began as whispers. Winds that spoke in tongues no one had taught. Dreams that left scorched circles on pillows. Eyes gleaming from mirrors that should have held only reflections.
The same luminous dew that dripped from Ikdrasel’s limbs brought forth wonders above—but where it fell in the forgotten hollows, it did not sprout flowers. It birthed rot. Twisted vines that fed on memory. Pools of ink that swallowed birds mid-flight and returned them wrong — featherless, silent, staring.
Beings of darkness began to rise. Not just monsters, but things that remembered the world before memory. Creatures stitched from smoke and grief, bound in skin like cracked porcelain, with smiles too wide and voices like shattered bells. They came from beneath, from beyond, from within.
And with them returned the forbidden spells — the language of unmaking. Curses that unravelled reality thread by thread. Rituals that called the dead not to rest, but to serve. Incantations that didn’t just take power, but replaced the caster with something else entirely.
Some called it corruption. Some called it the Night’s Breath. Others simply stopped speaking of it, for fear that names might draw it nearer.
Because the truth was clear: where Ikdrasel’s light touched, magic was born anew.
But in its shadows… something else bloomed. Something hungry. Something watching.
And it had waited long enough.
That is why the Military Academy was born — not as a place of prestige, nor a sanctuary of comfort, but as a solemn promise cast in steel and fire: We will stand between the world and the dark.
Its official name had long since faded from common speech, buried beneath layers of history, myth, and the sheer reverence it commanded. Now, it was simply the Academy. But make no mistake — it was no ordinary school. It was a bastion. A crucible. A place where those brave enough to challenge the night were shaped into shields, into swords, into hope.
Built on the jagged cliffs overlooking the Sea of Echoes, where the light of Ikdrasel could still be seen on the horizon, the Academy stood like a fortress carved from the bones of the earth itself. Its towers were etched with protective glyphs, glowing faintly in rhythm with the Tree’s pulse. Walls reinforced with dragonstone, blessed iron, and sacred ash kept out more than just the weather. And beneath those walls, far deeper than most realized, catacombs and sanctums held the knowledge of ages — every spell, every artefact, every trace of what the world had once been, kept safe for what it might yet become.
But it wasn’t the architecture that made the Academy holy.
It was the people.
Mages, yes — but not only mages. Exorcists from the burning plains of Kahrin. Engineers whose machines thrummed with runes instead of wires. War-priests and shieldmaidens, monster hunters, seers, beast-tamers, and even reformed outcasts touched by the very darkness they now fought. They came from every corner of the world, drawn not by fame or power, but by something deeper. A need to protect. To stand for those who couldn’t. To bring order to chaos, and light to places where even the stars were afraid to look.
They trained under impossible conditions. They studied the oldest and most dangerous magic alongside the latest arcane-tech inventions. They were taught to see through illusions — not only those cast by dark mages, but the ones that took root in the heart: fear, doubt, the hunger for power. Because it wasn’t just spells or swords that made a protector. It was will. Compassion. Resolve.
Cadets at the Academy did not graduate in celebration. They graduated in silence, stepping into the world not as heroes, but as guardians. They wore no crowns. They made no speeches. But when villages went quiet in the night, when shadows stretched too far or children whispered of things that crawled beneath their beds — the Academy answered.
Always.
To those they saved, they were legends.
To those they fought, they were a nightmare made of silver and fire.
And to each other, they were family.
Bound not by blood—but by purpose.
They did not ask for gratitude.
They asked only for strength.
And they gave everything.
============
The sun had just begun its descent, casting long shadows across the fortified spires of Luna Nova Academy. Magic-laced floodlights hummed quietly to life along the outer walls, their bluish glow cutting through the twilight. Inside, the corridors of stone and glass pulsed faintly with protective enchantments, each rune etched with care by generations of warriors, scholars, and mages sworn to the Academy’s cause.
Constanze moved silently through the east wing’s arched halls, her keen mechanic’s eyes catching the faintest flicker of movement up ahead.
It was Jasminka.
Constanze blinked once.
Jasminka rarely moved with urgency, and certainly never this stealthily—yet there she was, her tall frame oddly hunched as she clutched something bundled tightly in her arms, wrapped in layers of a soft, worn blanket. It wriggled.
Constanze narrowed her eyes, adjusting the strap of her reinforced gauntlet, and followed.
Down the service stairs, through a disused side corridor, and finally—into the private quarters. Jasminka’s door creaked slightly as she nudged it open with her back, stepping inside with the utmost care.
Constanze caught it before it closed. She slipped in silently.
What she saw rooted her to the floor.
There, in the fading amber light pouring through the tall window, stood Jasminka. Her long coat had been discarded, her hat tossed aside, and her arms cradled a child—no older than three. The girl had hair like candle-flame and eyes like stormclouds before rain. Her cheeks were round and smudged with soot, her clothes — if they could be called that — nothing more than scraps of worn linen. Yet her tiny fingers were curled in Jasminka’s coat, gripping it like a lifeline. She stared up at the older girl with wide, curious eyes, one thumb halfway to her mouth.
Jasminka… was smiling.
It wasn’t the soft grin she wore in battle. This was something gentler. Protective. Fierce in its quietness.
Constanze didn’t move.
She didn’t need to speak—she couldn’t—but Jasminka looked up anyway, catching her presence as easily as if she’d spoken aloud. Their eyes met.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then Jasminka’s voice came, a whisper — reverent and steady.
“I found her… near the ruins of Old Croft. The village was gone. Nothing but ashes. I don’t even know her name. But she was there, hiding in the cellar. Alone. Holding a broken doll”
Constanze stepped closer, her boots soundless on the enchanted wood.
“I couldn’t leave her” Jasminka continued, cradling the child tighter “She’s so small. I don’t think she even remembers how to speak”
The little girl looked at Constanze then, as if sensing the weight of the moment. Her eyes studied the new stranger, serious and still. Then — without fear — she reached out a hand, fingers open and trusting.
Constanze, surprised, knelt and let the girl touch her gloved hand.
The child giggled.
A sound like silver bells.
Constanze’s lips curled into the smallest smile.
Jasminka let out a quiet breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I know this is against the rules” She said softly “But… I don’t care. She’s ours now”
Constanze nodded slowly. She didn’t need words to say what her eyes did.
They would protect this little one — together.
