I didn't let go of her cloak.
Even after the world stopped spinning. Even after my breath stopped shaking. Even after my core loop settled into a tired but steady hum again.
Elowen kept me pressed against her chest like she was afraid the air might steal me back.
The mile-stone ward hummed softly around us, muffling the wind outside. The rescued family stayed quiet—like they understood this wasn't the time for questions.
Maera stood a few steps away, watching the tree line through the ward haze. Guarding the edges while Elowen guarded me.
For a while, Elowen didn't say anything.
She just held me.
Her heartbeat stayed steady, but the bond told me the truth: she'd been carrying fear like a second blade for three days.
And now that I was awake again, that fear had somewhere to go.
It spilled out as anger first.
Not loud.
Controlled.
But sharp enough to cut.
Elowen loosened her grip just enough to look down at me.
"Rin," she said quietly.
I swallowed. "Yeah?"
Her eyes were tired. Red-rimmed. Determined.
"You cannot do that again."
My stomach dropped.
I tried to joke, because joking was what I did when I didn't know how to be fragile.
"Do what? Save people?"
Elowen's gaze didn't soften.
"Burn yourself out," she said. "Throw everything you have at a wall without telling me first."
The words hit harder than I expected.
Because part of me still carried a stubborn certainty:
If people are going to die, you don't hesitate.
You don't negotiate.
You just *stop it*.
I opened my mouth—
and closed it again.
Because the bond showed me what she'd lived through while I was gone.
Three days of silence.
Three days of holding a sword that wouldn't answer.
Three days of whispering "I'm here" into nothing.
My throat tightened.
Elowen lowered her voice further. "You go dormant, Rin. You disappear. And I can't—"
Her breath hitched.
She forced the words out anyway.
"I can't protect you if you don't tell me when you're about to break."
My eyes stung immediately.
Annoying.
Embarrassing.
Unwanted.
I blinked hard, trying to shove the feeling back down.
"I didn't mean to," I whispered.
Elowen's hand came up, cupping the side of my head gently, thumb smoothing my hair.
"I know you didn't mean to," she said. "But intent doesn't undo consequences."
I looked down at my hands—small, shaking slightly.
"I saw them," I said quietly. "The kids. The mom. The claw was going to hit them. I didn't have time."
Elowen's jaw tightened. "Then you tell me."
"How?" My voice cracked. "It happened in a second."
Elowen held my gaze, steady. "Then you build the habit now. You don't act alone. You don't decide alone."
My chest tightened painfully.
Because a part of me—some old, deep programming—didn't like that.
Legendary weapons didn't ask permission.
They acted.
They saved.
They sealed.
They sacrificed.
But I wasn't just a weapon.
She kept insisting I wasn't.
And now she was asking me to live like it.
My lip trembled.
I tried to speak and only a small, broken sound came out.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, and the moment I said it, my eyes flooded.
The tears hit before I could stop them—hot, humiliating, unstoppable.
I pressed my face into her cloak, mortified.
"I'm sorry," I said again, voice muffled. "I didn't want to leave. I didn't want you to be alone. I just— I just—"
My words tangled.
My shoulders shook.
I hated crying.
I hated being small.
I hated that the world had made me something that could save people and then punish me for doing it.
Elowen's arms tightened around me immediately, closing me in like a shield that didn't need runes.
"Hey," she whispered.
Her voice softened completely now—no command, no edge, only warmth.
"Rin. Look at me."
I shook my head, clinging to her cloak. "No. I'm embarrassing."
Elowen didn't laugh.
She just lifted me gently—like I weighed nothing—and shifted me higher against her, one hand supporting the back of my head, the other cradling my body.
Like a baby.
Like a child who didn't have to be brave for a minute.
My face heated, but I couldn't fight her with my arms shaking like this.
Elowen rocked me slightly—tiny, slow motions that soothed my breathing without demanding it.
"I'm not angry that you protected them," she murmured into my hair.
I hiccuped, tears still slipping out. "Then why—"
"I'm angry," she said, voice tight, "that you thought you had to do it alone."
That cracked something in me.
I cried harder.
Because that was the truth.
Some part of me *had* thought that.
Elowen pressed her lips to the top of my head—gentle, grounding—and held me even closer.
"You ask first," she whispered. "Even if it's only a thought through the bond. Even if it's one word."
My voice came out small. "What word?"
Elowen's answer was immediate and soft.
"Mommy."
I froze mid-sob.
Then made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a whine.
"That's— you can't—"
Elowen's shoulders loosened with a quiet exhale, relief hidden in humor. "It gets my attention."
I buried my face again, mortified and comforted at the same time.
"I'm sorry," I whispered again, quieter now. "I'll ask. I promise."
Elowen's hand smoothed my hair slowly. "Good."
My crying eased into sniffles, and my breathing started to match her again—slow, steady, safe.
After a moment, I whispered the thing I hadn't been able to admit before.
"I was scared," I said shakily. "Not of the hound. Of… disappearing."
Elowen's arms tightened. "Then we treat it like injury. Not like failure."
I sniffled. "It feels like failure."
Elowen's voice turned firm again—not harsh, just strong. "It's not. You pushed past your limits to save lives. That's bravery. But bravery without teamwork becomes self-destruction."
I swallowed. "So… I'm grounded?"
Elowen's mouth curved against my hair. "Yes."
I groaned weakly.
Elowen continued, softer. "And you're loved."
My throat tightened again.
I whispered, "Mamma…"
Elowen rocked me once more, holding me like I was the most precious thing she owned, even though she kept insisting she didn't *own* me.
"Yes," she answered. "I'm here."
I finally lifted my head.
My eyes were puffy. My cheeks wet.
I looked up at her, embarrassed and honest at once.
"I'll ask next time," I said. "Even if it's fast. Even if it's messy."
Elowen nodded. "That's all I want."
Then she adjusted her grip again, settling me against her shoulder, patting my back gently like she was calming a real child.
I sighed, exhausted.
And for the first time since waking up as a sword and then as a kid and then as both—
I let myself be held without feeling like I had to earn it.
Maera's voice came from the edge of the ward dome, pretending she hadn't listened.
"Emotional interlude over," she said dryly. "We move in five."
Elowen didn't look up. "In five."
Maera paused.
Then, quieter—almost respectful—she added, "Good work. Both of you."
I blinked.
Elowen's hand stilled in my hair for a heartbeat.
Maera coughed once and turned away as if she hadn't said anything at all.
I sniffled one last time, then whispered into Elowen's cloak:
"Mommy… can you carry me again?"
Elowen answered without hesitation, voice warm and sure.
"Always."