Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Temple was quiet.

Not peaceful-quiet. Not the sacred hush of contemplation or the satisfying calm of finished paperwork.

No.

This was the kind of quiet that made Ferdinand suspicious.

He looked up from his desk, quill poised, half-expecting Justus to burst through the door with another report of “urgent but irritating” nature.

Instead, the air above his workspace shimmered—just slightly, like heat over cobblestones—and then a magic circle appeared above him.

There was no time to speak.

No time to cast.

No time to question the cosmic forces that clearly had it out for him.

Two small figures fell from the magic circle. Straight toward him.

Ferdinand reacted purely on instinct. 

He caught them.

One in each arm.

They were… light. Compact. And eerily composed for two children who had just fallen from the sky.

The boy looked up at him. The girl tilted her head.

Then—together, in perfect harmony—they spoke:

- “Target landing successful. Subject: secured.”

Ferdinand blinked.

Both had his eyes.

Both had his hair.

Both had the kind of expression that screamed: I already solved this puzzle, and now I’m judging you for not catching up.

He blinked again.

The girl adjusted the sleeve of her white-blue dress and glanced around the office like she owned it.

The boy sniffed.

- “Mana level: adequate. Dust levels: unacceptable.”

- “Coordinates successful. Time alignment within 1.4%. Mission Phase One… initiated.”

Ferdinand stared at them.

For a long, long moment, no one moved.

Then—

- “Lord Ferdinand—”

The door opened.

Justus entered with a tray of tea and paperwork, whistling softly. His eyes flicked up.

Tray. Dropped.

Papers. Scattered.

Tea. Everywhere.

- “What the—MY LORD?!”

He pointed.

Ferdinand did not look away from the two children. Still holding them. Still frozen.

Justus slowly bent down and picked up a cup, eyes wide.

- “Did… did you split yourself?”

The girl turned toward him.

- “Subject 004: Justus. Mana signature confirmed. Unexpected volume increase upon greeting.”

The boy added:

- “Uncontrolled vocal reaction. High-pitched. Suggests low threat level but volatile unpredictability.”

Justus paled.

- “Are they cursed?”

The children tilted their heads simultaneously.

- “Define ‘cursed’.”

Justus took a step back.

Ferdinand finally spoke:

- “I did not create them.”

- “...Technically,” he added, under his breath.

Too late.

Justus caught that.

- “Oh no. OH NO. You technically didn’t?! Lord Ferdinand—are they your children?!”

- “That is unconfirmed,” Ferdinand said crisply, as the girl tried to straighten his tunic.

- “They look like you. They glare like you. They make me feel like I’ve done something wrong and I haven’t even spoken yet.”

The children turned to him again.

- “You did step on a warding line yesterday,” said the boy.

- “And you forgot to organize the ink inventory,” added the girl.

Justus clutched his chest.

- “They have records?!”

Ferdinand exhaled sharply.

- “Justus. Fetch Elvira.”

- “Why?”

- “Because this is above my classification. And definitely above yours.”

The twins blinked at each other.

Then nodded.

- “Phase Two: Initiate Multi-Target Observation.”

Within the hour, Ferdinand had set them down. Gently. Reluctantly. As one might handle a pair of unstable magical relics—endearing, but potentially catastrophic.

The twins, however, made themselves at home.

Siorand, the boy, gravitated toward the bookshelf.

He examined every spine, his small fingers hovering just above the titles, but never touching. Occasionally, he would make a small noise of approval or disdain.

Kaorindis, the girl, meanwhile, opened drawers she absolutely shouldn’t have known existed.

- “Documentation incomplete,” she murmured. “Labeling inconsistent. Filing method: archaic.”

Ferdinand rubbed his temple.

- “You will not reorganize my archives.”

Kaorindis blinked at him. Then smiled sweetly.

- “...We already started.”

That afternoon, one of the junior temple attendants walked in to deliver reports.

He found the twins sitting perfectly still on the floor, sketching diagrams with alarming precision. He froze.

Kaorindis looked up first.

- “Please remove your shoes next time. The mud trail is visible even without mana tracing.”

The boy followed.

- “Also, you left the ink bottle uncapped yesterday. Cross-contamination occurred.”

The attendant dropped the scrolls and fled.

Later, the twins followed Justus to the staff wing for tea.

-“Maybe if I distract them with sweets,” he muttered.

He poured a cup and offered it to Kaorindis.

She sniffed it once.

- “You used the blend from the northwest stockroom. It’s expired.”

Siorand declined entirely.

- “I don’t drink tea without cross-checking for allergens. Some recipes here use mold-fermented leaves.”

Justus stared.

- “You’re... six.”

- “We are ten, yet we survive,” they replied in unison.

Eventually, Ferdinand attempted to assign them quarters.

He selected a small room near the temple archive, away from the high-traffic areas.

The twins stepped inside, glanced around once, and then started rearranging the furniture.

- “This is inefficient,” said Siorand.

- “Your sense of aesthetics is tragic,” Kaorindis added, already flipping the mattress to check for quality.

Ferdinand simply walked out and left them to it.

He had work. He had a headache.

And he had no idea how to explain any of this to Rozemyne.

When night fell, the temple staff held their breath.

Surely the children would sleep.

They did not.

Instead, they sat cross-legged in the study, reading by the dim glow of a manalite lamp.

Ferdinand passed by, glanced in, and paused.

Siorand was reciting sections of magical theory that hadn’t been taught outside the Royal Academy in decades.

Kaorindis was copying blueprints by hand with exact precision—using mirrored script.

He watched them for a moment.

- “...They’re mine,” he muttered under his breath.

Then caught himself.

- “No. No, they’re not. Technically.”

He closed the door.

Behind it, the children glanced at one another.

- “Progress: acceptable,” whispered Kaorindis.

- “Father-Subject reached Phase Zero-Acknowledgment,” replied Siorand.

- “Tomorrow, we increase exposure. Suggest interaction with secondary adults.”

- “Agreed.”

Late at night, after everyone had either fled, panicked, or suspiciously "stepped out for air," the twins finally retreated to their assigned room.

It had been a productive day.

They’d mapped 78% of the temple's interior, collected 43 reaction samples from adults, and successfully triggered three full-grown knights into visible emotional distress.

A good start.

Now, the room was dim. A manalite lamp pulsed softly on the far wall. A thin mattress lay on the floor, though neither child had touched it yet.

Kaorindis lay on her belly, feet kicking lazily in the air, her nose buried in an illustrated book of beast anatomy she’d “borrowed” from Ferdinand’s restricted shelf.

Siorand sat with his legs crossed, hands busy stitching together a new protective book cover for one of Rozemyne’s older volumes. He hummed quietly — a soft, off-tune version of a lullaby they only knew because Rosmyne used to hum it while sorting documents.

- “You made that attendant flinch,” Kaorindis said, turning a page.

- “Mm. You made Justus stutter. He don’t stutter”

- “It was funny.”

Siorand smiled.

They were silent for a while.

Then Kaorindis rolled onto her back, holding the book over her head.

- “Do you think he suspects?”

- “Father?” Siorand paused his stitching. “Yes. But he won’t admit it. He’s still calibrating the timeline.”

Kaorindis giggled.

- “He twitched when I used his own mana analysis lines against him.”

- “That’s because you broke the symmetry.”

She grinned wider.

- “Good.”

Siorand looked down at the book in his lap.

- “Do you think... she’ll like us?”

Kaorindis didn’t answer right away.

She gently set the anatomy book aside and crawled over to him. Wordless, she leaned her head on his shoulder and grabbed the book he’d been working on. A small, well-worn copy of The Story of the Light Spirits, now protected by silver-thread embroidery.

- “She’ll love us,” Kaorindis whispered.

- “...I hope it’s the same kind of love.”

- “She’s still her. Even if she doesn’t remember. It’s still Mom.”

Siorand nodded slowly.

They lay down, finally, curling up on the mattress with the book between them, just as they had since they were little. Each facing the other. Each holding a corner of the book like it anchored them to something solid.

- “Do we tell them anything tomorrow?” Kaorindis yawned.

-“No. Let’s be creepy again.”

- “Good plan.”

They giggled softly, almost in sync, but not quite.

And then the room fell into gentle silence.

Not the eerie kind.

Not the magical kind.

Just the quiet of two children sleeping peacefully, book between them, waiting for the day their parents figure it all out.

Chapter Text

Morning in the temple began with tea, scrolls, and the quiet scratching of quills.

It lasted exactly seven minutes.

Kaorindis was reorganizing Ferdinand’s scroll cabinet again—despite explicit orders not to.
Siorand stood beside the window, observing the changing light patterns as if composing a
formal report for the gods.

-“Sunlight deviation: 6.2 degrees from yesterday,” he muttered.

-“Possible adjustment to morning schedule,” Kaorindis agreed.

Ferdinand did not respond.

He was on his third attempt to complete a simple report to the castle, while two miniature
versions of himself performed a silent, synchronized audit of his entire office.

The tension was already unbearable when a knock came.

-“Please don’t,” Ferdinand whispered to no one.

The door opened anyway.

Lady Elvira entered, radiant as ever, fan in hand, posture perfect, hair immaculate.

-“Lord Ferdinand, I heard rumors that you—”

She stopped mid-sentence.

Her fan slipped from her hand.

She stared.

Two children—identical in hair color, eye shape, and soul-piercing judgment to Ferdinand
himself—were calmly inspecting a stack of documents with the intensity of librarians
preparing for war.

They turned in sync.

-“Lady Elvira,” said Siorand, bowing slightly.

-“You dropped your fan again,” Kaorindis added. “Consistent with previous patterns.
Mild stress detected.”

Elvira screamed.

A dignified, high-society scream. One hand clutched her chest. The other pointed at
Ferdinand.

-“You have CHILDREN?! Two of them?! And you didn’t tell me?!”

-“They’re not mine,” Ferdinand said flatly.

-“THEY HAVE YOUR EYES.”

-“That is... unfortunately true.”

Elvira took a step forward.

