The morning began quietly.

  The smell of toasted bread filled the kitchen. Seliane sat at the table, still a little disheveled, a steaming mug cradled in her hands, her gaze unfocused—as if her mind hadn’t quite finished waking up yet.

  Soft footsteps pulled her out of it.

  She looked up… and froze.

  “…Lyciah?”

  Lyciah stood at the kitchen entrance, hands clasped in front of her, slightly self-conscious. She wasn’t wearing her usual blue dress. Instead, she had on a white-and-black one—simple, elegant, and unmistakably different. More confident. More… her.

  Seliane set her mug down with almost exaggerated care.

  “Okay,” she said slowly. “I need you to confirm that I’m actually awake.”

  Lyciah tilted her head, amused.

  “Good morning to you too.”

  Seliane jumped up and did a full circle around her, inspecting her without the slightest hint of shame.

  “Since when do you wear dresses like that?”

  “Since this morning,” Lyciah replied with a shy smile, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “I bought it yesterday, when I went out to see the city.”

  Seliane stopped in front of her and stared.

  “You were gone for hours,” she said. “You came back looking like you’d just met the embodiment of chaos… and you didn’t mention you bought a brand-new dress that has absolutely nothing to do with your usual style.”

  Lyciah lowered her gaze, hands twisting nervously against one another.

  “I completely forgot.”

  “How do you forget a dress like that?”

  “Ekchron showed up right after,” Lyciah murmured. “I think my brain deleted everything irrelevant in order to survive the shock.”

  Seliane burst out laughing.

  “I wanted a change,” Lyciah continued. “In Elyndra, I always wore whatever the servants gave me. I never chose anything myself. This one…” She touched the fabric lightly. “I saw it and thought that, just once, I wanted something different.”

  Seliane watched her for a few seconds. Then she tilted her head.

  “Is it just me… or does that dress suspiciously match Caelan’s clothes?”

  Lyciah froze.

  “What? No. I mean— I didn’t do it on purpose.”

  “Of course not,” Seliane replied, her smile turning dangerous. “A completely innocent coincidence.”

  “Don’t start.”

  “Oh, I absolutely will,” Seliane said, delighted. “And I won’t stop.”

  Lyciah sighed, though she couldn’t help smiling.

  Elric appeared then from the adjacent room, walking stiffly as he rubbed the back of his neck. He had probably slept on the floor in some impossible position.

  Lyciah startled when she saw him. He had exactly the same reaction when he saw her.

  “Y-you spent the night here?!” Lyciah blurted out.

  “I forgot I spent the night here, under the same roof as two beautiful girls!” Elric exclaimed at the same time.

  Momoru appeared just then as well, clearly just waking up.

  “Good morning,” he greeted calmly. “Do I not count, then?”

  Elric blinked, thrown completely off.

  “Nice new dress,” Momoru added naturally, looking at Lyciah.

  Elric finally took a proper look at her, his heart rate slowing at last.

  “Why does it match Caelan’s clothes?”

  “That’s exactly what I asked,” Seliane chimed in, amused.

  “I-it wasn’t on purpose!” Lyciah protested again, now completely red.

  She was still red when Seliane began plotting her next verbal attack.

  Elsewhere in the city, Ekchron was smiling for very different reasons.

  A new toy.

  There he was again, standing in front of the bakery door.

  “Yes, I’m doing it. I don’t need to justify myself to a lump of flesh,” he muttered in Greek.

  His gaze drifted to the wall, as if expecting an answer that never came.

  He pushed the door open without care. The bell chimed. The smell of freshly baked bread filled the shop—warm and dense—mixed with the clean scent of detergent as she wiped the counter in slow, methodical motions.

  The woman didn’t look up.

  “If you’re here to kick another door down, I have a list of things that would be way more useful to break.”

  Ekchron froze right at the threshold.

  “I didn’t come to… kick things,” he said after a brief pause. “I came to return this.”

  She stopped. Set the cloth down. Looked up at him, calmly assessing him.

  “You’re here to return the bread?”

  Ekchron lifted the bag.

  “Yes.”

  “May I ask why?”

  He frowned, genuinely uncomfortable.

  “It looked at me… strangely.”

  “The bread?”

  “Yes. Very suspicious look.”

  She let out a short, warm laugh—completely out of place against his absolute seriousness.

  “And what? You thought it was going to betray you?”

  “Exactly,” Ekchron replied without blinking. “I don’t trust a bread.”

