Ten years passed like pages turning in a gentle wind.

  Boreas and Elowen grew tall and bright—taller than most children their age, with an effortless grace that drew eyes wherever they went. Boreas’s blond hair fell in wild waves to his shoulders, his azure eyes now calm and piercing, able to glimpse threads of possibility without drowning in them. Elowen’s silver-blonde locks shimmered like moonlight on water; her Anemo affinity had matured into something almost musical, breezes that danced to her laughter or stilled at her quiet command.

  Mondstadt adored them. Shopkeepers slipped extra treats into their hands; knights saluted them with fond smiles; even the most stoic of adventurers softened when Boreas offered a shy prophecy of good weather or Elowen sent a playful gust to lift fallen leaves into smiling spirals. They were never spoiled—Varka and Nicole saw to that—but they were cherished. Loved without reservation by a city that had once feared what they might become.

  Under careful guidance, their powers no longer flared chaotically. Nicole taught Boreas to filter visions like sifting starlight through fingers—only the useful threads, never the terrifying ones. Varka sparred with Elowen in open fields, teaching her to shape wind into shields, sails, whispers. The Traveler returned often, sharing lessons in resilience and balance; Venti played melodies that helped them attune their gifts to Mondstadt’s free spirit rather than celestial decree.

  The golden cracks in the sky had long since healed to faint silver scars, barely visible even on clear nights. No emissaries descended. No Fatui agents lingered at the borders. The Tsaritsa’s silence felt like reluctant acceptance; Celestia’s gaze had turned elsewhere. For the first time in a decade, the family breathed without looking over their shoulders.

  One quiet evening, as the twins practiced in the garden—Boreas weaving a soft illusion of tomorrow’s sunrise while Elowen coaxed flowers to bloom out of season—Varka and Nicole watched from the balcony.

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  Nicole’s hand found his. “We’ve never taken them anywhere,” she said softly. “Not once. Not beyond these walls, these fields. They’ve known safety, love, training… but never simple joy. Never just being children on an adventure.”

  Varka’s thumb brushed her knuckles. “We kept them close because the world felt dangerous. But the danger is gone. Or at least… far enough away.”

  Their eyes met. A shared epiphany bloomed between them—quiet, certain, warm.

  “Their tenth birthday,” Varka said. “We take them to Nod-Krai. Where we first met. Where everything began.”

  Nicole smiled, bright and unshadowed. “A kind of homecoming. For all of us.”

  They departed under clear autumn skies, the four of them on horseback—Varka and Nicole riding ahead, Boreas and Elowen laughing behind them, cloaks fluttering like wings.

  Nod-Krai welcomed them like long-lost kin.

  Lauma met them at the frost-rimed gates, arms open, tears freezing on her lashes before they could fall. “My little lights,” she whispered, embracing the twins as though they had always belonged there. Nefer bowed deeply, offering each child a carved ice pendant that never melted. Flins, ever the storyteller, spun tales of the night Varka and Nicole first crossed paths—embellishing just enough to make Boreas and Elowen giggle.

  The people of Nod-Krai gathered in the central square that evening. Bonfires roared against the cold; music rose on icy winds. Columbina appeared last—silent, veiled, wings of shadow and starlight folded neatly behind her. She approached the twins without a word, knelt, and placed a gentle hand on each of their heads.

  “May your paths remain unbound,” she murmured, voice like distant bells. “May no cage ever find you. You are blessings, not burdens.”

  Boreas and Elowen stared up at her, unafraid. Elowen reached out, brushing a finger along the edge of Columbina’s veil; a soft breeze answered, lifting it just enough to reveal a serene, almost wistful smile.

  The night ended in laughter, shared songs, and promises kept. For the first time, the twins slept in a place that was not home—and felt it was.