Even if it meant defying everything.
---
The Academy's water systems, powered by centuries-old enchantments and Jasminka's own rigged-up heating coils, hissed gently as the tub filled. Steam curled through the small bathroom connected to their shared quarters, catching the soft glow of wardlight crystals overhead. The warmth spread into the air like an embrace, chasing away the cold still clinging to the child's skin.
Constanze knelt by the basin, carefully testing the temperature with her gloved hand before removing it, unfastening the clasps, and setting the gauntlet aside. She held her bare fingers to the water. Perfect — not too hot, not too cool. She nodded.
Behind her, Jasminka sat cross-legged on a cushion with the little girl in her lap. The child had nestled there the moment the door closed behind them, clinging tightly, her small arms wrapped firmly around Jasminka’s neck, cheek resting against her shoulder as though afraid to let go.
“She doesn’t want to be put down” Jasminka murmured, brushing her fingers through the child's tangled curls “Poor thing…”
Constanze turned, rising with her usual fluid quietness, and extended her hands.
The little girl looked up at her.
There was a moment — a heartbeat of hesitation.
Then, slowly, she shifted from Jasminka’s lap into Constanze’s arms, tucking her head beneath the mechanic’s chin like it was the most natural thing in the world. She was trembling faintly — but it wasn’t from fear.
It was from being safe.
Constanze held her close, eyes soft behind her goggles, and walked them both over to the bath. She crouched low, letting the girl see the water.
The child blinked at it.
Then looked up at her.
Constanze dipped her hand in and splashed gently, letting the drops fall back in with a soothing plip-plip-plip.
“See?” Jasminka said gently “Nice and warm. Like a little hug”
The girl’s eyes lit up with curiosity, fingers twitching. When Constanze carefully removed the scraps of linen she still wore — holding her like fragile glass all the while — the girl didn’t flinch.
Jasminka handed over a soft cloth, already scented faintly with lavender and honey balm. She watched as her lover set the girl in the water—slowly, with steady hands and a gaze that never wavered from the child’s.
A small gasp left the girl’s lips as her skin touched the warmth. She stilled. Then, ever so slowly, a smile bloomed—bright and lopsided and full of wonder.
She splashed once.
And giggled.
Jasminka’s heart clenched.
“There it is” Jasminka whispered “That smile…”
Constanze, silent and focused, gently poured water over her back, careful not to wet her face.
Her touch was patient, methodical — yet full of warmth. She worked like she did with machines: understanding without words, precise without needing direction. The child leaned into the touch.
Jasminka knelt beside them now, holding a folded towel and a brush with enchanted bristles that hummed softly to help untangle knots without pain. As Constanze cleaned soot from tiny shoulders and arms, Jasminka began combing the girl's curls, gently detangling the dust and ash woven into them.
The child leaned into them both, soaking in their presence as though she could memorize the warmth of their bodies. Her tiny fingers wrapped around Constanze’s sleeve. Her bare feet kicked gently beneath the water. Every time a hand left her skin — even for a moment — she sought it again.
“Oof, these knots” Jasminka teased gently “What were you doing, little shadow? Rolling through brambles?”
The girl giggled again, her cheeks now flushed from the heat and the comfort.
Constanze dipped a fresh cloth and ran it down the girl’s arm with a light, steady motion.
They bathed her in silence and in comfort.
Wiped away grime.
Sponged off pain.
Poured water and love in equal measure.
By the time she was wrapped in the oversized towel and nestled into Jasminka’s arms again, her eyes were drooping, heavy with sleep and warmth. Constanze brushed the last of the curls away from her forehead, tucking the child in tighter.
The little one reached up, touched her cheek, and whispered something that neither of them understood — barely a sound, more breath than a word.
But it meant everything.
Constanze met Jasminka’s gaze over the bundle between them. Jasminka smiled.
They didn’t know her name.
They didn’t know where she’d come from.
They didn’t know what her future held.
But in that moment — held between clean linens, safe arms, and hearts already changed — they didn’t need to.
She was theirs.
A gentle knock broke the quiet.
Not sharp. Not official. Just a light tap-tap at the door — polite, uncertain.
Inside the small dormitory room, the air was warm and still, heavy with the scent of lavender soap and something sweeter — something innocent. A blanket lay draped across the foot of the bed, its soft folds shifting slightly with every small breath from the tiny shape curled beneath it.
Jasminka froze mid-step. Constanze, seated beside the bed, went still as stone. The little girl nestled into her side let out the softest yawn and shifted under the quilt, her fingers still wound tightly into Constanze’s sleeve as if letting go might wake a nightmare.
Another knock followed. A muffled voice seeped through the doorframe.
“Jasminka? Constanze? You two in there?”
Akko’s voice. Curious, bright. And not alone — another presence hovered behind it. Diana.
Jasminka and Constanze exchanged a brief, tense look. The unspoken question passed silently between them: What now?
Jasminka moved toward the door slowly, her boots padding softly against the stone floor. She kept her body between the door and the bed as she cracked it open. The dim corridor light spilt in, brushing against her face.
Akko stood outside, shifting her weight from foot to foot, half of her familiar grin already forming.
“Hey” She said, blinking at the serious look in Jasminka’s eyes “We were just—uh—checking in. You missed dinner. Everything okay?”
Jasminka didn’t reply at once.
Behind her, was a small rustle. The quilt stirred. A sleepy, high-pitched sigh escaped the child’s lips — barely more than a breath.
Akko’s smile faltered.
“...Wait, was that—?”
“She’s hiding something” came Diana’s voice from behind. Crisp. Certain.
Jasminka’s hand hesitated on the doorframe.
Then, with a soft exhale through her nose, she stepped back and let it open fully.
The lamplight from within spilt into the hallway.
Constanze sat cross-legged on the bed, her small frame partially silhouetted against the glow of the desk lamp. In her lap, the child nestled like a kitten tucked into a warm nook, hair a cloud of tangled curls, her tiny hands gripping the blanket and Constanze’s sleeve alike. Her eyes, round and impossibly big, blinked once — twice — at the two new figures in the doorway.
Akko’s mouth dropped open.
“Oh… my god...” She whispered, stepping instinctively closer “She’s adorable…!”
Diana remained at the threshold, her posture shifting immediately into that of a soldier assessing a threat. Her arms crossed in front of her chest, spine perfectly straight.