-“Kaorindis and Siorand, was it?” she asked.

-“Correct,” they answered together.

-“Age?”

-“Ten” Siorand replied.

-“Mentally or physically?”

-“...Yes,” said Kaorindis.

The door opened again, too soon, too fast.

Eckhart stepped in with a stack of records and the vague optimism of a man who had no
idea what was happening.

-“My Lord, I brought the quarterly mana—”

Pause.

Stare.

Silence.

He blinked once. Then again.

-“...Did Lord Ferdinand split himself?”

-“They fell from the ceiling,” Elvira said, not taking her eyes off the twins.

-“...Of course they did.”

The twins approached him slowly.

-“Lord Eckhart. Combat stance slightly uneven on your left side. Favoring an old
injury?” said Siorand

-“Your hair is different from last month. Change in shampoo?” Kaorindis added.

Eckhart’s soul visibly left his body.

-“They know too much,” he whispered.

The atmosphere had just begun to settle. Lady Elvira was seated—nervously sipping tea
that Justus had delivered in record time—and Eckhart stood in the corner like a guard who
had seen too much and would never recover.

Ferdinand was pretending to work.

Kaorindis and Siorand were silently folding parchment into geometric shapes on the floor.

Too quiet. Too peaceful.

Then—

-“FERDINAND~!”

The door slammed open with the force of pure chaos.

Sylvester strode into the office like a storm dressed in noble robes, arms wide, grin wide—

-“I heard you duplicated yourself. Twice. I demand to see—”

He froze.

One foot still mid-step. Smile frozen on his face.

The twins turned in unison. Not fast. Just... precisely.
Like mirrors.

They stared at him.

Sylvester stared back.

Kaorindis raised one eyebrow—perfectly. Ferdinand-style.

Siorand tilted his head—just slightly. Soul-staringly.

Sylvester blinked.

-“...Oh no.” he muttered “They’re real,” he whispered. “They’re so real.”

He dropped dramatically into a nearby chair.

The twins approached.

-“Archduke Sylvester. Mana signature unchanged. Personal hygiene routine still lacking.”
said Kaorindis

-“And your cloak is misaligned by 2.3 degrees. Again.” Siorand stressed.

Sylvester placed a hand over his heart.

-“I feel attacked. This is worse than talking to Ferdinand. It’s like—like—being
evaluated by miniature ghosts of judgment.”

Ferdinand looked up from his desk.

-“You barged in.”

-“I REGRET NOTHING.”

Kaorindis stepped closer.

-“Would you like a report on the inefficiencies in your morning routine?”

Sylvester flinched.

-“No, I would like a vacation!”

Siorand took out a small notebook.

-“We’ve already drafted a reform plan for your personal schedule. It includes less
dramatic entrances.”

-“And mandatory cloak adjustment training,” added Kaorindis.

-“This is bullying,” Sylvester mumbled.

Elvira stood, clearly trying not to look amused.

Eckhart leaned toward Ferdinand and whispered:

-“They are yours.”

Ferdinand sighed.

-“They fell from the sky.”

-“That’s not a denial.”

Justus leaned in from the doorway.

-“Should we start preparing formal announcement papers?”

-“No,” Ferdinand said immediately.

Kaorindis, not looking up from her notebook, said:

-“They’re not ready.”

-“We’ll wait,” Siorand agreed.

Everyone stared at them.

Sylvester muttered:

-“I’m scared to ask what they’re waiting for.”

By the time Sylvester left—escorted by Eckhart, who looked seconds away from a nervous
breakdown—Ferdinand’s office was quiet again.

Almost.

Elvira had declared she needed “a moment to breathe in a room without being analyzed,”
and stormed off with her fan waving like a white flag.

Justus disappeared the moment the tea ran out, citing "administrative trauma.”

Ferdinand, alone once more with the twins, leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

-“I should have closed the ward.”

Across the room, Kaorindis stood on a stool, meticulously adjusting the angle of his
bookshelf.

-“Your sectioning is inconsistent. Mana tomes were beside ceremonial history.
Aesthetic chaos.”

Siorand knelt by the corner window, quietly sketching a topographical diagram of the temple
garden.

-“Too many blind spots. If someone wanted to escape unnoticed, they could.”

-“You will not attempt to escape,” Ferdinand said, without looking up.

-“No need,” the twins said in chorus. “We like it here.”

Word of the twins had spread.

Servants peeked into hallways, whispering behind doors.

-“They said they called the Archduke inefficient and lived.”

-“I heard they corrected Lady Elvira’s perfume choice!”

-“...I saw one of them stare at a door until it opened.”

One temple attendant, poor Carla, tried to offer them snacks.

Kaorindis sniffed the pastry once and declared:

-“Too much yeast. Tummy upset ratio exceeds threshold.”

Siorand took one bite, nodded thoughtfully, and said:

-“Tastes like anxiety.”

Carla hasn’t made eye contact since.

Later that afternoon, Ferdinand had made the tactical error of letting them into the archive
room.

Within minutes:

• Three scrolls were fully reindexed.
• Two grimoires were “gently corrected” with annotated side notes.
• And one ancient lock had been picked “just for practice.”

-“How do you even know lockpicking?” Ferdinand asked, watching Kaorindis tinker
with a smile far too smug.

-“Justus left tools unattended once,” she replied.

Siorand held up a record book.

-“Did you know this one has five transcription errors? And someone added a doodle of
a mushroom in the margin.”

Ferdinand rubbed his temples.
That was his doodle. From his years at the academy. During a very long sermon.

-“Enough,” he finally said.

The twins stopped immediately. Alert. Not frightened—never frightened—but attentive.

-“You will leave the sacred archives alone.”

-“Yes, Father,” Kaorindis said.

-“Understood,” Siorand added.

Pause.

Ferdinand narrowed his eyes.

-“...You already copied the maps, didn’t you.”

-“Only the incomplete ones.”

The temple was quiet again.

The kind of real quiet Ferdinand liked. Sacred quiet. Night quiet.

Which, of course, meant the twins were not in his office.

He’d ordered them to stay in their assigned room.
They obeyed.
Technically.

Inside their modest chamber—now neatly reorganized according to “functional practicality
and aesthetic dignity” (Kaorindis’s words)—the twins sat in silence.

Kaorindis had the day’s notes in her lap.
Siorand held the ink brush.

A new page in their bitácora, carefully labeled:

“Day 2: Noble Interaction Results”

Siorand wrote while Kaorindis dictated in a whisper:

-“Subject Elvira: emotionally expressive, scent-conscious, unpredictable. Flinch index:
high.”

-“Subject Eckhart: easily overwhelmed. Avoid prolonged eye contact. Suggest gifting a
flower next time.”

-“Subject Sylvester: theatrically unstable. Data collection... inconclusive.”

Siorand’s brush paused.

-“Should we add that he asked if we were cursed?”

-“...Put it in the footnotes.”

They giggled quietly.

Then silence returned. Not heavy. Not awkward. Just... companionable.

Kaorindis leaned back on the mattress, arms folded behind her head.

-“They all think we’re creepy.”

Siorand shrugged, finishing the last flourish of the page.

-“That’s the fun part.”

-“I like the way Elvira’s eyes twitch.”

-“I like how Justus hides behind curtains.”

More giggles.

Then, slowly, the energy faded.

Kaorindis rolled onto her side, clutching a small cloth bundle—one of Rozemyne’s favorite
embroidery patterns, now half-finished.

Siorand placed the inkbrush aside and pulled out a little worn book: The Sleeping Spirits of
the Forest.

He opened it between them.

-“Same page as yesterday?” he asked.

-“Mmhm. Page 27.”

They laid down facing each other, the book in the middle like a sacred relic. Fingers lightly
touching the corners.

Soft breathing. Heavy lids. Barely a whisper of words:

-“They’re funny, huh?” Kaorindis mumbled.

-“They’re scared,” Siorand replied.

-“Mm. But not of us.”

-“No. Just of what we remind them.”

A pause.

-“Do you think he suspects?” she whispered.

-“...He’s getting close.”

-“Tomorrow, we push a little more?”

-“Yeah. Just a little.”

Kaorindis yawned.

Siorand closed the book.

They fell asleep like that—cheek to cheek, book between them, safe in the quiet place where
nothing needed to be proven and everything was already known.

Chapter Text

Rozemyne entered the temple with a light bounce in her step and a stack of books in her arms—two for Ferdinand’s ever-growing “You will read these eventually” pile, and one personal favorite she hoped he’d glance at just to humor her.

She hadn’t even made it halfway through the main corridor when Justus stopped her with wide eyes and a hand raised like a crossing guard.

-“Wait. Are you sure you want to go in right now?”

She blinked.

-“Why wouldn’t I?”

-“Ferdinand’s... office is full.”

-“Of nobles?”

-“Of problems.”

Rozemyne tilted her head. Then, with all the authority of a High Bishop who couldn’t be stopped once her mind was made up, she continued walking.

-“He’ll just have to make room.”

The office door opened with a familiar click , and Rozemyne stepped inside, humming lightly.

“Ferdina—”

Her voice cut off.

Two children sat quietly on the couch, knees together, backs straight. Both had Ferdinand’s eyes. Both had pale blue hair. Both looked up at her with identical expressions of surprise... and delight. And there was no Ferdinand on the office.

Before she could say anything—

-“Good morning, Mama,” they said in perfect harmony.

Rozemyne stood frozen in the doorway.

-“...M-Mama?”

They stared.

She stared.

They smiled.

-“It suits you,” said the girl—Kaorindis, the girl present herself.

-“You look like someone who gives good hugs,” added the boy—Siorand, he said.

-“I do,” Rozemyne said, blinking. Then laughed. “But Mama? You two really are Mini Ferdinands.”

At that, the twins exchanged a glance and nodded in unison.

-“We accept the designation.”

Rozemyne took a seat on the chair nearest the twins and set the stack of books gently on the table between them.

-“I brought these for Ferdinand, but… well, since you two are here, I suppose I can let you borrow one or two.”

