It was exactly 6 years ago, Flamme within a warning called Fafnir 'Dad' making him stunned at first, not knowing what to say.
Later she also called Serie her 'Mom' making a similar reaction compared to Fafnir.
Both were similarly stunned, they didn't know where this came from.
—
Then six years had passed since Flamme first called them Dad and Mom.
The temple had changed in that time—not the ancient stones themselves, but the atmosphere within them.
What was once a cold, sterile repository of knowledge had become something far warmer.
Flamme's presence had transformed it, layer by layer, year by year.
Her corner of the library had expanded significantly.
Books she'd collected from Lukas's travels.
Trinkets from Oakhaven. The ugly little doll her birth father had made her, still sitting proudly on a shelf despite its worn condition.
Pressed flowers from walks in the forest. Practice scrolls covered in her increasingly elegant handwriting.
Flamme herself had changed most of all.
At sixteen, she was no longer the gangly child who had stumbled through their doors.
She had grown into a striking young woman, her orange hair longer and wilder, her eyes sharp with intelligence and curiosity.
Her magical talent had blossomed under their combined tutelage, far exceeding anything either of them had anticipated.
She could cast spells now that would take most adult mages decades to master.
Her control over mana was extraordinary—even Serie, who rarely praised, had admitted it was "adequate" with a tone that suggested she meant far more.
But with her growth came restlessness.
Flamme wanted to see the world.
---
It started subtly. Longer stares out the temple entrance.
More questions about the lands beyond the forest. A hunger in her eyes when Lukas described the cities and kingdoms he'd visited.
Fafnir noticed first. He noticed everything where Flamme was concerned.
"She's going to leave," he said one evening, finding Serie in their usual spot.
Serie didn't pretend to misunderstand. "I know."
"The question is when."
"The question is whether we are ready."
Fafnir sat beside her. "Are we?"
Serie was quiet for a long moment. "No. But that does not matter. It is not our choice."
The words hung heavy between them.
---
The conversation came sooner than either expected.
Flamme found them together the next afternoon, both pretending to read in the library.
She stood in the doorway for a moment, watching them—her father, pretending to be absorbed in a book while clearly stealing glances at her mother; her mother, pretending not to notice while doing exactly the same thing.
She smiled. They were so predictable, these two immortals.
"Can I talk to you both?"
They looked up simultaneously. Fafnir set his book aside. Serie's attention sharpened.
Flamme walked forward and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of them, the way she had as a child during lessons. But she wasn't a child anymore.
"I've been thinking," she began.
"Dangerous," Fafnir murmured automatically.
She grinned—that same bright smile that had melted their hearts a decade ago. "I know. But I've made a decision."
Serie's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on her book. "Go on."
Flamme took a deep breath. "I want to see the world. Not forever—I'll always come back here. This is my home. You're my home."
She looked between them. "But I need to know what's out there. I need to meet other mages, see other places, learn things you can't teach me here."
Silence.
Fafnir's jaw worked.
Serie's expression didn't change, but her ears had flattened slightly—a tell she'd never been able to control.
"You're sixteen," Fafnir said finally.
"I know."
"That's young."
"To you." Flamme's voice was gentle. "But I'm not immortal like you, Dad. If I wait too long, I'll run out of time."
The word hit him like always. Dad. She'd been calling him that for six years now, and it still made his chest tight.
Serie spoke, her voice carefully controlled. "The world is dangerous. Demons roam freely. Humans can be just as cruel."
"I know, Mom." Flamme looked at her with those impossibly warm eyes. "But hiding here forever won't make me stronger. You've taught me everything you can within these walls. The rest I have to learn out there."
Mom. Serie's composure flickered.
Fafnir and Serie exchanged a glance. A decade of silent communication passed between them in that single look.
"She's right," Fafnir said quietly. "You know she's right."
Serie closed her eyes. "I know."
---
They spent the next week preparing.
Fafnir retreated into the hoard—the vast collection of treasures left by the original dragon whose body he now inhabited.
He searched through piles of gold, stacks of ancient artifacts, shelves of enchanted items. Most were useless to a human. Some were actively dangerous.
But one thing caught his attention.
Dragon scales. Shed over millennia, preserved in the hoard's magical stasis. They gleamed with residual power, each one large enough to cover a grown man's palm.
He spent three days working on them. Carving runes with painstaking precision—runes from his original world, designed to channel and contain magical energy. It required perfect alignment; a single misplaced line would render the whole thing useless.