  “The bread.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “You said a bread.”

  Ekchron clicked his tongue. She laughed again, leaning against the counter.

  “You have a very peculiar accent. Are you foreign?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Well. A little. From Greece.”

  “Oh. That explains it. I thought a bread sounded very international.”

  Ekchron looked away. For a second, he seemed focused on something behind her. Something that wasn’t there. His brows furrowed slightly, as if he were listening to a silent objection.

  She noticed… but said nothing.

  “So, do you have a name?” she asked at last.

  Ekchron looked back at her.

  “I do.”

  “And…?”

  “I won’t tell you.”

  She tilted her head.

  “Oh, great. Mysterious, foreign, and rude.”

  “I am very polite,” he snapped. “I’m returning a bread.”

  “The bread!”

  “That’s what I said! You don’t listen, do you?”

  Her laughter echoed through the shop. Ekchron watched her with one eyebrow slightly raised—confused, irritated… and yet not moving toward the door.

  His gaze wandered around the place. On the counter sat a pale blue mug, decorated with a tiny forget-me-not.

  “Azul,” he murmured suddenly.

  The woman slowly stopped laughing. She wiped tears from her eyes and looked at him, puzzled.

  “Azul?”

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “My name,” he said. “Azul.”

  “Azul? Really?”

  “What?” he replied, offended. “It’s a perfectly valid name.”

  “I don’t know… I thought you’d say something in Greek. Something more… elaborate.”

  “My second option was ladle.”

  She went quiet for a second. Then she burst out laughing again.

  Ekchron stared at her, genuinely confused. He had never heard a human laugh so much. He wasn’t even trying to be funny.

  Then something unexpected happened. Something small. Something dangerous.

  “And you?” he asked suddenly. “What’s your name?”

  She blinked, briefly surprised.

  “Lorena.”

  Ekchron looked at her as if tasting the sound in his head.

  “Hm. I see,” he said at last. “Baker.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Baker,” he repeated with a shrug. “It’s more practical.”

  Lorena laughed again.

  “Nice to meet you, Azul. I’m Lorena. Not ‘Baker’.”

  “Sure,” he replied distractedly.

  But the name was already there. Stored. Filed away. In a place where Ekchron didn’t usually keep things like that.

  Silence settled between them. This time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Lorena noticed. Ekchron avoided her gaze, shoulders tense.

  “Well,” she said at last, “this bread can’t be sold anymore, so you’ll have to keep it. You can eat it… or put it on trial.”

  “I’ll throw it out the window,” he replied. “Teach it a lesson.”

  “Very fair. Come back tomorrow and tell me how it goes.”

  Ekchron watched her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he took the bread back. Without another word, he turned and left.

  The bell chimed again.

  Outside, he stopped. Looked at the bread in his hand. Frowned.

  “What the hell was that?” he muttered in Greek.

  He tilted his head slightly to the side. Stayed still for a few seconds longer.

  “Don’t laugh.”

  And then he kept walking.

  When Lyciah finished breakfast, the house felt strangely quiet.

  “Where’s Elric?” she asked, looking around.

  Seliane shrugged as she finished fixing her hair in the hallway mirror.

  “He left about half an hour ago. Said something about... air. Lots of air. Said he really needed to breathe.“

  “I guess sleeping under the same roof as two beautiful girls was too much for him,” Momoru commented from the hall.

  Seliane let out a short laugh and, without warning, hooked her arm through Lyciah’s.

  “Anyway… are you ready?” she asked with a childlike grin. “Because I plan to make the most of every minute.”

  Lyciah nodded. They were going out into the city. This time, she wouldn’t be alone.

  “I’ll stay here and watch the house,” Momoru added, handing Lyciah her coat.

  Seliane raised an eyebrow.

  “You’re abandoning us?”

  “I’m granting you a girls’ afternoon,” he corrected calmly.

  Lyciah laughed softly. Seliane dragged her along, declaring it was going to be the best day of their lives.

  The city was lively. Almost too lively. As if it had been waiting for them. Open stalls, overlapping voices, the constant murmur of footsteps and conversations filling every corner.

  Seliane moved with enthusiasm, stopping in front of every shop window.

  “We don’t need to buy anything,” she said. “Looking counts too.”

  Lyciah nodded, a bit more self-conscious.

  Every time they passed a pane of glass, she glanced at her reflection. The white-and-black dress showed her an image she wasn’t used to. More adult. More confident. And every time she caught herself doing it, she looked away, embarrassed.