Kaorindis gasped. Dramatically.

Not overdone—but practiced. Elvira would have been proud.

-“She brought volume five,” Kaorindis whispered.

-“I told you she would,” Siorand muttered, already leaning forward. “Probability was high.”

Rozemyne blinked.

-“You’ve read this series?”

-“More than once,” they replied.

Siorand delicately took the book and turned it over in his hands.

-“This copy is newer. Different paper quality. Slightly better glue on the spine.”

Kaorindis opened another volume and flipped to a dog-eared page.

-“This is the part where the rabbit gets the sword, isn’t it?”

Rozemyne clapped her hands, delighted.

-“Yes! That’s one of my favorite scenes!”

The three of them dove into discussion like seasoned scholars. Within minutes, they were passionately debating whether the rabbit’s decision to leave the garden was truly necessary or just authorial laziness.

Kaorindis argued for narrative closure.
Siorand demanded logistical plausibility.
Rozemyne simply thought it was cute.

Tea arrived shortly after—thanks to a terrified attendant who opened the door with shaking hands, spotted the children, and set the tray down like a peace offering before fleeing.

Rozemyne poured for them with a smile.

Kaorindis took a small sip, made a quiet sound of appreciation, and whispered,

-“The temperature is perfect. No bitterness.”

Siorand took one sip, paused, and frowned.

-“Too much honey.”

Rozemyne raised an eyebrow.

-“You sound just like Ferdinand when he complains about tea.”

Siorand looked offended.
Kaorindis giggled behind her cup.

-“We are nothing like him,” she said, clearly lying.

Rozemyne laughed.

-“Mini Ferdinands and tea snobs. I should keep you around.”

-“You should,” Siorand said seriously. “We’re excellent readers. And moderately effective distractions.”

-“And very polite,” added Kaorindis.

Rozemyne gave them both a mock-suspicious squint.

-“Are you always this coordinated?”

-“No,” they said together.

Beat.

Then:

“Yes,” they added.

Books open. Tea steaming. Laughter echoing gently.

For a few blissful hours, the temple felt lighter. Calmer.
Like the world had paused just long enough to breathe.

And the Mini Ferdinands… smiled.

Not politely. Not eerily.

Just honestly.

The tea had gone lukewarm. The books lay scattered across the table like spilled treasure, some open, some bookmarked, one clutched dramatically by Kaorindis as she acted out a particularly tragic scene with full body narration.

Rozemyne was laughing—fully, joyfully. The kind of laugh that made her shoulders shake and her eyes squint until they sparkled.

Siorand looked at her like he was memorizing the sound.

Kaorindis gently lowered her book and tilted her head.

-“You’re different when you laugh like that.”

Rozemyne blinked, still mid-giggle.

-“Eh? What do you mean?”

-“You look like how it feels to read your favorite book again.”

Rozemyne flushed slightly.

-“That’s… very sweet of you.”

The room quieted for a beat. A rare stillness.

Then she tilted her head.

-“So, where did you two come from?”

Both children paused.

Kaorindis looked at Siorand.

Siorand looked at her.

They shared something silent between them—no words, no nods—then turned back to her.

Kaorindis smiled, soft and a little wistful.

-“From a place where your smile fixed everything.”

Siorand added,

-“Where your voice made father sleep at night.”

Rozemyne tilted her head again.

-“That’s oddly poetic… but also strangely specific.”

-“It’s a very quiet place,” Kaorindis offered.

-“Full of books,” Siorand said, his voice softer.

-“And sometimes cold.”

-“But never when you're near.”

Rozemyne blinked.

Her heart did that thing it did sometimes when Ferdinand got serious during meetings—when he spoke in that calm, low voice that sounded like it meant something, even when she didn’t understand it fully.

She smiled again, awkwardly.

-“Well… I’m glad I make you feel warm, I guess.”

Siorand nodded.

Kaorindis leaned forward slightly.

-“We like it when you’re around.”

They were reading again.

Rozemyne sat between them now, one child on either side, sharing a large book about magic plants propped on the table. The  beautiful illustrations shimmered with old ink. Every few pages, Kaorindis would lean in to trace a picture with her fingertip. Siorand would occasionally correct the narrator’s grammar aloud.

Rozemyne wasn’t listening.

Not to the story.

She was looking at them.

At how calmly they turned pages.

At how gently they handled the books.

At how familiar they seemed in this space.

They were good. Too good .

-“Ferdinand must be really proud,” she said, smiling faintly.

Neither child spoke. They just looked at the page.

Then she added, softly—

-“I wonder who your mother is…”

It slipped out before she could think about it.

Her chest felt tight. Not painful. Just… off.

Kaorindis turned the page slowly.

Siorand didn’t look up.

-“We can’t say,” Kaorindis said, almost a whisper.

-“But she would be very happy you care,” Siorand added.

Rozemyne smiled again. Her fingers brushed the edge of the page.

-“Of course I care,” she said. “I mean… Ferdinand is like family. So if you’re his family too, then...”

She paused.

Her smile wavered, just a second.

Something uncomfortable pressed against the back of her mind.

Why do I feel weird about this?

I should be happy, shouldn’t I?

But it was there—quiet, sharp, unnamable. Something that felt like jealousy, only she didn’t have the word for it. Not yet.

-“You two are lucky,” she murmured.

-“We know,” they answered together.

The sun hung low in the sky by the time Rozemyne stood to leave, brushing invisible dust off her skirt and collecting her books with practiced care.

The twins stood with her, of course. Synchronized. Expectant.

-“Will you visit again tomorrow?” Kaorindis asked, tone polite but eyes wide.

-“We prepared a list of recommended conversation topics,” added Siorand, holding out a small folded note.

Rozemyne took it with a curious smile. The paper was tiny, the handwriting absurdly neat.

-“Of course I’ll come. I wouldn’t leave my Mini Ferdinands alone, now would I?”

-“Mini Ferdinands,” Kaorindis repeated, testing the weight of it.

-“We’ve been nicknamed,” Siorand observed. “Mission progress... verified.”

Rozemyne laughed, a sound like soft bells echoing down the hallway.

As she turned to go, Kaorindis reached for her sleeve and whispered:

-“Thank you, Mama.”

Rozemyne froze for just half a heartbeat.

Then smiled, eyes warm.

-“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

And with that, she was gone—leaving two quietly triumphant children standing in the corridor with the golden light pouring through the windows behind them like a divine spotlight.

The rumors exploded within minutes.

In the shrine maidens’ quarters:

-“I heard she hugged them. Both of them. Like a mother .”

-“And she smiled . A real one. That alone is suspicious.”

-“They call her Mama. I heard it myself. ”

-“Well, they call Lord Ferdinand Father, too. I heard that .”

-“Then whose are they?!”

-“I think they’re ghosts. Beautiful ones. With notebooks.”

Among the orphans:

-“They appeared out of nowhere and now everyone listens to them.”

-“They rearranged the whole bookshelf and it works better now. That’s evil, right?”

-“They're like—like tiny High Priests with manners and his death stare .”

-“We call them the Tiny Terrors now.”

-“That’s generous. Have you seen how they correct the adults?”

In the priests’ offices:

-“They re-labeled the relics.”

-“But the labels were accurate.”

-“Still creepy.”

Justus, of course, collected it all.

He wandered the halls casually, smiling, sipping from a cup that definitely wasn’t filled with wine. A notebook appeared in his hand with each new whisper.

At one point, he leaned against a doorframe and muttered:

-“Tiny Terrors, hmm? I like that.”

He flipped a page.

-“But mine’s better.”

He turned the notebook around, revealing a dramatic title in bold calligraphy:

The Ferry-Tots Chronicles
Volume I: The Miniature Menace Begins

He grinned, eyes gleaming.

-“Now this is going to be fun.”

The room should have been dark by now.

Instead, the walls trembled with whispered giggles, shuffling feet, and one very excited child declaring:

-“MAMA WAS EVEN SOFTER TODAY!”

Kaorindis threw herself backward onto the mattress, arms flung dramatically above her head.

-“Did you see the way she laughed? Her eyes closed . That’s high-level affection!”

Siorand was on the floor with a pillow over his head, feet kicking wildly as he rolled back and forth.

-“She gave us tea and BOOKS and let me complain about grammar! She’s perfect !”

Kaorindis sat up and pointed both fingers toward the ceiling.

-“Dear so-called Gods—take THAT. She called us Mini Ferdinands in this timeline too, and we ACCEPT.”

Siorand jumped onto the bed and bounced twice before flopping beside his sister.

-“What kind of divine plan doesn’t allow full emotional disclosures but lets us call her Mama anyway ?!”

-“They made the rules,” Kaorindis said smugly. “We just noticed they were bad at wording.”

-“Father would be so disappointed in them.”

-“He is .”

They giggled again.

A soft glowing orb in the corner of the room dimmed slightly—the divine orb that bound their presence in time. Still humming faintly. Still preventing them from saying exactly who they were. Still waiting to be used to communicate with the gods, as it was intended.

But neither of them cared right now.

-“Mama-mama-mama~” Kaorindis sang quietly.

-“Father~,” Siorand replied, tone mock-formal. “Father of graphs. King of grump.”

They bumped shoulders.

-“This is better than any forecast,” Kaorindis sighed.

-“We knew they’d love us,” Siorand murmured.

-“Even if they don’t know why yet.”

-“Even if the gods did it for the wrong reasons.”

Kaorindis glanced at him.

-“Still mad they sent us late?”

He frowned at the ceiling.

-“They said we weren’t allowed until ‘enough conditions were met.’ And then we got here …and Mama had already been poisoned and barely woken up from her jureve.”

-“Yeah. That part sucked.”

Silence for a moment. Not heavy. Just quiet.

Then Kaorindis grinned again.

-“But today she hugged a book with us.”

-“And called us hers.”

-“That counts for something.”

-“It counts for everything. ”

They high-fived without looking.

Then rolled into each other, both speaking at once:

-“We’re gonna change everything.”

And somewhere far away, a god sighed.