“Jasminka” She said sharply, her eyes narrowing “You brought her back from the field. Didn’t you?”
The room seemed to hold its breath.
Jasminka didn’t answer. Her expression didn’t shift. Her silence was not denial — but neither was it guilt.
“You know this is against regulation” Diana continued, her tone edged with growing intensity “The codex clearly states that civilians, especially unidentified minors from a corrupted zone, are to be quarantined and reported. What you’ve done — this is obstruction. Do you realize what would happen if this reached the command board?”
“Diana…” Akko murmured, gaze still fixed on the child, her voice gentle “Look at her”
“I am looking” Diana snapped, barely moving her head “And I see a breach in protocol that could endanger—”
“She’s just a child” Akko interrupted, voice firmer now, rooted in something deeper than rebellion — compassion.
For a moment, no one spoke.
The room felt tight, compressed by tension. The flickering light from the small table lamp cast long, gentle shadows across the walls. The child nestled tighter into Constanze’s side, but her gaze never left Akko. She didn’t speak. She didn’t cry. She watched.
“She’s safe” Jasminka said softly, finally breaking the silence “I cleaned her wounds. We purified everything. I ran the scans myself — no curses, no tags, no active magic fields. She was alone. Just… alone”
Her voice didn’t plead. It simply told the truth.
Diana’s eyes didn’t soften, but they did waver — just slightly. She glanced at Constanze, who still hadn’t moved, her arms now loosely wrapped around the child’s small frame, protective and still.
“Hi” Akko said quietly, crouching down to the child’s level. Her voice turned playful, feather-light “It’s okay. We’re not scary. Promise”
The girl blinked at her. Then, slowly, without looking away, she pressed her cheek to Constanze’s arm and stayed quiet.
“She’s shy” Akko said, grinning gently “You’re lucky she didn’t scream — mine always does”
Jasminka’s shoulders relaxed by a hair’s width.
Akko stood, turning slightly toward Diana.
“She’s not cursed” She said again “She’s not dangerous. She’s just... tired. And tiny. And she needs help”
“There are rules for a reason” Diana said, voice quieter but no less controlled “We can’t keep her hidden”
“I’m not asking forever” Jasminka replied. Her hands were relaxed at her sides now, but her voice held quiet steel “Just time. Time for her to feel safe. Please”
Constanze nodded once. A precise, deliberate motion — wordless, but powerful.
Akko glanced between them, then sighed and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear “We’ll keep her secret” She said finally “Right, Diana?”
Diana didn’t answer right away.
The girl, half hidden in her blanket, peeked out with those wide, curious eyes and locked gazes with Diana for a moment.
The silence grew.
Then Diana exhaled.
“We are not monsters,” she said quietly. “But this can’t be permanent.”
“It won’t be” Jasminka assured “Thank you”
Akko crouched again, smiling brightly “Can I wave?”
Jasminka nodded.
Akko lifted her hand and gave the girl a slow, gentle wave — fingers wiggling in a silly pattern.
The girl watched for a beat. Then, shyly, one tiny hand rose and mirrored the gesture.
Akko looked like she’d just been handed the moon.
“Okay, that’s it” she whispered “I’m sold”
Diana’s mouth parted slightly — words poised on the edge, heavy with the pressure of duty and the reflex of discipline. Her shoulders had squared again, her breath pulled in, ready to deliver a final word.
But Akko spun on her heel.
Her hand didn’t raise, but her voice cracked through the air like a whip.
“Diana. Don’t”
The force of it didn’t come from volume — it came from heat. From disappointment. From that rare fire Akko only showed when something truly mattered. Diana flinched, not from fear, but from the sharp cut of recognition.
“Come with me” Akko said through gritted teeth, already turning toward the door.
Diana didn’t argue.
They stepped into the corridor, the soft click of the door behind them sealing away the quiet warmth of the room. Out here, it was colder. The lanterns lining the hall flickered dimly, casting twin shadows that stretched and bent across the stone floor as the two women faced each other.
For a heartbeat, neither spoke.
Then Akko advanced a step. Her eyes — not wild like they once had been, but tempered and strong — locked with Diana’s.
“She’s just a baby, Diana” Akko hissed “A baby”
“I know” Diana said, voice low, tight.
“Do you?” Akko snapped, her voice slicing through the hush like a blade “Because you were about to march in there and quote the damn codex while she’s curled up in a blanket”
Diana looked away, jaw tense.
“You were going to report them. You were” Akko continued, her tone unwavering. “And don’t lie to me, Diana, because I know you. I know you. You carry the rules like they’re stitched into your skin, and that’s fine most of the time. But this? This is a little girl who trusts them already. She held onto Constanze like she was the last star in the sky”
“I wasn’t—” Diana began, but Akko cut her off.
“No. No excuses. I don’t want to hear about regulation or threat protocol or security procedures” Akko snapped “I want to hear what the Cavendish name really means. Because the Diana I know — the woman I love — she would never turn in a scared little girl just because someone told her to”
Diana’s eyes flicked back to her, full of stormclouds and shame. Her lips pressed into a tight line.
“The Cavendish family has always stood for strength” Akko said, voice quieter now, but no less powerful “But it was also known for its compassion. For doing what’s right, even when it’s not what’s allowed. Your mother didn’t raise you to sacrifice children on the altar of order”
The words landed like a blow.
Diana’s shoulders finally sagged, the iron bars of her posture beginning to melt. She closed her eyes for a moment, long enough for Akko to see how much was shifting behind them.
“I… was scared...” Diana admitted at last, and it wasn’t something she said lightly “Scared of what could happen if command found out. Of what they might do. To us. To her”
Akko’s expression softened — just slightly.
“I’m scared too” She said gently “But you don’t protect a child by giving her up to cold hands and colder systems. You protect her by standing in front of her. By trusting people like Jasminka and Constanze — because they’ve already chosen the hard path”
Diana stared at the floor. Her voice, when it came, was barely audible.
“She looked at me” She said “That little girl. Like I might be someone she could trust”
“You still can be” Akko said.
Silence fell again. The lanterns buzzed faintly overhead.
Finally, Diana straightened. Not in the stiff, military way — but with the solemn grace of someone who’d just made a quiet vow to herself.