  Seliane noticed.

  They laughed. Wandered aimlessly. Went into a couple of shops without buying anything. Shared absurd comments and small confidences that only surface when no one else is listening.

  Later, the cold began to seep in.

  They took shelter in a small place. The smell of hot food was comforting. Lyciah held the bowl between her hands and sighed as the warmth seeped into her fingers.

  “This… I needed this.”

  “Everyone does, sometimes,” Seliane replied, satisfied. “Pretending life is normal for a few hours.”

  When they stepped outside again, the sun had already begun to set.

  The streets were still crowded, but something had changed. Lyciah felt a bad feeling stir in her chest.

  Then, a familiar voice sounded behind her.

  “Lyciah.”

  Both of them turned at the same time.

  Lyciah froze. There he was. Her reflection. The same face, the same blue eyes… hardened by war. Sorian.

  The impulse was immediate. She took a step toward him, heart racing, a smile almost forming. She was about to hug him—but Seliane’s hand stopped her.

  “Wait,” she whispered. “You know how loyal your brother is to Heliora.”

  Lyciah stopped. The joy faded, replaced by a tight knot in her throat.

  “Sorian…” she said at last, her voice barely a thread. “You’re here because you escaped too…”

  She hesitated. The other option was harder to voice.

  “Or to take me back to the queen?”

  Sorian stepped forward. His posture was straight, military. There was no surprise in his eyes. No doubt.

  “You know this is for the best,” he replied firmly. “Here, demons want you dead. In Elyndra, you’re protected.”

  He extended his hand. Lyciah took half a step back.

  “If you return without causing more trouble,” Sorian continued, “I’ll speak to the queen personally and ask her to pardon Seliane and Momoru.”

  Seliane clenched her teeth. For a second, Lyciah wavered. The offer was tempting. Too tempting. But this time, something inside her didn’t bend.

  “No…” she began, her voice trembling. “I don’t want to…”

  Sorian took another step. Seliane’s hand went to the hilt of her sword.

  “I don’t want to go back to that place!” Lyciah cried at last. “To that cage. I want to be free—like mom wanted.”

  Sorian frowned.

  “Free?” he repeated, incredulous. “Kidnapped by the Second Ancestral?”

  Lyciah blinked, surprised he knew that.

  “Cael—” She stopped herself. Took a breath. “The Second Ancestral hasn’t locked me away. He let me choose. He gave me a home. A real one. A place I want to return to, because I feel safe there.”

  Sorian’s fists clenched. He looked down, frustrated.

  Lyciah didn’t look away. She was scared, yes. But firm. She had made her choice.

  Sorian inhaled deeply. When he looked at her again, something had cracked.

  “You will come back,” he said in a low, strange tone. “Whether you want to or not. It’s what’s best for you. It’s the only way I can protect you.”

  He took another step, ready to take her by force.

  And then Seliane moved.

  “You won’t touch her!” she shouted, drawing her sword as she placed herself between them.

  Sorian reacted instantly. His blade blocked Seliane’s with alarming ease. The impact made the air vibrate.

  “Step aside,” he ordered. “This doesn’t concern you.”

  “Like hell it doesn’t!”

  Seliane attacked again, fast and fierce. For a few seconds, the clash of metal filled the space. She fought with everything she had.

  But the General barely stepped back. He raised his free hand. The air crackled with electricity.

  “Wait—” Lyciah managed to say.

  Thunder exploded. The blast hurled Seliane several meters back. Her sword hit the ground with a dull clang. Seliane collapsed, unconscious.

  “Sel!”

  Lyciah rushed to her, dropping to her knees at her side.

  Sorian lowered his arm. His expression was hard. Painful.

  “I didn’t want this,” he said. “But you left me no choice.”

  Lyciah was trembling. Not from cold. From fear. And from the terrible certainty that her brother wasn’t going to stop.

  But then the air changed.

  There was no sound. No explosion. Just a sudden pressure, as if the world itself had decided to hold its breath.

  Lyciah was the first to notice. She looked up… and the moment she saw him, the tightness in her chest vanished, as if something invisible had stepped between her and the danger.

  “Caelan…”

  The name escaped her without thinking. A trembling whisper. There was more than relief in her expression—a brief, incredulous smile, as if she couldn’t quite believe he was really there.

  He hadn’t appeared in flashes of light or dramatic portals. He was simply… there. Standing a few steps away. Back straight. No tension in his posture.