And muttered:

-“They were supposed to like us more after this…”

Chapter Text

Rozemyne had been patient.

She had waited .

All of yesterday, in fact.

After all, maybe Ferdinand had been busy… or occupied with noble matters… or simply too grumpy to show his face. It happened. Often.

But now it was morning again, and she was still at the temple, and she still hadn’t seen him.

And that meant: Investigation Time.

She marched toward his office with a determined little huff, only to be met by a confused shrine maiden standing just outside.

-“Good morning,” Rozemyne smiled sweetly. “Is Ferdinand inside?”

-“L-Lord Ferdinand…?” The woman stiffened. “No, High Bishop. That is, um. He left early.”

Rozemyne blinked.

-“Oh? That’s strange. I was here all yesterday. He didn’t return then either, right?”

The shrine maiden's smile cracked.

-“I-I believe he’s attending to something very important.”

-“Important?”

-“Extremely.”

Rozemyne tilted her head. The shrine maiden broke into a nervous sweat.

-“I see…” she said, still smiling.

The attendant dropped into a bow so fast she nearly folded in half.

-“If you’ll excuse me!”

She fled.

Rozemyne blinked after her.

Then turned to the closed office door.

Still locked.

Still empty.

Hidden behind two false panels and a sealed mana barrier, Ferdinand sat in the one place he could escape all questions, children, and organized chaos wearing his face.

His hidden room.

Sanctuary.

Silence.

Mostly.

Currently, he sat hunched over his desk, head in one hand, a cold compress in the other. There was a faint glow from the light orb overhead and the slow, rhythmic sound of quiet breathing.

The peace was broken by Justus.

Again.

He leaned against the doorway, holding a tray.

-“My Lord, you haven’t eaten.”

-“Correct,” Ferdinand muttered without lifting his head.

-“Rozemyne is asking for you.”

-“She’ll live.”

-“She brought a map and several "books" titled ‘Learning With Love: Teaching Children Through Stories.’ ”

Ferdinand groaned into the desk.

-“She’s weaponizing affection. They’ve started sharing notes.”

-“They’ve been sharing notes since they arrived,” Justus said flatly. “I saw one with bullet points about your tea preferences. ”

Ferdinand finally lifted his head, eyes haunted.

-“They sighed at me in unison.”

Justus said nothing.

-“Do you know what it’s like to be stared at by two copies of your own childhood disappointment with... sparkles?”

Still nothing.

-“They’re too powerful. I am not prepared.”

Justus set the tray down on a nearby shelf and turned to leave.

-“I’ll tell Rozemyne you’re dead.”

-“Appreciated.”

-“Since Ferdinand isn’t here,” Rozemyne announced with hands on her hips and a stack of books under one arm, “we will proceed without him.”

This was met with immediate applause.

By two people.

Simultaneously.

Kaorindis clapped with dignified elegance.

Siorand clapped like a noble child pretending he wasn't excited.

Rozemyne tried very hard not to melt.

They’d set up in one of the side meeting rooms, because Ferdinand’s office was still off-limits (“sealed for Important Noble Business,” according to the shrine maidens, who all looked one nervous question away from fainting).

The long table was now covered in:

• Two books on etiquette
  
  
• One picture book about animals, plants and materials
  
  
• Three inkpots
  
  
• A dramatic amount of ribbon
  
  
• And a scroll titled “Mini Ferdinands Study Plan: Week One”
  
  

Rozemyne didn’t remember writing it.

-“Did you two make this?”

-“Yes,” Kaorindis said cheerfully.

-“We based it on your habits, priorities, and known weaknesses,” Siorand added.

Rozemyne blinked.

-“...Excuse me?”

Kaorindis held up a diagram.
It showed:

• A flowchart of how to distract Mama with book recommendations.
  
  
• A pie chart labeled “Chances of Mama noticing we’re copying her speech patterns.”
  
  

-“It’s color-coded,” Siorand said proudly.

-“You’re both terrifying,” Rozemyne replied, and meant it fondly.

They started with etiquette drills.

Rozemyne demonstrated a proper tea salute.

Kaorindis did it better.

Siorand recited three formal greeting structures without blinking.

Then Rozemyne tried to teach them a prayer song, only for the twins to sing it in harmony ,   with correct pitch .

-“...Did you memorize the entire hymn book?”

-“Yes,” they said.

-“Why?”

-“We didn’t want Father to be disappointed.”

Rozemyne placed a hand over her heart.

That’s… sad. But sweet?

Kaorindis pushed a blank sheet in front of her.

-“Can you draw a bunny?”

-“Why?”

-“Mama drawings go in the archive.”

Justus passed by the open door, took one look at the scene—Rozemyne with ink on her nose, both twins leaning in eagerly with matching sparkly eyes—and turned right around without a word.

No one noticed.

By mid-afternoon, the shrine maidens had run out of excuses.

The twins had rearranged three meeting rooms.

Rozemyne had named herself “Sensei Mama” unironically.

And Ferdinand’s name had been uttered seventeen times in increasingly threatening tones.

So when he finally emerged—groomed, composed, and only slightly dead behind the eyes—the temple trembled with quiet, reverent relief.

Too bad the meeting room didn’t.

Ferdinand stepped inside and stopped.

Immediately.

There was silence.

The kind of silence that meant disaster had already happened.

Rozemyne was sitting on the floor with her legs tucked neatly under her, surrounded by scrolls.

Kaorindis had taken over the blackboard and was writing a lecture titled:
“Mana Compression: A Child’s Guide to Surviving Noble Society.”

Siorand was balancing inkpots on top of a closed theology tome.

None of them noticed him at first.

Then—

-“Father’s here,” Siorand said, not looking up.

-“Synchronize posture,” Kaorindis whispered.

-“Activate warm face,” Rozemyne added playfully, adjusting her smile.

Ferdinand stared.

Three matching innocent smiles turned toward him.

He stared harder.

-“Why is there chalk dust on the ceiling.”

-“Mama was explaining physics,” Kaorindis replied calmly.

-“I was not! ” Rozemyne squeaked.

-“Then who was it?” Siorand asked. “Because the diagram clearly—”

-“ I thought it would be fun!! ”

Ferdinand closed his eyes for exactly four seconds.

When he opened them again, Kaorindis was holding out a cup of tea.

-“You look like you need this.”

He took it.

Sat down.

And said nothing.

Justus passed by the doorway again.

Paused.

Looked in.

Saw Ferdinand sitting stiffly at the table while Rozemyne re-tied one of Kaorindis’s braids and Siorand casually pulled out a flowchart titled ‘Father’s Emotional Thresholds: Week One’ .

He made eye contact with Ferdinand.

Ferdinand looked away first.

Justus left.

Immediately.

Again.

Ferdinand sipped the tea.

It was lukewarm.

Too sweet.

He said nothing.

Across the table, Kaorindis scribbled something on a notepad labeled “LIVE OBSERVATION LOG – SUBJECT: F.”

Siorand pretended to doodle in the corner, but his eyes flicked to his sister’s page and back with casual precision.

Rozemyne hummed softly to herself while adjusting Siorand’s collar. She seemed completely unaware of the quiet tension in the room.

The twins made brief eye contact.

Then—

Kaorindis leaned slightly.

-“Phase Four?” she mouthed.

Siorand nodded once.

-“Engage.”

They turned back to Ferdinand and Rozemyne together.

Smiles: activated.
Voices: too innocent.
Intentions: absolutely not.

The trap was set.

-“We want to play a game,” Kaorindis announced suddenly.

Ferdinand’s eyes narrowed.

-“No.”

-“It’s not dangerous,” Siorand assured him.

-“This time,” Kaorindis added.

Rozemyne beamed.

-“Games are important for child development.”

-“ I am not a child— ”

-“Not you, Ferdinand. Them. ” She turned to the twins. “What game?”

Kaorindis clapped once, eyes glittering.

-“It’s called: Who Can Be Father Better? ”

Silence.

Ferdinand blinked.

Rozemyne gasped.

-“I love it already.”

The setup was simple:

• One chair (Ferdinand’s).
  
  
• One grumpy expression.
  
  
• One terrifyingly accurate tone of voice.
  
  

Kaorindis went first.

She adjusted the cuffs of her sleeve, sat down stiffly, and mimicked her father’s neutral expression so perfectly that even the air in the room felt colder.

-“If you touch my archive, I will rearrange your soul alphabetically,” she intoned.

Rozemyne burst out laughing.

Siorand gave her a respectful nod.

-“9.5 for realism.”

Then it was Siorand’s turn.

He crossed his arms. Lowered his voice. And said, very calmly:

-“If you insist on risking your life for a picture book, at least file your death wish under the correct category.”

Ferdinand choked on his tea.

Rozemyne was on the floor, wheezing.

-“They’re perfect! I can’t choose a winner!”

Kaorindis and Siorand turned toward her in sync.

-“Then we both win,” they said.

Ferdinand wiped his mouth with deliberate calm.

-“That was not a game. That was targeted harassment.”

-“No,” said Kaorindis.

-“That was love,” said Siorand.

Rozemyne finally sat up, clutching her sides.

-“You three are the best family comedy I’ve ever seen.”

Ferdinand opened his mouth.

Paused.

Closed it again.

And did not correct her.

That evening, the temple was no longer a house of worship.

It was a breeding ground of chaos.

Whispers slithered through the halls like smoke. Acolytes peeked behind curtains. Priests exchanged scrolls with scribbled theories. One of the orphans claimed he’d seen the twins levitating Lord Ferdinand’s quill with pure willpower.

-“I’m telling you, they stared at it and it moved.”

-“They made him sit through a tea party.”

-“And he didn’t leave. ”

In the shrine maidens' dormitory:

-“Did you see them take his tea cup? With both hands like a ritual?”

-“They called him ‘Father.’ But like… lovingly. ”

-“Too lovingly.”

-“I cried a little.”

Among the gray priests:

-“They recited theology verses together .”

-“Then corrected the pronunciation.”

-“The High Priest nodded.”

