Lunar blinked and slowly pulled her hand away from the glass, the cool surface leaving a faint trace of sensation on her fingertips before it faded. She straightened slightly, smoothing the hem of her shirt in a habitual motion, and then turned toward the dining area, her steps quiet against the polished floor.
The closer she got, the more the sounds began to rise and take shape—cutlery clinking against plates, voices overlapping in lively conversation, the soft shuffle of feet moving across tile. Even after a week, she still hadn't grown used to waking up to so many voices at once. Her old home had been quiet in a way that felt natural, filled only with the gentle rhythm of two people moving through shared space, where even silence carried warmth.
Here, it was different. Here, it felt like a small storm lived in every hallway, always in motion, always shifting, never quite settling down.
She stepped through the wide doorway and into the dining room, as three heads turned toward her almost at once.
They were all so different she sometimes forgot they were siblings, all foals of the same black and blue-clad mare.
At the far end sat Persian Caviar, the eldest of those still living at home. Morning light fell across her wavy brown hair, which swept over one of her deep hazel eyes in its usual lopsided curtain. She cradled a porcelain teacup between her fingers, stirring it in slow circles that looked almost ceremonial.
Lunar wasn't sure if Persian was fully awake or simply existing in a state somewhere between dream and reality. But even in that half-dazed state, Persian's gentle attentiveness slipped through—like the way she quietly nudged a stack of napkins toward the center of the table the moment she noticed Lunar walking over.
Persian lifted her gaze, a faint smile ghosting across her lips. "Morning, Lunar," she murmured, voice soft, warm, unhurried. "You look more awake than me."
Lunar hesitated, the habit of choosing her words carefully still clinging to her. She opened her mouth to answer—but any reply was swept away by a sudden burst of movement at the table.
Namawa Caviar nearly sprang out of her chair.
"Lunar!! Good morning!!" she exclaimed, leaning halfway across the table, her short frame barely clearing the edge of the table as she bounced on her heels. Neon-blue hair flared around her head like a restless flame and her matching blue eyes sparkled with uncontained energy. Though she was two years older than Lunar, Namawa was noticeably shorter, something she compensated for with sheer volume and motion. "Did you sleep okay? Did you have dreams? Did you—oh! Wait, no—Saiya said you, um, kinda didn't—BUT STILL, good morning!"
Her legs jittered beneath the table, knocking into a chair leg with a sharp rattle that sent cutlery clinking. A spoon tipped dangerously before Persian caught it mid-slide without even glancing down.
Lunar blinked, momentarily overwhelmed by the verbal flood and the sheer brightness of Namawa's energy, especially this early in the morning when her thoughts were still trying to catch up with the day.
"…Good morning," she managed.
Namawa beamed as if she'd just won an argument no one else knew they were having. "See, Persi? She talks!" Namawa declared, jabbing a finger triumphantly in Lunar's direction. "I told you she talks in the morning!"
Persian lifted her teacup and took a measured sip, her expression perfectly composed and unbothered. "I never said she didn't talk," she replied evenly. "I said you talk too much."
Namawa slapped her hands over her ears and turned her head away with exaggerated defiance. "Yeah, yeah, can't hear you! Too busy being right!"
One moment, the space beside her was empty. The next, someone was there.
The presence was quiet, almost seamless, yet close enough that Lunar caught a faint reflection of it in the polished surface of the table before she fully registered it.
Anonym stood just a little closer than necessary.
She was only a year older than Lunar, and nearly the same height, yet she carried herself with a composure that made her feel taller somehow. Her straight black hair fell neatly to her shoulders, not a strand out of place, framing a face that looked strikingly familiar. The deep blue of her eyes solidified it—strikingly similar to Black Caviar's that Lunar sometimes felt as though she were looking at a younger reflection of the woman who had taken her in.
Those eyes studied Lunar with calm intensity. "Your hair is uneven," Anonym stated, her tone completely matter-of-fact, devoid of judgment but lacking any softness to cushion the words.
Lunar stiffened immediately, her hand instinctively lifting toward her head, fingers brushing uncertainly against her hair as self-consciousness crept in.