  “Enough.”

  His voice was deep. Calm. Absolute.

  Sorian tensed instantly, turning his head on instinct. His sword remained in his hand.

  Caelan took a single step forward, and the ground beneath Sorian’s feet hardened. It wasn’t an attack. It wasn’t a prison. It was a reminder.

  “You are on my territory,” Caelan said. “And you are threatening someone under my protection.”

  His tone wasn’t aggressive. That was the worst part.

  Sorian frowned. He knew who this man was. The Second Ancestral.

  “She’s my sister.”

  “She’s a person,” Caelan corrected calmly. “And she said no.”

  The silence that followed was heavy.

  Sorian tightened his grip on his sword.

  “You don’t understand what’s at stake.”

  “I understand perfectly.”

  Caelan met his gaze. His eyes were calm. Ancient. There was no anger in them. No contempt. Only certainty.

  “I understand fear,” he continued. “I understand obedience. I understand the need to justify a cage by calling it protection.”

  Sorian took a step toward him… and stopped dead. Something invisible had halted him. Not a barrier. Not a wall. Something else. Something that didn’t resist—simply denied him passage.

  For the first time, real doubt crept down Sorian’s spine.

  Caelan didn’t move.

  “Take one more step,” he said calmly, “and this place will stop recognizing you as someone who can move forward.”

  Sorian swallowed.

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “No.”

  A brief pause.

  “I’m giving you a chance.”

  The air hummed.

  Seliane, unconscious on the ground, was now surrounded by a translucent barrier that hadn’t been there before.

  “Leave her alone,” Caelan said again. “Or I’ll remind you why, even after millennia, demons are still feared.”

  Sorian clenched his teeth.

  “You have no right—”

  “I don’t need your permission,” Caelan interrupted. “Or your understanding. I only need your obedience.”

  Silence.

  Sorian didn’t lower his sword. But he didn’t advance either. And for the first time since arriving, he understood that insisting wouldn’t be bravery. It would be suicide.

  He looked at Lyciah one last time. When she noticed, she looked away. Sorian’s expression shifted. Not anger. Pain.

  He retreated without another word. But Lyciah knew him. She knew he would return. He would never abandon her.

  Caelan didn’t pursue him.

  Lyciah knelt beside Seliane.

  “She’s f-fine,” she murmured, though her voice didn’t match her words. “She’s breathing, see? She’s breathing. I just… I just need a moment. A second. It’s fine. It’s fine…”

  Her hands trembled as she placed them on Seliane’s chest. Healing light flared immediately—unstable, pulsing, responding more to panic than to control. Lyciah spoke without stopping, words tumbling over each other.

  Caelan stopped beside her. He didn’t speak right away. He knelt calmly, one knee to the ground. He didn’t invade her space. He didn’t touch her yet.

  “Lyciah.”

  She didn’t seem to hear him.

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” Her voice broke. “I didn’t want anyone to get hurt because of me.”

  The light flickered harder.

  Then Caelan reached out and gently rested his hand on Lyciah’s wrist. Not to stop her. Just to anchor her.

  “Look at me.”

  Lyciah lifted her gaze, eyes glassy, overflowing with fear.

  “She’s alive,” he said. “She’s not in danger.”

  “I… I didn’t want to—”

  Her voice broke completely.

  Caelan didn’t remove his hand.

  “I know.”

  The light began to steady. More precise. Seliane’s breathing grew more regular.

  Lyciah let out the breath she’d been holding. The light faded slowly.

  For a few seconds, no one spoke.

  “You didn’t fail,” Caelan said at last, quietly. “You reacted. You held someone when it mattered. That’s not weakness.”

  Something in Lyciah’s chest finally gave way. Tears fell, and she turned her face aside, ashamed.

  Caelan carefully withdrew his hand and stood, looking away from her.

  “You don’t have to be like your mother,” he added. “The world doesn’t need another Misaha. It needs you.”

  Lyciah lifted her sleeve and hid her face in the fabric. She didn’t want him to see her cry.

  But for the first time in a long while, the pain she carried inside didn’t feel quite so heavy.

  Caelan’s words were still there—steady, unwavering—like something she hadn’t known she’d been waiting her entire life to hear.

  Azul literally means “blue” in Spanish. However, I chose not to translate it into Blue because, in this story, it functions as a name rather than a color.

  Translating it would lose part of its meaning — and honestly, I simply like how Azul sounds.