-“He nodded. ”

In the orphanage study room:

-“They made a game out of impersonating him.”

-“And won.”

-“Both of them.”

-“What are they??”

Meanwhile, in the hands of Justus...

He flipped to the newest page of his growing field notebook:

The Ferry-Tots Chronicles
Day 4: Subject has begun softening. Resistance expected to fail by Day 6. Potential future: temple overrun by small Ferdinands. Zero regrets.

He tucked the notebook away and chuckled to himself.

Just then, the twins passed him in the hallway.

Kaorindis gave him a nod of dignified acknowledgment.

Siorand smiled—just a little.

-“Good evening, Sir Justus,” they said together. “Father is resting. Please don’t disturb him.”

Justus stopped mid-step.

The way they said it.

Father.

Not “Lord Ferdinand.”

Not “High Priest.”

Just “Father.”

Full of warmth.
Full of pride.
Unshakable.
Undeniable.

They walked on, quiet, content.

And Justus, for once, didn’t follow.

He just smiled.

“Poor My Lord,” he muttered. “Doesn’t stand a chance.”

Ferdinand sat alone at his desk.
Finally.
Blessedly.

Silence.

No Rozemyne humming.
No Justus snickering.
No children speaking in perfectly mirrored tones while drawing psychological diagrams of his emotional range.

Just silence.

And yet—

On the edge of the desk sat a small, folded scroll.

He’d considered throwing it away earlier. Twice.

He didn’t.

Now he opened it.

It was a flowchart.

Titled in bright, childish lettering:

“Father’s Emotional Thresholds: Week One”
Data collected with great care and adoration.

The chart included:

• “Danger Zone: Interrupted Research”
  
  
• “Safe Zone: Fresh Tea + Praise”
  
  
• “Super Effective Zone: Call him Father with Love”
  
  

His hand hesitated above the parchment.

Then—

He folded it carefully.

And tucked it into the drawer where he kept important documents.

The twin’s room was dim, lit only by the soft pulse of the divine orb.

Siorand had fallen asleep mid-sentence, curled up beside an open book about temple legends.

Kaorindis lay facing him, holding one of Rozemyne’s old ribbons like a talisman.

Between them sat the same scroll.

A tiny heart drawn at the bottom.

No words tonight.

They were too happy for words.

Just the soft rise and fall of their breath, in sync as always.

And a sleepy whisper, half-dreamed—

-“Tomorrow we’ll say it louder.”

Chapter Text

The day started with books, sunshine, and Rozemyne .

She entered the temple with a bounce in her step and a book under each arm.

Damuel followed.

Less bouncy.

More nervous .

-“You didn’t tell me we were going to see them again,” he muttered.

-“Who?” Rozemyne blinked. “Oh—my Mini Ferdinands? Don’t be silly, Damuel. They’re adorable.”

-“Adorable doesn’t glare like that.”

-“Yes they do,” she replied cheerfully. “Come on.”

The twins were already waiting.

One on each side of the main corridor, standing like perfectly balanced ornaments of judgment.

When they saw her, their eyes lit up.

They walked forward, scrolls in hand, synchronization eerily perfect.

-“Suggested reading list,” said Kaorindis.

-“And a cross-reference chart,” added Siorand. “For future emotional stability.”

Rozemyne’s entire face lit up.

-“You are his! You make charts!”

Damuel, meanwhile, stepped back. Hand near his sword.

-“...Do they have weapons?”

Kaorindis smiled, sweet and sharp.

-“Not yet.”

Damuel paled.

-“I’m going to faint,” he whispered.

Siorand helpfully pulled out a folded paper labeled:

Emergency Protocol: How to Catch a Collapsing Knight

-“We would like a demonstration,” Kaorindis said sweetly.

Damuel blinked.

-“A what now?”

-“Combat form,” Siorand explained. “Baseline technique, reflex response, mana flow stability—”

-“We have charts,” Kaorindis added, already unfolding a three-panel scroll.

Rozemyne clapped her hands.

-“Oh! Yes, that sounds very educational! I’ve always wanted to understand swordplay in person!”

Damuel’s mouth opened and closed several times.

-“My Lady. With all due respect… they scare me. ”

-“They’re just children.”

-“They’re Ferdinands .”

The twins exchanged a glance.

Siorand gave a subtle nod.

Kaorindis raised her hand.

-“Sir Damuel, as future security reference, please begin stance position one. We will now observe.”

Out on the temple grounds, Damuel drew his sword with only a minor flinch.

The twins sat cross-legged nearby like noble judges, each holding a quill and note parchment.

Rozemyne had been given a hand-labeled scorecard (color-coded).

Damuel made it through two swings before Siorand held up a hand.

-“Footwork off. Rebalance left ankle. Mana distribution uneven.”

Damuel blinked.

-“How did you—?”

Kaorindis clicked her tongue.

-“You gripped too tight. That’s inefficient for long duels.”

Rozemyne scribbled something under the heading “Knightly Grace.”

-“He looked very determined!”

Kaorindis looked unimpressed.

Siorand adjusted his parchment.

-“Grading adjusted for enthusiasm. Proceed.”

Damuel swung again. This time, with visible panic.

Thirty minutes later, Damuel was slumped against the temple wall, panting. His armor felt heavier than usual.

Kaorindis handed him a damp cloth infused with something floral and suspiciously effective.

-“A custom salve for muscle fatigue. We made it ourselves.”

-“It’s not poison,” Siorand added.

Damuel whimpered.

Rozemyne beamed.

-“You two are amazing!”

-“Father says excellence is expected,” Kaorindis replied, quietly pleased.

-“We just like being helpful,” said Siorand.

Damuel stared at them.

Then, despite everything—

He smiled.

They were seated now, back inside the temple, drinking lukewarm tea.

Damuel still hadn’t fully recovered. He sipped with both hands like the cup might bite him if he let his guard down.

Across the table, Kaorindis and Siorand were still scribbling notes. One scroll had Damuel’s name at the top under the heading:

Field Observation: Guard Knight, Type Loyal

Rozemyne beamed at all of them.

-“Thank you for being such a good sport, Damuel. It’s so fun having you here!”

Damuel flushed.

-“It’s— It’s my duty, Lady Rozemyne. I would protect you even if—”

-“You had to fight a copy of Ferdinand with tiny legs?” she teased.

He choked on his tea.

The twins looked up.

-“We would win,” Siorand said.

-“Easily,” added Kaorindis.

Damuel cleared his throat and tried to recover.

-“You two… really love her, huh?”

The twins paused.

Their faces softened.

Siorand tilted his head.

-“She’s our—”

-“Most important person,” Kaorindis finished.

Damuel looked away quickly.

-“You’re lucky, you know. You get to tell her that every day.”

Neither twin spoke at first.

Then Kaorindis reached into her sleeve and pulled out a folded square of parchment. She held it out to him.

-“Here,” she said. “From both of us.”

Damuel took it with confusion.

Damuel stared at the note in his hands.

“Thank you for protecting her when we couldn’t.”

His grip trembled slightly.

-“I… I’d do it again,” he said, voice thick. “I’d die for her. If I had to. No hesitation.”

The twins nodded.

-“We know,” said Siorand.

-“You always do,” added Kaorindis.

There was a silence after that. Not heavy. Not awkward. Just... real.

Then—

-“Damuel…”

Rozemyne’s voice was quieter than usual, eyes wide and earnest.

-“That’s… really kind. But please don’t say things like that so casually.”

Damuel blinked.

-“It’s not— It’s not casual. It’s true.”

She shook her head slightly.

-“It’s not okay to throw your life away. Not even for me. You matter, too.”

Damuel opened his mouth. Closed it again. Looked away, jaw clenched.

Rozemyne’s tone softened.

-“I know you want to protect me. You’ve always been there for me, even when others weren’t. And that means more than I can say. But…”

She smiled, small and a little sad.

-“...It’s okay to stay alive, too.”

Damuel looked down, eyes shining.
He nodded once.

Across the table, Kaorindis clutched her parchment.

-“We’ll update the chart,” she whispered.

Siorand hummed thoughtfully.

-“Under ‘Words that make people cry and/or heal.’”

Kaorindis scribbled:

“Mama: High Emotional Output Class. Immediate effect. Use sparingly.”

Rozemyne didn’t hear them.

But she felt the warmth in the room return, little by little.

And somehow, she knew she wasn’t the only one protecting anymore.

By sunset, the incident had spread.

No, not exactly what happened.
Not the heartfelt words.
Not the beautiful moment of trust and healing.

No.

What reached the temple staff was something much, much louder .

The Shrine maidens, huddled in a corner:

-“They made Sir Damuel cry.”

-“With charts!”

-“He almost drew his sword. ”

-“They handed him a cursed letter.”

-“No, it was a love confession.”

-“...From who?!”

-“From them. Probably. Maybe.”

The Gray priests at evening prayers:

-“They sparred with a knight.”

-“Did they win? ”

-“Obviously.”

-“He thanked them.”

-“They made him thank them?! ”

The Orphans in the laundry room:

-“They said the girl twin made the sword glow just by looking at it.”

-“The boy twin wrote his name in ancient runes across a stone!”

-“Sir Damuel bowed. ”

-“And called them ‘sir.’”

-“Both of them?!”

-“ At once. ”

Justus added a new page to the growing Ferry-Tots Chronicles .

Day 5 – Operation Knight Breakdown: Complete
Subject: Damuel. Resistance level: brittle. Recovery rate: unknown. Morale: terminally touched.
Additional note: twins may be building a loyalty cult . Investigate.*

He closed the notebook with a satisfied sigh and reached for his wine cup.

Just as he sipped, two small shadows passed behind him in the hall.

-“Evening, Sir Justus,” said Siorand.

-“Don’t forget to hydrate,” added Kaorindis.

He coughed into his drink.

They didn’t stop walking.

The twins couldn’t sleep.

Too much tea.

Too much fun.

Too much Damuel.

Kaorindis rolled over dramatically on the mattress, pillow pressed to her face.

-“Did you see his expression when I said ‘not yet’?”