“I won’t report them” She said “I swear it”
Akko’s eyes softened fully now, and she stepped forward, gently brushing her fingers against Diana’s sleeve.
“I knew you wouldn’t” She whispered “You’re still Diana Cavendish. The real one”
Diana nodded slowly “Let’s go back in” She said.
And together, they turned back toward the door—hearts steadier, fears not erased but shared.
When Akko and Diana stepped back into the room, the air that greeted them was heavy with fire-warmed peace. The gentle crackle of the hearth filled the silence, its light casting a sleepy amber glow over the small, cosy space.
Jasminka lay stretched out on her back atop the bed, her long arms curled protectively around the tiny girl nestled on her chest. The child was a small bundle of sleep and warmth, still wrapped in the soft blanket from before, her fingers curled against the fabric of Jasminka’s shirt. Her soft breaths rose and fell in tandem with Jasminka’s, like the two were sharing one quiet rhythm.
Jasminka’s eyes flicked up at the sound of the door, her expression calm, almost dreamy. There was something sacred in that moment—something unshakable in how she held the child as though nothing else in the world could touch her.
Across the room, Constanze knelt by the hearth. She had just placed another pair of thick logs onto the glowing embers. A shower of sparks danced up the chimney, and the flames responded with a contented sigh, stretching higher, casting gold over her profile. The little mechanic glanced up as the others entered, gave a curt nod, and wiped her hands on the hem of her tunic.
Akko stepped forward slowly, her eyes drawn to the little girl again. Now that she wasn’t wrapped in urgency or protocol, she could take her time—really see her.
The girl’s lashes were long and thick, resting like tiny feathers against her pale cheeks. Her hair, still a little damp from the bath, was tousled and soft, a gentle brown like old wood polished by age. One foot peeked out from beneath the blanket, wriggling slightly as she sighed in her sleep.
“She’s beautiful…” Akko whispered, her voice hushed with awe.
Diana stayed a few steps back, her expression unreadable — but her gaze lingered on the girl, long and quiet.
Akko turned to Constanze, who had now sat back on her heels, wiping soot from her fingers with a cloth.
“What’s her name?” Akko asked gently.
Constanze blinked once, then shrugged. She raised both hands in a silent gesture, palms up, and shook her head slowly.
She didn’t know.
Before the question could hang too long in the air, Jasminka’s voice rolled in — soft, low, like a lullaby made of clouds.
“She hasn’t spoken” She murmured “Not a word. Not even when I found her. She just… clung to my coat and wouldn’t let go”
Akko’s brow furrowed, her heart aching. She stepped closer to the bed, crouching near the edge. The girl’s tiny fingers twitched in her sleep.
“She might not even have a name” Jasminka continued “Or maybe she does. And it was taken from her… or lost...”
There was a silence that followed, heavy but not cruel. The kind of silence filled with thought and memory and the ache of all the stories that had never been told.
Akko looked at the girl again — really looked. There was something about her, something that tugged deep at the core of her chest.
Then a thought bloomed, quiet but sure, and Akko smiled.
“…What if we gave her one?” She asked, turning to look at the others.
Jasminka tilted her head.
“I mean” Akko went on, eyes back on the sleeping child “She’s with us now, right? We can’t just keep calling her the girl or the kid. She deserves a name. Something real. Something hers”
Constanze raised her eyebrows, but didn’t protest.
Jasminka simply asked “What name?”
Akko’s gaze softened.
“…Akari”
Jasminka blinked.
“Akari” Akko repeated, letting the word sit on her tongue like a gift “She was a samurai. From my homeland, way back — generations ago. Most people don’t even remember her anymore. But in my family, her story’s still told. She was called The Crimson Samurai because of the deep red armour she wore — worn and scarred but strong as the fire in her heart. They say she fought not for glory or fame, but to protect the helpless. Children. Villagers. Wandering souls. Anyone who couldn’t lift a sword themselves”
She smiled wistfully, fingers resting lightly on the blanket.
“She had a heart of gold. Fierce, but kind. Brave beyond belief. And even though she never got the recognition others did, she was the soul of her era” Akko's voice dropped, almost to a whisper “I think… if this little girl doesn’t remember her name, or never had one, then she deserves one that means something. And Akari… she would’ve protected her too”
The others didn’t argue.
Constanze nodded slowly, looking at the child with a flicker of something tender behind her usually expressionless eyes.
Jasminka exhaled through her nose, a sleepy sort of agreement in her breath.
And Diana, still quiet, stepped closer. Her voice was barely audible.
“Akari...” She repeated, tasting the name “Yes… it suits her”
And though the girl didn’t stir, and though she still slept on Jasminka’s chest, a little smile curled at the corner of her mouth — as if, somewhere deep in that warm place between dream and waking, she had heard her name for the first time.
=======
The days that followed blurred into a gentle rhythm, like the quiet sway of a lullaby. Within the safety of their little dorm room, surrounded by soft wool blankets, warm food, and watchful eyes, Akari bloomed.
She became theirs — fully, completely, without question. There was no paperwork, no official decree. Only the warm, wordless promises sealed in the way Jasminka wrapped her arms around the girl each morning, and the way Constanze carried her on her hip with fierce protectiveness while working on her gadgets. In that tiny room, beneath the flicker of the fireplace and the smell of soot and lavender soap, Akari was home.
They were her family now.
And she was their child.
It started with the small things.
Constanze crafted a tiny wooden stool so Akari could sit beside her workbench. The girl didn’t talk yet, but she watched everything, wide-eyed and quietly amazed. She reached out with curiosity, fingers brushing over metal bits and clicking gears, and Constanze — ever patient — let her explore under close supervision, showing her how tools fit together, how levers moved, how to turn a screw with tiny hands.
Meanwhile, Jasminka made sure Akari never missed a meal. The once-quiet girl quickly grew fond of her adoptive mother’s endless snacks, especially the warm cinnamon buns she baked on weekends, soft and gooey with a sugary glaze. Whenever Akari saw the mixing bowl, she’d toddle over, arms raised, wanting to be lifted onto the counter to help. Jasminka taught her how to stir the batter (badly), how to lick the spoon (enthusiastically), and how to share the finished treat (with sticky, icing-covered fingers).
Akko and Diana became fixtures in their lives too — almost by accident at first.
