The Weight of Return

Aria's knuckles rapped softly against the wooden door of Melody's chambers.

"Melody? If you're awake, I'm coming in."

A long silence stretched through the dimly lit corridor. For a moment, she thought there would be no response.

Then, a faint whisper.

"Come in, sister."

At her sister's quiet permission, the lady-in-waiting moved swiftly, opening the heavy doors. Aria stepped inside, the scent of lavender and old parchment filling her senses.

The morning sunlight streamed through the tall arched windows, casting golden patterns upon the stone floor. The breeze carried the scent of blooming roses from the palace gardens, but inside, the room was steeped in stillness.

Melody sat motionless in a chair by the window, her bandaged arms resting limply at her sides. The pristine linen wrappings wound around her right shoulder and arms, a stark contrast against her pale, fragile frame. Yet, the sight of them was a small mercy—proof that her wounds were healing, however slowly.

Her golden hair, once cascading in soft curls, hung limply around her face, catching the sunlight in threads of gold. She was beautiful still, but hollowed. The Melody Aria remembered had been filled with laughter, with stubbornness, with warmth.

Now, she was quiet. Silent as a graveyard.

Aria stepped forward.

"How are you feeling today?" she asked, keeping her voice light, as if afraid anything louder would shatter her sister completely.

A long pause. A breath of hesitation. Then, a voice—fragile, barely above a whisper.

"Just barely."

Aria's heart clenched. It was the most Melody had spoken in days. A bitter smile touched her lips.

"Would you like to go outside?" she offered, though she already knew the answer.

A slow, almost imperceptible shake of the head.

Aria sighed softly. The sunlight was still an enemy. The last time Melody had stepped outside, the burning rays had sent agony through her tender wounds, dragging her back into the depths of trauma. She had screamed until her voice was hoarse.

Now, she barely spoke at all.

Then, Melody moved.

She turned toward Aria, her silver eyes meeting hers—piercing, searching. Those glass-like irises, once shimmering with mischief, now seemed emptied of life. But the look she gave her was enough. She was demanding something, silently.

The reason for Aria's visit.

Aria swallowed, suddenly uncertain. The news she carried was heavy. It could either heal or destroy.

"Melody..." Her voice faltered.

Her fingers clenched against the bandages in her hands.

"Sister Luciana… she's back."

The words hung in the air like a held breath.

Melody did not move. She did not even blink.

Then, her lips trembled.

A single tear slid down her cheek. Then another.

"Really?" she whispered, so quietly that Aria almost missed it.

"Is it really true?"

Aria's chest ached.

"Yes," she swore. "It is the truth."

The reaction was immediate.

Melody tried to stand. Her frail body trembled with effort, knees buckling beneath her weight. Before she could collapse, Aria caught her, pulling her into her arms.

"Melody!"

"Ari! Please—take me to her!" Melody's voice cracked with desperation as she struggled against Aria's hold.

But Aria held firm.

"Patience," she soothed. "Sister Luci is undergoing a health assessment. She's tired. She will be with us soon."

Melody trembled against her, silent sobs shaking her frame.

Aria tightened her arms around her.

"Shhh, it's alright," she murmured, stroking Melody's hair as Luciana would when they were children.

A pause. Then, Aria pulled back slightly and offered the smallest of smiles.

"You know, Melody… Sister Luci has brought new life into the world."

Melody stilled.

Her silver eyes, wide with disbelief, searched Aria's face.

"What…?"

"When she arrived, she had a child with her. And today..." Aria hesitated before whispering, "Today, she gave birth to another."

A flicker of something passed through Melody's tired eyes—something hesitant, fragile. Hope.

"Will I be able to meet them?"

The eagerness in her voice was faint but undeniable.

Aria nodded.

"I will ask Lady Leila to bring them here. You will meet our nephews soon."

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Melody smiled. It was small, hesitant, but it was there.

Relief loosened the knot in Aria's chest.

She stayed with her for a while longer, talking of things that had nothing to do with grief or suffering. Just simple things. Light things.

Then, as sleep claimed Melody at last, Aria pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Sweet dreams."

She left the chamber, but unease clung to her.

Cornelius was still missing.

And Lady Naila—her prospective mother-in-law—was unraveling. No words of comfort could ease her grief, and in her sorrow, she had turned against Aurora, harboring bitter resentment. Aurora's son had returned. Her own had not.

Aria's thoughts weighed heavy as she wandered into the palace gardens.

That was when she saw Leila.

She was holding two infants—one in each arm.

A maid stepped forward, offering assistance, but Leila shook her head, refusing.

"You could lose your balance holding them like that," Aria called out as she approached.

The maid bowed respectfully and backed away.

Leila adjusted her grip on the children. "I am fine, Princess. But I appreciate your concern."

Aria's gaze dropped to the babies.

Her breath hitched.

The boy—his hair was black.

Dark as ink. Ears strangely pointed- like that of a demon's.

Aria stiffened, a shadow passing over her expression.

Leila noticed immediately. She took a step back, protective, her arms tightening around the children.

"Why do you resent people for their appearance?" she asked, her voice sharp with challenge.

Aria's eyes darkened.

"Because those features belong to devils."

Leila inhaled sharply, pain flickering in her gaze. Her own daughter was a child of a devil. But that did not mean that the child was sinful.

"Even if that blood runs through your own kin?"

Silence.

Then, Leila exhaled and took a cautious step forward.

"This child you scorn… is your sister's son."

Aria hesitated. Then, slowly, she extended her arms.

"Give him to me."

Leila scrutinized her. "Why?"

"I swear I will not harm him," Aria said quietly. "I, too, despise violence."

Leila hesitated but finally handed over the baby.

Aria cradled him carefully. He was small, warm, his breaths soft against her skin.

A memory struck her.

Avlynn.

The last time she had held a life this small, it had been her.

Tears welled in Aria's eyes.

She bent her head and pressed a trembling kiss to the baby's forehead.

"It feels… like I am holding Avlynn again," she whispered.

The child stirred but did not wake.

Closing her eyes, she whispered a silent prayer.

"Oh, Great Lord… please protect these innocent lives."