Siorand snorted from the other side.

-“He clutched his sword like I was about to summon a war beast.”

Kaorindis flopped onto her back, arms outstretched.

-“He bowed. He thanked us. ”

-“He nearly passed out.”

-“Ten out of ten,” they said together.

Laughter filled the room again.

Somewhere between giggles, Kaorindis sat up.

She grabbed one of the scrolls from earlier, the one they hadn’t quite dared to open yet.

She turned it over and showed Siorand.

-“Same format.”

He blinked. Then smiled softly.

-“He still writes like that.”

-“Did you see the label on his logbook today? ‘Ferry-Tots Chronicle: Day 5.’ That’s such a Justus title.”

-“Everything’s funnier in third person,” they quoted in sync.

-“Mock everyone equally and they’ll respect you.”

-“And if they don’t,” Siorand added, “just confuse them with paperwork.”

They grinned at each other.

Then slowly… the smiles faded.

Kaorindis ran a thumb along the edge of the scroll.

-“Do you think he’d be proud of our reports?”

-“He taught us that format.”

-“He taught us a lot.”

Siorand hugged his knees, eyes distant.

-“He doesn’t know us now.”

-“He will.”

-“But not yet.”

Silence for a moment.

Then Kaorindis whispered:

-“I miss him.”

-“Me too.”

They sat like that for a while. No words. Just quiet breathing.

Then, as if the gods were listening—

A soft shimmer of white light pulsed near the ceiling. A flicker of divine presence.

Both twins looked up.

A cold wind brushed their cheeks, too gentle to be natural.

Kaorindis blinked.

-“...Did they just—?”

-“Bless us?”

Siorand stared.

-“Isn’t that…?”

-“The one who never directly blesses anyone ,without asking, except mama?”

-“...Ewigeliebe? They murmur in sync.

Silence, then… 

Kaorindis crossed her arms.

-“Now they’re trying too hard.”

-“Too late,” Siorand muttered. “We already made up our minds.”

-“We’ll thank them later. Politely. But we’re still mad.”

They curled up again, heads close, shoulders touching.

Kaorindis mumbled:

-“He’d make fun of us for missing him.”

-“Yeah,” Siorand agreed. “But he’d miss us too.”

Then, finally, the room quieted.

And the twin terrors fell asleep.

Loved.

Blessed.

And still holding a little grudge.

Chapter Text

By Day 6, Ferdinand had accepted the twins’ presence with the same serenity he applied to recurring nightmares. He didn’t scream. He didn’t flinch. He simply reorganized his schedule around the assumption that reality was, once again, flawed.

What he hadn’t accounted for—
—was Karstedt.

He was not announced.

He didn’t knock either.

He walked straight into Ferdinand’s office like a man with nothing to prove—
—and stopped dead in the doorway.

Inside, Ferdinand was seated at his desk, the air around him thick with magical documentation and quiet tension.
At his left and right, like perfectly symmetrical bookends, sat two children.

They were identical. They were silent.
And they were correcting magical correspondence with quills sharper than logic.

Karstedt looked at Ferdinand.

-“You have children.”

Ferdinand didn’t look up.

-“No.”

-“You have twins.”

-“No.”

Karstedt pointed, calmly.

-“Then why do they move like you, talk like you, and scowl better than you ever did?”

Silence.

Siorand raised his hand with polite precision.

-“Correction. We scowl efficiently. Emotional compression improves mana retention.”

Kaorindis nodded, flipping to a fresh page.

-“It’s documented. We’re writing a study. Would you like a copy?”

Karstedt blinked. Slowly.

-“How old are you?”

-“Ten,” they replied in perfect unison.

He stared.
Ten. With that kind of presence? And those tiny bodies?

He took a step forward. Narrowed his eyes.

-“Wait. That level of compression... at your age?”

The twins exchanged a look.

Then Kaorindis, with a calmness that should have been illegal in someone so young, answered:

-“We requested it.”

-“Mama encouraged it," added Siorand.

-“Father allows it," added Siorand.

-“Reluctantly," both muttered.

Karstedt turned to Ferdinand. Slowly.

Ferdinand did not blink.

Did not move.

Did not breathe.

Absolutely did not process the use of “Father.”

Karstedt didn’t say anything else.

He just stared at Ferdinand for a few long seconds.
Then at the twins.

Then back at Ferdinand.

Ferdinand looked resolutely at the ceiling.

The twins went back to correcting paragraph structure.

Karstedt turned on his heel and walked out.

Without a word.

Karstedt found Rozemyne exactly where he expected her to be: sitting cross-legged on a cushion, surrounded by books and sunshine, cheerfully ignoring her entire political reality.

She looked up and waved.

-“Father! Did you meet the twins? Aren’t they wonderful?”

He sat down slowly, eyes squinting like he was staring at a divine riddle.

-“I did. They corrected my posture with a ruler made of logic.”

-“They’re very helpful!”

-“Rozemyne,” he said gently, “how long have you known them?”

-“A few days!” she beamed. “They call me ‘Mama.’ Isn’t that sweet?”

Karstedt blinked.

Once.

Twice.

-“...And that doesn’t seem strange to you?”

She tilted her head.

-“Lots of children call me that! In the orphanage!”

-“These two are... different.”

-“Well, yes. They’re extremely polite.”

-“And identical.”

-“Yes! Very symmetrical.”

Karstedt ran a hand through his hair.

-“Rozemyne, I don’t suppose you’ve considered—hypothetically, of course—that they might be... from the future?”

She laughed.

-“That’s silly! Time travel doesn’t exist!”

He stared at her.

She smiled like the sun.

Karstedt buried his face in his hands.

Karstedt inhaled deeply. The kind of inhale a man uses before drawing a sword, or jumping into a river.

-“Rozemyne. Just for the sake of argument. If they were from the future...”

She gasped, delighted.

-“Do you think so too?!”

His shoulders tensed.

-“Wait. You believe it now?”

-“No, no! I just think it’s a fun theory. Wouldn’t that be amazing? Like in a story! A divine mission! Maybe the gods sent them!”

Karstedt opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

-“That would explain their training,” he muttered. “And their compression levels. And how they quote Ferdinand with their faces .”

Rozemyne clapped.

-“They really do! It’s adorable! Especially when they correct people. It’s like watching baby Ferdinands!”

Karstedt’s soul left his body briefly.

-“And you don’t find that... disturbing?”

-“No! It’s endearing!”

A shadow passed behind them.

The twins walked by.

-“Afternoon, Mama,” said Kaorindis with a bow.

-“We left you some books by the window,” added Siorand.

Rozemyne smiled warmly.

-“Thank you, darlings.”

They walked off without breaking step.

Karstedt stared after them.

-“They didn’t even blink.”

-“They’re very efficient!”

Karstedt stood.

He needed air.

And possibly divine clarification.

-“If they are from the future,” he muttered, “I hope the gods know what they’re doing.”

Rozemyne went back to her reading.

-“They usually don’t,” she said cheerfully.

Karstedt left.

Rozemyne, unbothered, returned to her reading nook beside the window. The twins had, true to their word, left her a stack of books sorted by genre, length, and “emotional stability impact.”

She reached for the top volume—
—and tripped over her robe.

Not dramatically.

Just a small, awkward stumble.

The kind that would’ve gone unnoticed...

...if she hadn’t made a very specific sound of distress.

-“Oof—! Ah! My legs—!”

In less than three seconds:

• Ferdinand emerged from the hallway like he had been summoned by divine panic.
  
  
• Siorand materialized with a cushion.
  
  
• Kaorindis held out an emergency sweet potion.
  
  

-“You shouldn’t strain yourself so soon after recovery,” Ferdinand scolded.

-“You’re still not fully stabilized,” Siorand added.

-“And that book was poorly balanced,” Kaorindis noted, glaring at the stack.

Rozemyne blinked.

Then laughed nervously.

-“I’m fine, I’m fine! Really—!”

The three of them stared down at her.

Identical expressions.

Identical concern.

Identical judgment.

-“You’re not fine,” they said in near-perfect sync.

She smiled weakly.

-“I’m surrounded by Ferdinands…”

-“You’re welcome,” murmured Siorand.

-“That wasn’t—never mind.”

Karstedt didn’t stay long after the “Mama” incident.

Nor after the synchronized tea offering.

Nor after the third casual reference to “mana analysis at age five.”

He left in silence.

But his footsteps were not calm.

They were fast.

Heavy.

Dangerous.

By the time he reached the noble wing, his expression was tight and thoughtful.

-“If they aren’t from the future,” he muttered, “then someone owes me an explanation. And if they are …”

He didn’t finish the thought.

He just stormed into Sylvester’s office without knocking.

Because if he was going mad—
He was dragging Sylvester down with him.

Sylvester was halfway through dictating a letter when the doors slammed open.

Karstedt walked in like a man confronting fate.

-“You’ve seen them?”

Sylvester blinked.

-“Good afternoon to you too.”

-“Don’t play dumb. The twins.”

Sylvester leaned back.

-“Ah. My new favorites.”

Karstedt closed the door behind him. Firmly.

-“They’re from the future.”

Sylvester grinned.

-“No, they’re just really efficient.”

-“They quote Ferdinand. They drink tea like Ferdinand. They scowl like Ferdinand.”

-“Exactly! They’re miniature Ferdinands. What’s not to love?”

Karstedt’s eye twitched.

-“You’re missing the point.”

Sylvester pulled a face.

-“You think time travel is more believable than Ferdinand having secret kids?”

-“YES.”

Sylvester paused.

Then:

-“...Yeah, fair.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

Then Karstedt said:

-“I want to adopt them.”

Sylvester sat up.

-“Absolutely not. I saw them first.”

-“They need someone stable—”

-“They corrected a knight mid-swing . They're fine.”

-“They call Rozemyne ‘Mama.’”

Sylvester squinted.

-“Okay, weird. But not unheard of.”

-“They call Ferdinand ‘Father.’”

-“Ferdinand hasn’t thrown them out yet?”