On the fourth day, he emerged with a bracelet.
It was simple in design: a leather cord threaded through a single scale that had been polished smooth, its surface covered in microscopic runes that caught the light. To anyone else, it would look like a pretty accessory.
To Fafnir, it was a promise.
---
He found Flamme in her corner of the library, packing her few belongings into a small bag.
"Dad?" She looked up as he entered. "What's that?"
He sat beside her and held out the bracelet. "A protection charm. Made from my scale."
Flamme's eyes widened. "Your scale?"
"If the runes are activated properly—if you're in danger—it will generate a barrier. Strong enough to stop most attacks. It should give you time to escape or call for help."
She took it carefully, turning it over in her hands. The scale caught the light, runes glinting.
"Dad, this is..." Her voice caught. "This is part of you."
"Yes."
She looked up at him, eyes bright. "I can't take this. What if something happens to it?"
"Then something happens to it." His voice was gruff. "It's a piece of scale, Flamme. Not my heart. I have plenty more."
"That's not the point."
"The point is keeping you safe." He reached out and took her hand, placing the bracelet in her palm and closing her fingers around it. "I can't go with you. I can't protect you from everything out there. But this... this can."
Flamme stared at the bracelet for a long moment. Then she threw her arms around him.
"Thank you, Dad."
He held her, just like he had when she was small. "You come back to us," he murmured into her hair. "Promise me."
"I promise."
---
Serie's preparation was different.
She didn't craft anything. She didn't search through hoards or carve runes. Instead, she spent the week teaching Flamme spells she'd held back—techniques too advanced, too dangerous for a child.
Now Flamme was no longer a child.
"Pay attention," Serie instructed, her hands moving through complex forms. "This spell creates a temporary anchor point. If you are ever separated from your companions, if you are lost or trapped, you can use it to mark your location and find your way back."
Flamme watched intently, memorizing every movement. "How long does it last?"
"Three days. Perhaps four, with sufficient mana." Serie completed the form and turned to face her. "Your turn."
Flamme's brow furrowed in concentration. Her hands moved, slower than Serie's but precise. Mana gathered, shaped, and—
The anchor point shimmered into existence. Small, barely visible, but stable.
Serie nodded. "Adequate."
Flamme beamed. Coming from Serie, "adequate" was practically a standing ovation.
"One more," Serie said. "This one is important."
She demonstrated another spell—this one for creating a distress signal, keyed specifically to Serie's own mana signature. No matter how far Flamme traveled, if she cast this spell, Serie would feel it.
"It will not bring me to you instantly," Serie explained. "But I will know you are in danger. I will know where you are. And I will come."
Flamme's throat tightened. "Mom..."
"Do not misunderstand." Serie's voice was firm. "I am not doing this because I doubt your abilities. I am doing this because the world is vast and cruel, and you are..." She paused, searching for words. "You are precious. To me. To him. To yourself."
Flamme's eyes glistened. "I know, Mom. I know."
---
The night before her departure, Flamme couldn't sleep.
She wandered the temple, tracing paths she'd walked a thousand times. The library where she'd learned to read. The courtyard where she'd practiced magic until her fingers ached. The entrance where she'd first appeared, ten years ago, terrified and alone.
So much had changed.
She found herself in the main hall, staring up at the ancient ceiling. Footsteps echoed behind her—light, familiar.
"Can't sleep either?"
Fafnir appeared beside her, followed moments later by Serie, who drifted in from the opposite direction as if drawn by the same force.
They stood together in the darkness, three figures silhouetted against the starlight filtering through broken windows.
"I was just thinking," Flamme said softly. "About everything. How different my life could have been if I hadn't found this place."
"But you did," Fafnir said.
"Because a demon killed my parents and I ran for my life." Her voice was steady, without bitterness. "That's not exactly a happy story."
"No," Serie agreed. "But it is your story. And you have made it something more."
Flamme smiled at them—her father, her mother, the two impossible beings who had raised her.
"I want to ask you something," she said. "Before I leave."
Fafnir raised an eyebrow. "What?"
Flamme looked between them, a strange glint in her eyes. "When are you two going to make it official?"
Silence.
Fafnir blinked. "Make what official?"
"You know." Flamme gestured vaguely between them. "This. Whatever this is between you."
Serie's expression didn't change, but her ears twitched violently. "I do not know what you mean."