Akko would appear with a knock and a grin, carrying books with colourful covers or carved animal toys from the market. She’d drop to her knees and speak in a slow, cheerful voice, encouraging Akari to try new words.
“Say ‘bun.’ Buuuuun. Like the one Jasminka’s hiding behind her back!”
Akari’s little brows would furrow. She’d fumble with sounds, her voice hoarse from disuse, but she tried. And when she got even close, Akko would cheer like it was the greatest moment in history.
“YES! See? She’s a genius!”
Diana, of course, took a more subtle approach.
She brought picture books with delicate illustrations and read them aloud in her calm, melodic voice, sitting by the fireplace while Akari curled in her lap like a kitten. She corrected pronunciation gently, praised softly, and when Akari finally whispered “Thank you” one evening, barely above a breath, Diana went still.
Then she smiled.
Truly smiled.
Constanze crafted flashcards with simple words and images, helping Akari piece things together: “Apple”, “Fire”, “Bird”. Jasminka turned it into a game. And every new word the girl managed — every sound, every syllable — was met with such pride you’d think she had unlocked a sacred spell.
And then came the walking.
Akari’s legs were weak. At first, she stood only with help — one hand clinging to Jasminka’s thumb, the other to Constanze’s gloved wrist. Her knees wobbled like jelly, and every step was a monumental effort.
But they were there.
Jasminka knelt behind her, arms outstretched, whispering encouragement in her slow, dreamy tone. Constanze knelt in front, tapping the floor with her fingers like a signal: Come here. You’re safe.
Akko cheered from the side like a coach at a sports game, while Diana occasionally placed small treats — a grape, a dried plum — a few inches ahead as an incentive.
It took days. Then weeks.
And then — one morning — she walked.
Four steps.
Five.
And into Constanze’s arms, giggling in surprise at herself. The room erupted in gentle applause and teary smiles. Jasminka pulled her into a bear hug so tight she squealed, and Constanze pressed a kiss to her forehead without a word.
It wasn’t always perfect. Some nights, Akari woke screaming, tangled in blankets. On those nights, Jasminka rocked her gently, whispering lullabies in her native tongue until her sobs faded. Other times she’d go quiet, withdrawn, and Constanze would silently sit beside her, offering a clockwork bird to wind up and set ticking between them — no words, just presence.
But with each passing day, the shadows faded.
She started humming to herself while playing with Diana’s hair.
She would tug Akko’s sleeve and point at clouds shaped like dogs.
She’d climb onto Jasminka’s lap just to cuddle, resting her head over that steady heartbeat she trusted more than anything.
And when she fell and scraped her knee one afternoon in the courtyard, she ran to Constanze — not crying, just holding up her hand silently. And Constanze, with a faint smile, carried her inside and bandaged her knee like she’d done it a hundred times before.
That night, tucked between her two mothers under a patchwork quilt, her voice broke the quiet: “Love you”
Raspy. Barely audible.
But clear.
Jasminka blinked hard and brushed a tear away. Constanze froze mid-stretch, then reached down and gently brushed Akari’s cheek with a knuckle.
“Love you too” Jasminka whispered back, voice catching.
The fire crackled. Outside, the snow fell in soft, sleepy waves.
And in that tiny room, held between the arms of warriors and outlaws, witches and soldiers — Akari slept in peace.
She was safe.
She was loved.
She was home.
***
Despite all the sweetness and heartwarming moments, life with a magically curious toddler at a military academy wasn’t exactly peaceful. Not by a long shot.
Especially not when both of her mothers were elite operatives.
The first problem became apparent the morning Jasminka and Constanze were summoned on a joint mission. Urgent. Dangerous. And most importantly: no-kids-allowed.
Constanze stood by the door, arms crossed, her heavy gear belt already slung over one shoulder, while Jasminka stared helplessly at Akari, who sat in the middle of the room with her arms raised like a baby emperor expecting to be carried to her throne.
“Maybe we can hide her under a blanket in the hovercraft” Jasminka mumbled, already swaddling Akari in a quilt.
Constanze gave her a deadpan look, tapped the mission brief, and mimed an explosion.
“...Okay, okay, no hovercraft”
Thus began the scramble for babysitters.
Their first attempt: Diana.
“Absolutely not” She said crisply, sipping her tea “I have Council meetings, administrative duties, and I—”
Akari sneezed. And Diana immediately handed her her silk handkerchief.
“…Fine. But just today”
To be fair, Diana tried. She read to Akari in three different languages, organized alphabetized flashcards, and even introduced the girl to beginner etiquette scrolls. It was going well — until Akari found Diana’s enchanted fountain pen, which took off like a jet and started drawing inappropriate doodles across official scrolls in every colour imaginable.
Diana had to explain to the High Enchantress why the latest parchment decree contained a suspiciously detailed drawing of a potato with legs yelling “POOP!”
Second attempt: Amanda.
“Oh hell yeah! I love kids!” Amanda beamed, hoisting Akari onto her shoulder “She’s gonna learn SO much today”
Jasminka and Constanze exchanged a glance.
Two hours later, Akari returned to the dorm covered in glitter, wearing sunglasses, chewing gum, and saying: “Oi, Wanker!”
Constanze dropped her wrench.
Jasminka slowly knelt. “...What did Amanda teach you, my little dumpling?”
Akari pulled the gum out of her mouth with a dramatic pop “Bloody hell!”
They banned Amanda from babysitting duty for a month. (Which didn’t stop her from sneaking in to teach Akari more 'useful phrases')
The safest option turned out to be Lotte, whose calm demeanour and endless patience were ideal. She brought cookies, soft-voiced lullabies, and an uncanny ability to wrangle chaos. But even she wasn’t immune.
One afternoon, Akko offered to 'help'.
She and Akari decided it would be very helpful to organize the Academy’s entire east wing library… by height.
So began the Great Tower Incident.
Books were stacked taller than Lotte herself. Akari stood on a wobbly stool, tossing volumes with surprising strength while Akko frantically tried to catch them like dodgeballs.
“I’m teaching her the value of architectural balance!” Akko shouted as a precarious book tower leaned dangerously toward the ceiling.
The entire structure collapsed. The sound echoed like a spell explosion.
Lotte walked in carrying cocoa, blinked at the ruins of knowledge scattered across the floor, and said “I’m… going to need more cocoa...”