-“He gave them tea. ”

Sylvester went still.

Very still.

Then whispered:

-“He likes them.”

They both shuddered.

Karstedt crossed his arms.

-“They might be hers, too.”

Sylvester blinked.

-“...You think they’re Rozemyne’s ?”

Karstedt shrugged.

-“They over-compressed. They quote data. They made a lecture chart for emotional regulation.”

-“Okay but—Rozemyne is still small. Like fairy-sized. ”

-“She’s always been terrifying.”

-“Point.”

They sat in silence again.

Then Sylvester leaned forward.

-“I’m adopting them.”

Karstedt scoffed.

-“Absolutely not.”

-“Why not?”

-“You’re unpredictable.”

-“I’m fun .”

“You named a winter Lord ‘Peanut.’”

-“It fit!”

Karstedt ignored that.

-“You’d turn them into mischief gremlins.”

-“They already are!”

-“They need discipline. ”

-“They write chore charts. ”

-“They quote Ferdinand like scripture.”

Sylvester paused.

-“...You’re just mad they don’t quote you. ”

-“They weren’t raised by me!”

-“Exactly. And yet they act like Ferdinand.”

Karstedt crossed his arms.

-“That’s not comforting.”

Sylvester crossed his legs.

-“They’re staying.”

-“We don’t even know where they’re from.”

-“Then I’m claiming them for Ehrenfest.”

-“You can’t just claim them like they’re a lost sword!”

-“Too late. I already put it in my report.”

-“WHAT?”

-“Filed under ‘Unexplained Magical Occurrence with Potential Political Implications.’”

Karstedt stood.

-“I’ll challenge you to a duel.”

Sylvester grinned.

-“Great. Winner gets naming rights.”

-“They already have names!”

-“Yes, but imagine calling one ‘Mini-nand.’”

Karstedt opened his mouth to argue.

Then closed it.

Then:

-“I hate that I didn’t think of that.”

Karstedt returned home in the late evening.

He was exhausted. His brain hurt. His soul hurt.
His honor was intact—barely.

He had not adopted the twins.
Yet.

-“Welcome home,” said Elvira, already seated with embroidery in hand.

He dropped into the chair across from her and sighed like a man who had fought gods and lost.

-“They might be from the future.”

Elvira did not look up.

-“The twins?”

-“Yes.”

-“The ones that look like Ferdinand?”

-“Yes.”

-“The ones who quote him in sync and call Rozemyne ‘Mama’?”

-“Yes!”

She paused. Then, calmly:

-“Maybe you’re just old.”

-“I’m serious.”

-“So am I.”

He narrowed his eyes.

-“They compressed their mana.”

-“Ferdinand did too.”

-“At that age?”

-“...I’m not sure.”

She set her embroidery down.

-“So. You think they’re Rozemyne and Ferdinand’s children. From the future.”

-“Exactly!”

-“...Have you considered that you might be insane?”

-“Every day.”

She smiled faintly.

Then under her breath:

-“...The wedding would be adorable.”

-“What?”

-“Nothing.”

-“You said something about a wedding.”

-“I said bedding. For the twins. New bedding. We should order some.”

-“Elvira—”

She returned to her embroidery with the serenity of a queen.

Karstedt buried his face in his hands.

At the temple.

The lights were low.

The room was quiet.

A soft, warm blanket had been expertly tucked over two small, serious children—one with a book still in hand, the other fiddling with a mana crystal that probably shouldn’t be glowing that brightly.

Siorand whispered first.

-“Today was chaotic.”

Kaorindis nodded against the pillow.

-“Grandfather is suspicious.”

-“He’s more clever than expected.”

-“He tried to act calm.”

-“His aura trembled.”

They both giggled.

Quietly.

Softly.

Safely.

-“Do you think he believes it?” Siorand asked, rolling onto his side.

-“He wants to.”

-“That’s enough.”

There was a pause.

The kind that stretched just long enough to feel like a thought.

Then Kaorindis whispered:

-“Sylvester wants to adopt us.”

-“We should start running.”

-“Agreed.”

More giggles. Tired ones.

Siorand placed the mana crystal under his pillow. It dimmed.

Kaorindis closed the book. It was one Ferdinand had written, long ago.

-“Papa looked at us today.”

-“He saw us.”

-“...Even if he didn’t say it.”

A longer pause.

Siorand pulled the blanket up to their chins.

-“I like it here.”

-“Me too.”

-“Even if we miss them.”

-“They’re still here. Just… younger.”

-“And smaller.”

-“And less emotionally functional.”

-“We’ll fix that.”

-“Eventually.”

The glow of the crystal pulsed once—like a heartbeat.

Kaorindis tucked his head closer to his brother’s.

-“Mama smiled at us four times.”

-“She laughed twice.”

-“We’re on schedule.”

They held hands under the blanket, already half-asleep.

-“Tomorrow’s going to be strange again,” Siorand mumbled.

-“That’s fine,” Kaorindis whispered.

-“We’re used to strange.”

And with that, the room went quiet again.

Chapter Text

By the seventh day, nobody said the word “parents.”

But everyone was thinking it.

They had tried to ignore it. Rationalize it. Compress it like mana.

But after a full week of correction charts, synchronized bowing, and unsolicited soul analysis—

Even the most resistant among them were cracking.

Damuel cracked first.

He was halfway through sword drills when Kaorindis calmly pointed out that his stance was “slightly off-balance due to unresolved emotional projection.”

He dropped the sword.

-“They know too much,” he whispered.

Eckhart raised a brow.

-“They’re children.”

-“They are spies, ” Damuel hissed. “Tiny. Polite. All-seeing.”

Kaorindis waved from across the courtyard.

Damuel yelped.

Eckhart lasted a little longer.

Until Siorand asked—very gently—if he had considered improving his mana distribution pattern with breathing exercises from volume three of Ferdinand’s private notes.

-“How do you even know those exist?”

Siorand blinked.

-“We don’t.”

-“But we wrote volume four.”

Eckhart stared at him.

And then walked away.

Briskly.

Justus, for once, wasn’t laughing.

He had tried. For six days he had kept notes, tracked movements, even played into the chaos.

But now?

Now he was sitting in a corner of the High Priest's office, staring into the middle distance, muttering:

-“They reorganized my archive.”

-“Color-coded it,” added Ferdinand, without looking up.

-“They gave it tabs, Lord Ferdinand.”

The silence that followed was loud.

-“I think I respect them,” Justus whispered.

-“I think that frightens me,” Ferdinand replied.

Sylvester tried to brush it off.

Tried to pretend he wasn’t staring at the twins every time they called Rozemyne “Mama.”

Tried to ignore how Ferdinand hadn’t corrected them.

-“I’ll just... ask them directly,” he muttered.

He didn’t.

He gave them candy.

They refused it.

With a polite bow.

He sat down and questioned his entire lineage.

Karstedt had long since stopped pretending he wasn’t suspicious.

But what truly broke him was seeing one of the twins adjust his training sword grip with the exact same muttering tone he used during Rozemyne’s early knight drills.

-“That’s mine,” he whispered.

-“So is the glare,” added Elvira, casually sipping tea.

-“And the pacing,” she added.

-“And the grumpy silence.”

Karstedt didn’t argue. Even if he thought all of that was more Ferdinand’s than his. He just doesn’t want to see how they also are like him. 

He just crossed his arms and stared at the wall.

Elvira, for her part, had been mostly quiet.

Observant.

And, perhaps, a little too smug.

-“You’re smiling,” Rozemyne said suspiciously.

-“I’m not.”

-“You’re smiling like a mother with secrets. ”

-“I am a mother with secrets.”

-“Why do you have wedding fabric samples?”

-“No reason.”

By the time lunch ended, nobody had said it.

But when the twins walked by, offered synchronized bows, and called out:

-“See you later, Mama!”

-“Rest well, Father.”

—nobody flinched.

They just smiled.

And panicked inside.

—and Ferdinand hadn’t corrected them.

Again.

Rozemyne blinked, frozen mid-step.

Ferdinand sipped his tea.

Everyone else collectively decided to find something very important to do elsewhere.

The hallway emptied.

Rozemyne turned slowly toward Ferdinand, eyes narrowed.

-“They keep calling me Mama.”

-“Yes.”

-“They’re not from the orphanage.”

-“No.”

-“They corrected Sylvester’s political wording. ”

-“He deserved it.”

Rozemyne paused.

-“They called you Father.”

-“...Yes.”

-“You didn’t correct them.”

Ferdinand took another very slow sip of tea.

-“I didn’t.”

She squinted.

-“You like them.”

He paused.

A beat.

Another.

Then:

-“They are tolerable.”

She gasped.

-“That’s basically love!”

-“Absolutely not.”

-“You gave one of them your spare mana crystal for practice.”

-“He miscalculated his output. It was a containment measure.”

-“You gave the other one your quill.”

-“She corrected an entire policy document. It was a practical choice.”

Rozemyne smiled wide.

-“You’re their papa. ”

Ferdinand did not blink.

-“I am leaving.”

-“No you're not!”

-“Yes I am.”

-“They love you!”

He turned.

He walked.

He disappeared around the corner.

Rozemyne laughed quietly into her hands.

Then turned the other way—

And ran straight into both twins.

Who looked up at her.

Eyes bright.

Smiles small.

Voices soft:

-“Mama.”

She froze.

They held up a stack of books.

-“Reading time?” asked Kaorindis.

-“With you,” added Siorand.

She took the books. Sat on the stairs.

They sat beside her.

Very close.

Rozemyne sighed, a little overwhelmed.

-“You really feel like family.”

Kaorindis leaned on her shoulder.

Siorand curled against her side.

-“We are,” they said.

She blinked.

But didn’t question it.

Not this time.

She just opened the book and began to read.

From around the corner, a pair of wide eyes peeked out.

A shrine maiden. One of the newer ones.

She had come to deliver a message and accidentally witnessed something divine.

Her breath caught as she watched the High Bishop reading a story, her soft voice wrapping around the twins like a blessing.

