Chapter 203- Whispers Beneath the Flame
Lexy
The days after Bennett’s warning passed differently than the weeks before. My pace slowed, not by choice, but by necessity. Every step I took seemed heavier, my body reminding me again and again that I wasn’t just carrying life, I was carrying something more—something growing faster than any healer had ever seen.
I hated slowing down. Being queen had always meant motion—meetings, patrols, training, decisions. Fire thrived on momentum, and mine burned brightest in action. But now, each dawn began with careful movements, CJ watching me from the corner of his eye, ready to steady me when he thought I’d push too far. He didn’t say it, but I could feel his worry in every glance.
Still, I found ways to keep myself busy. I sat with council members, listening more than speaking, letting them carry some of the burden. I spent afternoons with Tarria, guiding her through breathing exercises when her smoke threatened to spiral out of her control. She reminded me of myself in the early days—power raw, emotions untamed, desperate for guidance. Helping her steadied me, made me feel useful, even if my body kept betraying my energy.
And always, the triplets were nearby. My first set of three, full of mischief and laughter, shadows of CJ’s strength and my fire, yet entirely their own. They seemed to know when I needed them most, slipping their little hands into mine, reminding me with their simple joy that life wasn’t only war and duty.
It was one of those afternoons that they surprised me.
I had been sitting in the garden, watching Tarria practice controlling the tendrils of smoke that curled from her palms. The air smelled of charred wood and wildflowers, a strangely comforting mix. My head ached, my body tired, but I refused to retreat inside.
The children ran up, all three at once, their voices tumbling over one another.
“Mami!”
“Do it with us again!”
“Meditation!”
I blinked, confused. “Meditation?”
They nodded furiously, eyes wide and excited, as though they were all in on a secret I hadn’t been told. “Like before,” one insisted, tugging at my hand.
I frowned slightly. I had meditated with them before, but it’s been months when I was teaching them how to calm their racing little minds after nightmares. They had been restless, their energy spilling out of them in waves. I thought it had been just a soothing exercise, something simple to help them sleep.
But now, the way they looked at me—their insistence, their eagerness—it felt different.
“You three have been talking to each other too much,” I teased, trying to laugh it off. But their hands were insistent, pulling at me with surprising strength.
“Please, Mami,” my daughter said softly, her voice more serious than usual. “With us. Now.”
Something in her tone made me still. Children carried instincts adults often overlooked. They felt what we ignored, saw what we dismissed. And these weren’t ordinary children—not with the blood that ran through them, not with the fire and shadow they had been born into.
I glanced at Tarria, who had paused mid-practice to watch us curiously. She tilted her head but said nothing, her eyes flicking between me and the triplets as though she too sensed something was unfolding.
“All right,” I said finally, my voice low. “But only for a little while. Your mami needs her rest.”
Their cheers echoed through the garden, filling the air with warmth.
We settled beneath the old willow tree that grew near the heart of the grounds, its branches swaying gently as though it were listening. The children arranged themselves in a small circle, leaving space for me in the center.
I sank carefully onto the grass, the weight of my growing belly reminding me of Bennett’s warning. The little ones sat cross-legged, closing their eyes in exaggerated focus.
“Like this, Mami,” my eldest son whispered, his small hands resting on his knees.
I mirrored them, inhaling deeply, letting the familiar rhythm of meditation wash over me. I had practiced it countless times before, usually to calm my fire when it grew too hot. But now, sitting with them, something about the air felt… different.
Their breathing fell into sync, small chests rising and falling together. Without thinking, mine followed. A strange calm pressed over me, heavier than usual, almost tangible. The garden sounds dimmed—the rustling leaves, the chirping birds, even Tarria’s soft movements as she lingered nearby. It was as though the world itself hushed in respect.
Heat stirred faintly in my chest, not the wild blaze of battle but a low ember. My skin prickled, my heartbeat slowing. I felt them—my children—more closely than ever, their presence warm and bright, pulsing like little flames just at the edge of my awareness.
And then something shifted.
I couldn’t explain it. It was like a door opening; one I hadn’t known was there. A current swept through me, weaving between us, binding, pulling. My breath caught.
I opened my eyes—and froze.
What I saw… what I felt… it shouldn’t have been possible.
My children’s small faces were serene, eyes still closed, their tiny hands glowing faintly in the dappled light. My power, my fire, responded to them, as though it recognized something I couldn’t yet name. And deeper still, beneath the steady rhythm of their breath, I sensed something vast, something hidden, waiting.
My heart thundered in my chest.
“Lexy?” Tarria’s voice broke softly into the stillness, hesitant. She had moved closer, crouching just beyond the circle, her eyes wide with confusion.
But I couldn’t answer. My throat was tight; my mind was reeling.
Because in that moment—sitting there beneath the willow tree, surrounded by my three children—I realized this meditation was no ordinary exercise.
And what had just been revealed to me… shook me to my very core.
Tarria
I had stopped mid-step the moment I saw them. Lexy sat beneath the willow, her three little ones forming a circle around her, their tiny faces calm in a way I had never seen before. At first, I thought it was just a family moment, something private I had no place intruding on—but then the air changed.
It wasn’t just stillness. It was weight. Power. The kind that made the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
Smoke curled unbidden from my hands as I crouched near the edge of the circle, watching in disbelief. Their breathing synchronized, steady as waves on a shore, and then… something pulsed outward. I felt it, like a current brushing against my skin. It wasn’t only Lexy’s fire, though that was there, fierce and undeniable. No, this was them. The children. Their presence flared like sparks, binding together and reaching for their mother as though they had always known how.
My chest tightened. I had seen Lexy unleash fire that could level battlefields, but this—this was different. This was unity.
And for the first time, I wondered if these children carried something none of us could yet understand.
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