Despite everything, the worst panic came not from babysitting antics, nor near-apocalyptic glitter explosions, but from The Council.
Someone — probably a nosy instructor — had reported the presence of a 'non-registered minor' on school grounds.
Jasminka and Constanze were summoned.
Akko insisted on coming with them, dragging Diana by the hand (“This is a justice mission!”)
The meeting room was cold. Grand. Intimidating. Thirteen robed figures sat behind a crescent desk, murmuring among themselves as Akari peeked over Jasminka’s shoulder, wrapped in her usual oversized scarf like a burrito.
“She’s not a magical creature” One Council member muttered.
“She’s not registered” Another frowned “This is against every codex—”
That’s when Akko slammed both palms on the table.
“She’s a child!” She shouted “And she lives here now! Deal with it!”
Constanze blinked.
Diana facepalmed.
Jasminka fed Akari a cracker.
For a long moment, the Council simply stared. Then the High Enchantress, an elderly witch with a staff shaped like a lightning bolt, leaned forward and asked in a surprisingly gentle voice:
“…What’s her name?”
“Akari” Jasminka said softly, brushing crumbs from the girl’s cheek.
The room fell silent as Akari looked up, blinked — and gave the Council a tiny wave.
“…Hi...” She whispered.
That was it.
The High Enchantress melted “Very well. The girl may stay”
Akko collapsed. Face first. Onto the floor.
“Oh thank the ANCIENTS!” She wheezed.
Back at the dorm, the celebration involved hot cocoa, cookies, and Akari sitting on Akko’s shoulders declaring “I is BIG NOW!”
Later that evening, she also shouted “Bugger off!” at a squirrel outside.
Jasminka slowly turned toward Amanda, who whistled and looked at the ceiling.
All in all, the Academy adapted. Sort of.
There were baby shoes lined up beside combat boots. Scribbled crayon drawings pinned beside magical maps. Little giggles echoing through silent hallways.
And when someone asked Diana why she carried a bag of gummy bears in her council robes, she simply said:
“…Emergency rations...”
Akari had brought chaos.
Akari had brought joy.
And in the most unlikely place in the world — a military academy forged to fight darkness — there now existed a little corner of sunshine, laughter, and the occasional “bloody hell!”
And no one — not even the Council — could imagine life without her.
Despite the initial tension, something… strange began happening after Akari was officially allowed to stay at Luna Nova.
It began subtly at first. The Council — those wise, stoic, and at times downright terrifying figures of magical authority — started asking casual questions.
“Has the child eaten today?”
“Is she warm enough in the East Wing?”
“Does she like cats?”
And then came the toys.
No one knew who started it. One day, a small clockwork owl appeared on the sill of Jasminka’s room — its little wings flapping and eyes glowing a soft blue. Akari squealed with delight. The next day, a floating orb followed her around humming lullabies in six different languages.
The next week, The High Enchantress herself began dropping by.
She didn’t announce it, of course. She’d simply appear — stepping through a shimmer in the air, her robe swirling with constellations — and then lower herself gracefully onto the carpet while Akari played with blocks.
“Red on top, little sun” She’d say, conjuring a puff of star-shaped glitter.
Akari would light up “Twinkle lady!”
The High Enchantress — one of the most revered and feared figures of the magical world — smiled with barely contained delight.
“That’s right, my little comet”
She started visiting often. Quietly. Always between meetings or after a stormy council session. Once, Akko peeked in and saw her — ancient, powerful, ageless — on all fours, crawling under a table while Akari giggled and yelled “FOUND YOU!”
“...Are we sure she’s the most powerful witch alive...?” Amanda whispered.
“She turned a senator into a frog last week...” Diana replied.
Other Council members followed suit.
One brought enchanted paper that folded itself into singing birds. Another conjured illusions of glowing animals that danced around the girl. One particularly stern elder — known for his icy demeanour — was caught in the courtyard letting Akari braid his beard with tiny ribbons.
“She calls me Frosty” He mumbled without meeting anyone’s eyes.
At Council meetings, Akari occasionally joined too — quietly perched on Jasminka’s lap, munching on a cookie. No one objected anymore.
In fact, when she didn’t show up, they’d ask.
“Where’s the moonbeam?”
“Is the little phoenix ill today?”
“Did she like the spellbook with the pop-up dragons?”
Once, during a particularly heated debate over the use of dimensional anchors, Akari interrupted with a sneeze so powerful it blew the papers off the main table.
The room went silent.
The High Enchantress smiled serenely “Ah. The wind of change”
Laughter rippled through the chamber.
More than once, Akari fell asleep mid-meeting. Her head tucked under Jasminka’s chin or curled between Constanze’s scarf and arm. And every time, the Council lowered their voices. Wards were adjusted for warmth. A breeze of lavender-scented magic was summoned to soothe her dreams.
The High Enchantress began crafting bedtime illusions just for her.
Floating stars. Drifting dream-creatures. Silken lullabies strung through invisible strings in the air.
“I have commanded armies” She whispered to Constanze once, watching Akari sleep “But none of them ever called me twinkle lady”
Akari had unwittingly enchanted the most powerful mages in existence.
She didn’t cast spells.
She didn’t need to.
She just laughed. Played. Hugged. Giggled. Trusted.
And that, it seemed, was the greatest magic of all.
============
It was a quiet evening at Luna Nova.
Snow had started to fall — soft and slow, like a lullaby drifting from the clouds. The academy was hushed, its towers glowing with gentle candlelight, the chimneys puffing slow curls of smoke. Most students were already asleep, wrapped in warm blankets, their dreams gently tugged along by the magical warmth pulsing through the academy’s wards.
In one of the lesser-used courtyards — a hidden nook where the air always smelled of lilac and old spellbooks — stood the High Enchantress.
Alone.
She was conjuring ribbons of light in the air, long, sweeping trails of cosmic blue and gold, trailing from her fingertips like the aurora itself. They curled into shapes for Akari’s dreams — dancing foxes, a grinning dragon, a floating ship of starlight.
She had started doing this every night.
Behind her, the snow crunched under booted feet. She didn’t need to turn around.
“Jasminka”
The taller woman stood there, as soft and quiet as ever, her arms wrapped around a blanket that smelled faintly of cookies and chamomile tea. The same blanket Akari had slept with earlier that day.
The High Enchantress finished shaping a moonflower out of starlight and turned.