One child rested his head on her shoulder.

The other clutched her sleeve like it was sacred cloth.

They looked peaceful.

Complete.

The shrine maiden retreated.

Very quietly.

She didn’t say anything at first.

She didn’t need to.

Because by the time she reached the lower halls—

Everyone had already heard.

The gossip reached the kitchens first.

-“They were curled up against her!”
-“Like real children?”
-“Like blessed artifacts. ”

From there, it spread like a wildfire doused in mana.

-“The High Bishop has children now.”
-“Lord Ferdinand smiled at them.”
-“I heard he taught them how to scowl properly. ”

-“I heard they entered through the ceiling.”
-“I heard they descended from the gods. ”
-“I heard they refiled Lord Justus’s reports and survived.”

A collective shudder.

-“Divine,” someone whispered.

On the upper floor, a cluster of gray-robed priests were squinting at the courtyard below.

-“They’re too calm. Children shouldn’t be that calm.”
-“They bless people when they sneeze.”
-“They bowed to the statue of Mestionora and it glowed.”

-“It always glows.”
-“Not like that .”

A silence.

Then:

-“Maybe they are divine.”
-“Maybe they’re Lord Ferdinand’s. ”
-“...Same thing, really.”

Meanwhile, in the High Priest’s office:

Justus had officially given up.

He had stopped trying to correct anything.
He had stopped trying to categorize the twins.

Instead, he sat at Ferdinand’s desk (Ferdinand was nowhere to be found) and opened a fresh notebook titled:

“Potential Mythological Manifestations Disguised as Children”

He tapped his quill twice.

Then wrote:

Day 7 Summary:

• Temple gossip has entered divine levels.
  
  
• Shrine maidens now whisper “Blessed Be” when the twins pass.
  
  
• Damuel is developing a nervous twitch.
  
  
• Lord Ferdinand is not denying anything.
  
  
• Rozemyne is glowing. Emotionally, not literally. (Yet.)
  
  

He paused.

Then added:

Conclusion:
We are all doomed.
But it’s… kind of adorable?

He signed it.

Filed it.

Poured vize.

And waited for the next disaster.

The room was quiet.

Too quiet.

Justus stared at his notebook, newly signed and filed.

He’d written it in a moment of weakness. Humor. Sanity preservation.

But now?

Now it sat on Lord Ferdinand’s desk.

Mocking him.

And, naturally, that’s when Ferdinand walked in.

The door opened without a sound.

Ferdinand stepped inside, robes immaculate, expression unreadable.

His eyes scanned the desk.

Stopped.

Landed on the title.

-“Potential Mythological Manifestations Disguised as Children,” he read aloud.

A pause.

-“Justus.”

-“I can explain.”

-“Please do.”

-“It was a joke.”

-“A joke... with footnotes.”

-“They were very detailed footnotes.”

Ferdinand opened the notebook.

Read silently.

Raised a single eyebrow.

-“Page seven contains a diagram.”

-“In my defense, they move like summoned spirits.”

-“With commentary.”

-“Educational.”

Ferdinand closed the notebook slowly.

-“We’ll discuss your mental health later.”

And then—

Two small figures appeared in the doorway.

-“Father” Kaorindis beamed.

-“Justus!” Siorand grinned.

Justus paled.

Ferdinand didn’t move.

The twins skipped inside.

Kaorindis spotted the notebook first.

Siorand reached it first.

They read it together.

Out loud.

In sync.

-“Day 7 Summary,” Kaorindis began.

-“Shrine maidens now whisper ‘Blessed Be’ when the twins pass,” Siorand continued.

They paused.

Turned.

Smiled at Justus.

-“This is adorable, ” Siorand declared.

-“Emotionally biased, but structurally sound,” Kaorindis added.

They looked at Ferdinand.

-“May we annotate?”

Ferdinand looked at Justus.

Justus stared at the wall.

-“Do whatever you want.”

The twins produced quills.

Where they got them, nobody knew.

They added notes.

Suggestions.

A pie chart.

Then signed the bottom:

Co-authored by K. & S. (Blessed Type)

Ferdinand cleared his throat.

Justus looked up.

-“I hate my life,” he whispered.

Ferdinand placed a hand on his shoulder.

Justus blinked.

-“Is that comfort?”

-“No,” said Ferdinand. “It’s sympathy.”

The doors closed.

Later, in a meeting room.

The silence was heavy.

Seven chairs. Seven nobles.

All pretending this was normal.

Sylvester cleared his throat.

-“Thank you all for coming to this very discreet, absolutely non-gossiped-about meeting.”

Justus muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Too late for that.”

Ferdinand sat stiffly, arms crossed.

-“Let’s get this over with.”

Karstedt nodded gravely.

Elvira smiled.
Too sweetly.

Eckhart looked tense.

Rozemyne was already flipping through a book.

-“I wasn’t invited,” she said cheerfully.

-“We noticed,” Sylvester replied.

He stood.

Held a page.

Did not look at it.

-“As you all know, there are… two new individuals residing temporarily in the temple.”

-“The mini Ferdinands,” said Justus.

-“The blessed devils,” said Eckhart.

-“My precious ones,” said Elvira.

-“...They’re very polite,” added Rozemyne.

Everyone looked at Ferdinand.

He looked at the ceiling.

Sylvester coughed.

-“We have yet to determine their origin, status, or long-term placement. However—”

-“They’re from the future,” Karstedt said, for the fifth time that week.

-“That theory is unsupported,” Ferdinand replied.

-“So is the idea of you having secret children, and here we are.”

-“They are not mine.”

-“They scowl better than you.”

-“That’s not hard.”

Sylvester banged the table lightly.

-“Enough. The point is—we need a legal solution.”

Justus groaned.

-“No. Absolutely not.”

-“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” Sylvester replied.

-“You were going to ask me to be their ‘father’.”

-“...Yes.”

Justus leaned forward.

-“I file five thousand reports a year. I reorganized Lord Ferdinand’s life. I color-code my nightmares. I do not have time for children.”

Elvira smiled again.

-“You already act like their father.”

Karstedt nodded.

-“They act like your notes.”

Rozemyne perked up.

-“They do!”

Justus stared at the ceiling now, too.

“My Lord. Say something.”

-“I already did. ‘No.’”

-“To the children or to the theory?”

Ferdinand didn’t answer.

Sylvester grinned.

The doors opened.

Without knocking.

Two children entered with perfect posture, matching tunics, and expressions of diplomatic offense.

-“If this is about our long-term placement,” said Kaorindis, “we believe we are entitled to a vote.”

Everyone froze.

Justus made a choking noise.

-“How long were you—?”

-“Long enough,” Siorand replied. “The argument flow was repetitive.”

They walked up to the table.

Looked at the gathered nobles.

-“We understand your concerns,” Kaorindis began.

-“We are children,” Siorand added.

-“Tiny. Mysterious. Potentially dangerous.”

-“Extremely polite.”

They bowed in sync.

Karstedt stared at them.

-“How did you know this meeting was happening?”

The twins blinked.

-“We're ten.”

-“We hear things.”

Rozemyne clapped her hands, delighted.

-“You two are amazing!”

-“Thank you, Mama.”

Ferdinand inhaled sharply. No one looked at him.

Kaorindis took out a scroll.

Unrolled it.

-“We would like to propose the following interim guardianship arrangement.”

-“Justus as legal caretaker,” Siorand explained.

-“Sylvester as emergency backer.”

-“Mama as cultural supervisor.”

-“And Father as emotional example.”

Ferdinand blinked.

-“Excuse me?”

-“You're very expressive. Inside.”

Justus put his head on the table.

Sylvester took the scroll, scanned it.

-“This is actually… detailed.”

-“They used the correct political vocabulary,” Elvira murmured.

-“Better than some nobles,” Eckhart added.

Ferdinand reached for the vize.

There was no vize.

Justus passed him his glass wordlessly.

-“We are willing to attend the Royal Academy,” Kaorindis continued.

-“For convenience and information gathering,” Siorand nodded.

-“We already prepared our introduction speech."

-“We also ranked potential attendants, scholars and knights based on political compatibility and gossip risk.”

They placed another scroll on the table.

Sylvester picked it up.

Stared at the bar graphs.

-“...I love you tiny nightmares.”

Ferdinand took a deep breath.

The twins looked up at him with matching fondness.

-“We’re staying,” Kaorindis said.

-“If that's acceptable,” Siorand added.

They turned to Justus.

Smiled.

-“Please be our ‘biological’ father, Papa.”

Justus did not cry.

But he did accept it.

Eventually.

And they sign adoption papers with Sylvester.

Now, they were also Archiduke’s children.

That night, the twins lay side by side under soft blankets.

The room was quiet.

But their minds weren’t.

Kaorindis stared at the ceiling.

Siorand fiddled with the edge of the scroll containing their new “temporary placement agreement.”

-“He accepted it,” Siorand whispered.

-“He did.”

-“Papa Justus.”

They giggled.

-“Shame we needed to be adopted by uncle Sylvester," both muttered.

Kaorindis rolled onto her side.

-“Mama called us amazing.”

-“She smiled.”

-“Four times.”

-“We’re ahead of schedule.”

-“We’re also staying.”

They both nodded to themselves.

Content.

A pause.

Then Siorand said, softer:

-“It still hurts.”

-“I know.”

-“We couldn’t stop the mama poison event.”

-“We were late.”

Silence.

Kaorindis reached out and squeezed his brother’s hand.

-“But we’ll change what we can.”

-“And protect them now.”

-“Even if they don’t know yet.”

Another pause.

Then Kaorindis murmured:

-“The gods thought this would make us like them more.”

-“It didn’t.”

-“They’re pushy.”

-“And dramatic.”

-“Like Uncle Sylvester.”

They giggled again.

Quietly.

Sleepily.

-“...But I’m glad we came,” Kaorindis whispered.

-“Me too,” Siorand said.

They curled in closer.

Shared warmth.

And the comfort of a mission unfinished.

But with the quiet resolve of future archducal candidates of Alexandria.