"…O-Oh," she started, her voice faltering slightly. "Sorry, I didn't really—"
"It's fine." Anonym reached out before Lunar could finish. Her movements were careful and deliberate as she brushed a stray lock from Lunar's cheek, tucking it neatly behind her ear. The touch was brief, light, and oddly gentle.
"There," Anonym said simply, drawing her hand back as soon as she was done. "Now it's even."
She withdrew her hand immediately and returned to her seat, lifting her cup and continuing with her milk tea as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
For a moment, Lunar remained still, the interaction settling slowly in her mind.
Then, almost without thinking, a small smile appeared on her lips—subtle and a little shy—as she glanced toward Anonym's turned profile. "Thanks, Anonym," she said softly.
Anonym paused mid-sip, and Lunar could see her ears flushed pink instantly. "Its nothing," she muttered, eyes firmly fixed on her cup.
Persian laughed, noticing the exchange. " Really sis? One thank you from Lunar and you're already like… this?"
Anonym pointed a threat at Persian without looking."I will spill juice on you," she said flatly, lifting a finger in warning. "Orange juice."
"Thats too far!"
Their voices overlapped again, the conversation spiraling into something lively and chaotic, filled with exaggerated reactions and half-serious threats that never quite carried any real weight.
Amid all of it, Lunar lingered quietly at the edge of the table, her fingers resting lightly against the back of an empty chair as she took it all in.
They were loud.
They were unfamiliar.
They were overwhelming.
And yet… they were warm.
It was a kind of warmth she hadn't learned how to respond to yet—one that didn't feel like home, not really, but didn't feel foreign either. It sat somewhere in between, uncertain and fragile, like something that might disappear if she reached for it too quickly. So she didn't.
Her thoughts drifted.
Just a few weeks ago, her mornings had been quiet. A small countryside kitchen, sunlight shimmering through thin curtains, her mother moving softly as she prepared breakfast. The kettle's gentle whistle. Birds calling outside the window. Words were optional back then; silence had never been uncomfortable.
Now, she stood in Black Caviar's sleek, fancy dining room, surrounded by voices overlapping each other, chairs scraping lightly against the floor, cutlery clinking against ceramic plates. Laughter rose and fell without warning.
Lunar wasn't sure how she was meant to fit into all of this. She wasn't sure she deserved to.
"Lunar!" Namawa called suddenly, breaking through her thoughts as she waved both hands with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Sit next to me! No—wait—sit next to Ano—! Actually—no, sit between us! Persi said this side of the table needs balance!"
"I said no such thing, stop using me to justify yourself." Persian replied without missing a beat, lifting her teacup with a quiet, long-suffering sigh that carried more annoyance.
Lunar hesitated for only a moment, but despite herself, the corners of her lips curved just slightly, a small, almost reluctant smile forming before she could stop it.
Before she had the chance to lower her gaze and hide it, the sound of light footsteps approached from the hallway—measured rather than rushed—accompanied by a voice she had already come to recognize.
"Lunaaaar~"
Black Caviar entered the dining room carrying a small girl in her arms, one hand firmly resting at the child's back, the other braced beneath her knees. She moved with easy familiarity, and gently set the girl down once they were fully inside the room.
The moment her feet touched the floor, Saiya slipped free of Black Caviar's hold and stepped forward, pale pink hair swaying lightly against her shoulders. She was a little shorter than Lunar, her build smaller and more delicate, but her silver eyes—bright and intent—locked onto Lunar's pale ones immediately.
"There you are," Saiya said, taking a couple huff of breaths before closing the distance between them without hesitation.
She wrapped her arms around Lunar's waist in a quick, earnest hug, pressing her cheek briefly against Lunar's side as if confirming she was really there. The contact was gentle and careful, like how one would embrace something they deem precious.
Lunar stiffened for half a second before relaxing into it.
Saiya pulled back just enough to look up at her, fingers still hooked around Lunar's sleeve. "You said you'd sit with me today."
"I don't thi–" Lunar started, then stopped herself, the words dissolving under Saiya's hopeful stare.
Black Caviar watched from behind them, her expression soft, unreadable, but warm. She set the tray of fruit down on the table before turning away, giving them space as if this, too, was something she knew better than to interrupt.