“You’re up late”
Jasminka hesitated. That was rare for her. She looked down at her boots, then back up again — eyes soft and full of something unspoken “I… wanted to ask you something...”
A pause. The High Enchantress tilted her head, curious “I’m listening”
Jasminka took a deep breath. Her voice was always slow, thoughtful. Like warm syrup over pancakes. She didn’t speak much — but when she did, her words held weight.
“It’s Akari” She said quietly “She’s been smiling more. Talking more. Laughing”
The High Enchantress nodded gently, a small smile tugging at her lips “She’s thriving. Thanks to you”
Jasminka looked away, then back again. Her brows furrowed “She doesn’t have a grandma. She never talks about parents. Maybe… maybe she had them. Maybe she didn’t...” Her voice wavered for just a moment, then steadied “She calls Amanda a ‘funny sister’. Akko and Diana are her aunties. Constanze and I are her family. But… she still asks, sometimes, what a grandma is”
Silence.
Snowflakes drifted between them, catching in the folds of their cloaks, melting on warm skin.
“I want her to have one” Jasminka continued “Someone wise. Someone kind. Someone who makes her feel like magic is safe. Like the world will always have someone watching over her… even when we’re not there” She stepped closer, eyes earnest and full of something ancient and aching “I want it to be you”
The High Enchantress blinked.
There had been wars she hadn’t flinched through. Cosmic storms she had stared down without a tremble. She had held dying stars and turned them into spells.
But this?
This made her hands shake.
“Me...?” She said softly.
Jasminka nodded once.
“She already calls you ‘Twinkle Lady'...” Jasminka said with a small smile “She likes you. She trusts you. And… she needs you”
A long silence followed.
The stars above twinkled brighter. Somewhere, far off in the halls, a grandfather clock struck midnight.
The High Enchantress reached up and removed her crown—a shimmering circlet of stardust and silver vines — and held it at her chest.
Her voice, when it came, was quieter than the wind.
“I’ve never… been anyone’s grandmother”
“You don’t have to be perfect” Jasminka said gently “Just… be you”
The older woman stared down at the snow for a long moment. Then she let out a long breath. A sigh that sounded like it had been trapped in her for centuries.
“I would be honoured” She said, her voice breaking at the edges.
Jasminka smiled. A soft, proud smile.
“She’ll be happy”
“I hope so” the High Enchantress whispered, looking toward the tower where Akari slept “Because… I think I already love her like she’s mine.”
They stood there for a long while, watching the stars swirl above. And in the sky, without fanfare or command, the clouds parted just enough for the moon to peek through — casting silver light on the quiet, snowy courtyard, and two women who had just rewritten fate for one little girl.
*******
And thus started the playdates!
1. Lotte and Barbara – The Soothing Voices and the Loud Surprises
Akari’s first official “playdate” outside her usual circle happened quite by accident.
Lotte had been in the library, nose buried in an old book of Nordic nature spirits, when a soft weight leaned against her leg. She looked down, blinking over her glasses, and there Akari stood — blanket trailing behind her like a cape, two buttons clutched in her small hand like treasure, and her expression as serious as any war general.
“Book?” Akari asked softly.
Lotte melted on the spot.
Barbara, ever the overdramatic flirt, had come bouncing into the room moments later, arms full of snacks and her usual mischief ready to deploy “Lottee~! I got those berry buns you like and—AAAH!”
A small child was suddenly clinging to her leg like a very affectionate cat.
Barbara froze “What is this creature?!”
Akari peered up at her with her big eyes and said, with the innocent power of someone who didn’t understand what she was doing:
“Bunny”
Lotte snorted so hard she nearly choked.
Barbara, flustered beyond measure, waved her hands “I—excuse me?? I am a powerful woman! I—hey! Don’t pull the ribbons!”
But within ten minutes, Akari had charmed them both.
Lotte read to her, voice gentle and full of wonder, while Akari sat on her lap and listened with wide eyes. Barbara, eventually caving, sat beside them and gave animated performances of every animal mentioned in the stories. She nearly knocked over three bookshelves pretending to be a mischievous bear.
By the end of the day, Akari was wearing Lotte’s scarf like a superhero cape, holding Barbara’s hand, and announcing she would be 'book knight'.
Lotte and Barbara agreed that they were utterly doomed — and loved every second of it.
2. Hannah and Amanda – The Chaos Duo and Their Tiny Apprentice
Amanda was banned from babysitting solo after the “firecracker milk incident.” So naturally, when she and Hannah were assigned to watch Akari for an afternoon, Hannah swore she’d make sure things stayed civil.
It lasted four minutes.
Akari had taken an instant liking to Amanda — how could she not? Amanda called her 'squirt', gave her piggyback rides, and had taught her how to wink with only one eye (sort of).
Hannah, surprisingly, had turned out to be good with kids. She kept things tidy, handed Akari neat snacks, and always had extra socks in case of puddles. But she also had a low tolerance for chaos.
So when Akari and Amanda disappeared for ten minutes and came back wearing matching 'war paint' made from crushed berries and chanting “storm baby! storm baby!” Hannah nearly passed out.
“WHAT is this?!”
“Training” Amanda said with a straight face, lifting Akari onto her shoulders.
“Training for what?!”
“Everything”
Akari giggled madly and smacked Amanda’s head like a drum.
The day devolved into a chase through the training grounds, a minor explosion in the alchemy room (no one was hurt, just a lot of glitter), and one very stern talking-to from the janitor.
But later that evening, after Akari had finally tired herself out and curled between them on a blanket, clutching Amanda’s scarf and humming, Hannah sighed and rested her head on Amanda’s shoulder.
“She’s trouble”
Amanda grinned “Yeah. Our kind of trouble”
3. Akko and Diana – Chaos and Control, With a Touch of Cuteness
Akko had always wanted a sidekick. Diana just hadn’t expected that sidekick to be three years old, with a bucket on her head and no concept of volume control.
Akari adored Akko. Akko was fun. Akko made sparkles appear in midair, gave dramatic speeches about friendship, and called her 'my tiniest comrade in arms'. The two were inseparable whenever Akko wasn’t on duty.
Diana, meanwhile, tried very hard to maintain order. And failed. Frequently.