"Mom." Flamme's voice was patient, amused. "I've lived with you for ten years. I've watched you finish each other's sentences, hold hands when you think I'm not looking, and sit close enough to share body heat every single night." She crossed her arms. "You're not subtle."
Fafnir opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
No words came out.
Serie, for the first time in Flamme's memory, looked genuinely flustered. A faint flush crept up her pale cheeks—something Flamme would have sworn was impossible.
"We are... colleagues," Serie managed.
"With a contract," Fafnir added weakly.
"You've been 'colleagues with a contract' for nineteen years." Flamme's grin widened. "At what point does it become something else?"
"That is—we are—" Serie's composure crumbled further. She actually looked away, her ears pinned back. "This is not an appropriate conversation."
"Why not? I'm sixteen. I'm leaving tomorrow. I just want to know if I'm going to come back and find you two have finally figured it out." Flamme's expression softened. "I love you both. You're my parents. And I want you to be happy."
Fafnir stared at her. Then at Serie. Then back at her.
"I... we..." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture Flamme recognized as extreme discomfort. "It's complicated."
"Everything is complicated to you."
"Because everything is complicated."
Serie finally found her voice, though it was uncharacteristically quiet. "We have not... discussed this. In such terms."
"Then discuss it." Flamme stepped forward and took one of each of their hands. "After I'm gone, you'll have plenty of time. Just... think about it, okay? For me."
She squeezed their hands, then released them and stepped back.
"I'm going to try to sleep now. Goodnight, Dad. Goodnight, Mom."
She disappeared into the shadows, leaving two immortals standing in stunned silence.
---
Fafnir and Serie stood frozen for a long moment.
Finally, Fafnir spoke. "Did that just happen?"
"Yes." Serie's voice was strained. "I believe it did."
"She asked us if we're going to... make it official."
"Yes."
"And you got flustered."
Serie shot him a look that could have curdled milk. "I did not get flustered."
"Your ears were flat for a full minute. They're still slightly flat now."
Serie's hand twitched toward her ear before she caught herself. "They are not."
"Are too."
"Fafnir."
"What?"
They glared at each other in the darkness.
Then, slowly, the tension broke. Fafnir's lips twitched. Serie's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Are you laughing at me?" she demanded.
"No." He definitely was. "I would never."
"You are."
"Maybe a little." He sobered. "But she's not wrong, is she?"
Serie was quiet.
"Nineteen years," Fafnir continued. "Eight years of professional distance. Eleven years of... this. Whatever this is."
"I do not know what this is."
"Neither do I." He looked at her. "But I know I don't want it to end."
Serie met his gaze. In the starlight, her ancient eyes looked almost young.
"Neither do I," she whispered.
They stood together in the darkness, two immortals who had spent nineteen years circling each other, and for the first time, the distance between them felt like a choice rather than a habit.
---
The Next Morning
Flamme stood at the temple entrance, her small bag packed, the dragon-scale bracelet on her wrist. The morning sun painted the forest gold.
Fafnir and Serie stood behind her.
"Oakhaven first," Flamme was saying. "Lukas said he'd introduce me to some merchants heading north. After that... I'm not sure. I'll figure it out as I go."
"You have the spells," Serie said. "You have the bracelet. You have—"
"I have everything I need." Flamme turned to face them. "Including the best parents in the world."
Fafnir's jaw tightened. Serie's eyes glistened.
"Come back," Fafnir said roughly. "That's an order."
Flamme grinned. "Yes, Dad."
She hugged him first—fierce and warm. Then she turned to Serie.
"Take care of him, Mom. He's hopeless without you."
"I am aware."
Flamme hugged her too, holding on perhaps a moment longer than necessary.
"I love you," she whispered. "Both of you. Forever."
Serie's arms tightened. "Forever is a very long time."
"Good. That's how long I plan to love you."
She pulled back, smiled one last time, and walked into the forest.
Fafnir and Serie watched until she disappeared from sight.
Then they stood there, side by side, not moving.
After a long moment, Fafnir reached out and took her hand.
She let him.
"So," he said quietly. "What now?"
Serie was silent for a moment. Then, slowly, she leaned her head against his shoulder.
"I do not know," she admitted. "But I am willing to find out."
They stood together at the temple entrance, watching the empty path where their daughter had vanished, and for the first time in millennia, the future felt like something to look forward to rather than endure.