Saiya was one year younger than Lunar—small enough that when she stood close, her gaze naturally settled just around Lunar's chin. She was lighter, too, her frame delicate, built more for careful balance than reckless speed. Her steps were light, her movements naturally gentle in nature, corresponding to her body's more fragile state.
And yet, there was nothing timid about her presence.
Where others hesitated around Lunar, uncertain of what to say or how to approach her, Saiya had never done that. She hadn't lingered at a distance or searched for the right words.
She had simply…decided…?
Lunar remembered their first meeting clearly.
It had been the evening she arrived—bone-tired, hollow, perched stiffly on the edge of a guest bed that didn't feel like it belonged to her. The room was too clean, too spacious, every surface untouched by memory. Even the quiet felt wrong, heavy.
She hadn't cried. She hadn't spoken. She'd simply sat there, hands folded in her lap, staring at nothing.
The door had opened only a fraction.
Saiya had stood in the gap, both hands gripping the edge of the frame as she peered inside, her wide silver eyes filled not with hesitation, but with simple curiosity. There had been no pity in her expression, no careful distance, no sense that she was intruding something.
"Hi," she'd said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Lunar hadn't responded.
Saiya didn't seem bothered by that. She shuffled inside anyway, closing the door gently behind her, and sat down on the floor right in front of Lunar. Not too close, not too far—just enough to be present without crowding her, as if she had instinctively found the right distance without needing to think about it.
Then she started talking.
She talked about the garden she wasn't allowed to run in because everyone worried too much. About how her siblings were loud and always arguing over the dumbest things, even the elder ones who should have known better. About how the house felt too big sometimes, especially at night. Her voice filled the space gradually, not forceful, not overwhelming, but steady enough to soften the silence, to reshape it into something less suffocating, something easier to sit with.
Lunar listened without looking at her.
At some point, Saiya had tilted her head up, studying Lunar's face like she was stitching together something important. Then she asked, simply and without a second thought.
"Will you be my friend?"
There was no weight to the question. No fear of rejection. Just certainty.
Lunar had stared at her for a long moment after that.
Saiya didn't rush her. She didn't fidget or fill the silence.
She simply waited, legs tucked beneath her, hands resting loosely in her lap, as if she trusted that the answer—whatever it was—would come when it was ready.
Something in Lunar's chest shifted. A loosening. A small crack in the frozen state she'd wrapped around herself since that morning.
"…Okay," Lunar had said at last.
Saiya's face lit up instantly, bright and unrestrained, as though she'd never doubted the answer for even a second. She grinned, leaning forward on her hands.
As if it were the most important rule in the world, Saiya crossed her arms and said, "But you can't call me 'Little Sis' or "Saiya" like everyone else. I don't like that. I want you to call me something else. Something special!"
Lunar hesitated, then quietly offered, "How about, Saichan…?"
Saiya's face lit up immediately. "That's it," she said, pleased. "That's my name now. Only you can use it."
___________________________________________________
So now, standing in the dining room with Saiya's hands still holding onto the sleeve of her shirt, Lunar didn't pull away.
"Come on," Saiya said again, tugging lightly, already turning toward the table. Her grip wasn't strong, just persistent in that gentle, determined way of hers. "Sit with me. Please."
Lunar let herself be guided into the chair beside her, lowering herself slowly as her thoughts tried to catch up with everything happening around her, but before she could settle fully, a sharp voice cut across the room.
"Hey! That's not fair!"
Namawa shot upright in her seat, curls bouncing with the sudden motion as she pointed accusingly in their direction, her expression equal parts outrage and disbelief.
"She's been sitting next to you for three days straight, Saiya! Three days!" she continued, holding up her fingers as if presenting evidence. "I've been counting! I'm almost running out of fingers here!"
Saiya stiffened instantly, her cheeks puffing out as she crossed her arms in immediate defense.
"No! Lunar sits with me today," she declared firmly. "She promised."
Lunar blinked, caught off guard. "I… I didn't—"
"Yes, you did," Saiya cut in without hesitation, her certainty unwavering. "You nodded while we were watching TV, remember?"
"That was when she sneezed," Persian added smoothly, stirring her tea in slow, unbothered circles. "I'm fairly certain that doesn't qualify as a promise."