One afternoon, Akko and Akari decided to 'help' Diana organize her extensive potion cabinet. By the time Diana entered the room, Akari had painted stars on half the bottles, and Akko was wearing a colander as a crown, declaring herself 'Queen of Concoctions'.
“Akko!” Diana gasped, horrified “That’s volatile nightroot!”
Akko looked down at the purple powder covering her sleeves “Oh...”
Akari coughed. Purple mist puffed from her mouth “Fizzy!”
Diana nearly fainted.
Still… for all the madness, the quiet moments were even more dangerous to Diana’s heart.
Akari often curled into Diana’s lap during tea, trying to mimic her ladylike posture. She’d tug on Diana’s braid and whisper: “You pretty” before falling asleep to the sound of Diana reading from her enormous spell tomes.
Akko once caught Diana gently brushing Akari’s hair with trembling fingers and didn’t say a word — just smiled and kissed Diana’s cheek.
Later that night, Diana admitted “She’s… precious”
“Yeah” Akko murmured “Very much so indeed”
Akari wasn’t just bonding.
She was planting roots — in every laugh, every hug, every pair of arms that held her close.
This magical, slightly dysfunctional, deeply loving family?
It was hers now.
***
The morning sun crept gently through the stained-glass windows of Luna Nova’s east wing, casting patches of sapphire, rose, and amber light onto the floor of a peculiar little dorm room. It was a space unlike any other in the academy: one side looked like a miniature engineering workshop, complete with blueprints pinned crookedly to the walls and metal parts arranged with a chaotic sort of logic; the other side was warm, welcoming, and homey, with quilts layered over soft cushions and the ever-present smell of freshly baked bread clinging to the air.
Amid the soft hum of enchanted tools and the occasional clink of metal, little Akari sat perched at Constanze’s meticulously worn workbench. Her feet didn’t quite reach the footrest of the stool, so they swung aimlessly with each focused movement. The oversized goggles strapped to her head were clearly too big, constantly sliding down her nose as she squinted at the tiny hovering device in front of her: a squat teapot-like thing that buzzed softly, vibrating like it was holding back a sneeze.
Akari held a wrench in both hands, her tongue sticking out in determined concentration. She adjusted a bolt — just a tiny bit too far.
“Thhhzzh—zzzt!” The device sputtered, gave a dramatic wobble, and smacked against the table with a metallic yelp.
Akari’s face crumpled with a frown, arms flopping to her sides “It… it angry, Mama...”
Constanze, who had been standing nearby with her arms gently folded and a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, stepped forward silently. She crouched beside the stool and tapped gently on her notepad before turning it toward Akari. In her neat, clear script, the page read:
“Too tight. Let it breathe”
The girl tilted her head, then read the words aloud slowly and carefully “Tooo… tight… oh!” She gave a little gasp, scooted closer to the contraption, and loosened the bolt ever so slightly — just enough.
The buzzing stopped. The teapot twitched once, then began to rise in slow, steady motion, humming like a contented bumblebee.
Akari’s eyes widened. She slapped both hands on the table in joy “I DID IT, MAMA!” She squealed, tossing her arms into the air with such gusto that the goggles flew from her forehead and tumbled onto the workbench.
Constanze was faster. She caught them mid-air with the smooth reflexes of a seasoned technician. With a silent chuckle, she leaned forward and gently replaced them on Akari’s head, adjusting the strap so it would hold this time.
“Am I… like you now?” Akari asked, her voice filled with awe, her grease-smeared cheeks flushed with excitement.
Constanze paused. She studied the little girl, this tiny bundle of stubborn will and innocent wonder. Then she placed her hand against Akari’s chest, feeling the tiny thump of her heart, and gave a soft nod. Her fingers moved quickly in sign:
“You already are”
Akari beamed, chest puffed out with pride.
Just after noon, the sweet smell of cinnamon and fresh cream buns began drifting into the room like a spell. The door creaked open and Jasminka stepped in, her arms laden with a tray of pastries, her cheeks a little pink from the cold outside. She wore one of her soft knitted shawls, and her presence alone made the room feel ten degrees warmer.
She set the tray down on the coffee table just as Akari trotted over, streaked with grease and grinning ear to ear.
“Mommy!” Akari chirped, leaping into Jasminka’s arms like a kitten jumping into a pile of pillows.
Jasminka let out a delighted laugh, spinning her once before settling her onto her hip “You smell like bolts” She said in mock reproach, wrinkling her nose playfully.
“Mommy Connie made me Mechanic Baby!” Akari shouted proudly, lifting a screwdriver like it was a knight’s sword.
“Mechanic Baby? Then it’s time for Exorcist Baby next” Jasminka teased, poking the girl’s nose with a gentle tap.
Akari’s brow furrowed curiously “What’s… that?”
With practised ease, Jasminka carried her over to the fireplace and plopped onto the plush rug in front of it, tucking a thick blanket around both of them like a cocoon. The logs crackled merrily, and the air was heavy with the scent of woodsmoke and sugar.
“You know how sometimes people… hurt?” Jasminka asked softly, brushing a bit of oil from Akari’s cheek “Inside their hearts? Or when bad things cling to them like shadows?”
Akari nodded, suddenly serious.
“Well” Jasminka said, smoothing the girl’s hair back “Exorcists help take that pain away. We fight monsters, yes — but not just the ones with claws and teeth. Sometimes, the monsters are sadness. Or fear. Or old, scary magic that tries to make people forget how loved they are”
“You fight… sadness?” Akari whispered, eyes wide.
“Every day”
“And… the Military Academy helps too?”
“Always” Jasminka said, squeezing her hand “We protect the weak. Stand up for the voiceless. Save the ones others forget. That’s what we do. That’s what your mamas do”
Akari stared at the fire for a moment, as though it held all the secrets in the world. Then, without a word, she reached out her small hands — one landing on Jasminka’s chest, the other seeking out Constanze’s, who had come to join them with quiet steps and an ever-watchful gaze.
“I help too!” Akari whispered “I be Mechanic Baby… and Exorcist Baby!”
Constanze’s lips parted in surprise, and her fingers moved swiftly “You’ll be whatever kind of hero you want”
Akari gave a hiccupping laugh and launched herself into a hug that knocked both her mothers sideways, giggling, tangled in warmth and trust and the kind of love that needed no magic to be real.
And for the first time in a long time, everything felt whole.