"A nod is still a nod," Saiya insisted, chin lifting with quiet conviction, clearly unwilling to concede the point.
Namawa let out a long, dramatic groan and collapsed forward onto the table, her arms splayed out as if the injustice had physically drained her.
"This is favoritism," she lamented loudly. "Absolute betrayal of the sisterhood."
Anonym, seated on Lunar's other side, finally looked up from her plate, her cool blue gaze shifting toward Namawa with measured calm.
"Your turn was yesterday," she stated evenly. "But you spilled juice on Lunar's chair."
Namawa's head snapped up at once, indignation flaring. "That was an accident!"
Anonym didn't even glance at her this time. "Sure."
Namawa's jaw dropped. "Hey! Don't just—don't just 'sure' me!"
"Sucks to be you," Anonym added flatly, reaching for the butter with complete indifference, as though she hadn't just poured fuel onto the situation.
Namawa made a strangled noise somewhere between a gasp and a battle cry, pushing herself up onto her hands as though she was about to climb straight over the table to settle things personally.
Before she could make good on that intention, a calm, steady voice cut cleanly through the chaos.
"That's enough."
The effect was immediate.
Namawa froze mid-motion, still half-leaning forward. Anonym quietly set the butter knife down without argument. Saiya straightened in her seat, her hands folding neatly in her lap as though she had been caught doing something far more serious than arguing over seats. Even Persian, who had remained largely unfazed throughout, finally lifted her gaze from her tea.
At the head of the table, Black Caviar stood composed and still, her presence alone enough to settle the room without any need for raised volume or repeated instruction.
"We do not fight before breakfast," she said evenly, her tone calm but leaving no room for negotiation. "Or during breakfast. Or after breakfast."
"...Yes, Mama," Namawa muttered, sinking back into her chair with visible reluctance.
"…Understood," Anonym replied, already reaching for her juice as though nothing had happened at all.
Saiya, on the other hand, broke into a small, unmistakably pleased smile "See?" she said, her voice soft yet edged with triumph. "That means Lunar will sit with me."
Before Lunar had the chance to respond, Saiya gave a gentle but insistent tug, guiding her fully into the chair and settling her neatly between herself and Anonym, as though the matter had already been decided beyond question.
Lunar offered a small, polite nod to either side, her attention drifting almost immediately to the spread laid out before her. Warm carrot pancakes stacked neatly, syrup glistening in the morning light, fresh fruit arranged in bright colors, and soft scrambled eggs still steaming faintly—all of it carried a comforting aroma that seemed to wrap around her, soft and inviting in a way that felt almost familiar.
She reached for her fork.
But halfway through lifting it, her mind slipped—just a breath, a flicker, a sudden flash of stray memory.
Her mother at the stove, humming under her breath as she flipped pancakes with practiced ease. A chipped plate waiting on the counter. Morning sunlight catching on silvery hair. The quiet comfort of a kitchen that knew only the two of them.
Lunar's hand paused.
The fork hovered uselessly in the air, her breath snagging somewhere in her chest as the present thinned, the past pressing close.
Then something moved at the edge of her vision. A plate slid gently into view, nudged closer without a word.
Another pancake.
Lunar blinked, startled, and turned.
Anonym was already looking away, feigning indifference, as if she hadn't done anything at all. But her voice, quiet and even, carried to Lunar clearly:
"You spaced out," she said simply. "Figured you might still be hungry."
Lunar looked down at the pancake.
It was warm, perfectly round, its edges lightly golden, and for a moment, something in her chest shifted—not enough to fully take shape, but enough to be felt.
"…Thank you," she murmured quietly.
Anonym gave a small shrug, her ears tinged faintly pink once more. "Don't mention it."
Beside her, Saiya brightened immediately, her expression lighting up as she leaned subtly against Lunar's side, as though reinforcing her place there without needing to say anything.
Breakfast continued around them, the steady rhythm of conversation weaving through the clinking of plates and cutlery, the sweetness of syrup mixing with the warmth of the morning light. It was lively, imperfect, a little chaotic—but undeniably real.
After a moment, Lunar lifted her fork again.
This morning, she felt something melting.