Morning in the wayhouse smelled like bread and ash and warm tea.
I knew that before I even opened my eyes, because the world reached me first through the bond—Elowen's steady presence nearby, the soft hum of wards under the floor, and the faint, comforting noise of people moving carefully so they wouldn't wake the Heroine.
And then—
I woke.
Not slowly.
Not gently.
I popped back into kid form like a spark jumping from flint.
One second: quiet sword-dark.
Next second: I was sitting upright under a blanket that had been tucked over my sheath, blinking in the warm light of the hearth.
My core loop felt… good.
Not full, but clean. Like sleeping had stitched the frayed edges back together.
And I had exactly one thought in my tiny, overly-rested brain:
**MOMMY.**
Elowen was asleep in a chair by the fire.
Still in her cloak.
Still holding my sheathed form against her chest like she'd fallen asleep mid-guard.
Her head had tipped slightly to the side, hair loosened, one hand still curled around the scabbard like she'd refused to let go even in sleep.
She looked… younger like that.
Less like prophecy.
More like a person who'd stayed awake for too many nights and finally lost the battle to exhaustion.
My chest squeezed.
Then the squeeze turned into something else—an excited, fizzy energy that flooded my limbs all at once.
I could move.
I could talk.
I could *be here.*
And Elowen was right there and I missed her so much it was stupid.
So naturally, I chose violence.
(The cute kind.)
I slid off the chair as quietly as I could manage—so not quietly at all.
My feet hit the floor with a soft *pat*.
Elowen didn't wake.
Her breathing stayed deep.
I narrowed my eyes.
"Oh, you're sleeping-sleeping," I whispered, offended.
I tiptoed around the chair—dramatically—then climbed back up using the armrest like a tiny mountain.
I peeked over her shoulder.
Her face was relaxed.
One faint crease between her brows, like even in sleep she was still guarding.
My heart did something warm and embarrassing.
I lifted both hands.
And poked her cheek.
Elowen didn't move.
I poked again, harder.
Still nothing.
I leaned in close and whispered directly into her ear with all the seriousness of a tiny commander issuing a battle order:
"Mommy."
Elowen's eyes fluttered.
She made a quiet sound, half sigh, half groan.
Not awake.
Not asleep.
Danger zone.
I grinned.
This was my moment.
I grabbed the edge of her cloak and shook it gently.
"Mommy, wake up. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy."
Elowen's hand twitched, tightening around the scabbard reflexively.
Then she mumbled—rough, exhausted:
"…Rin…?"
I beamed so hard my face hurt.
"Yes!" I whispered loudly. "It's me!"
Elowen's eyes opened halfway.
She blinked once.
Twice.
Then her gaze locked on me—fully awake in an instant like a soldier hearing an alarm.
Her hand shot out and pulled me against her chest so fast I squeaked.
"Rin," she breathed, voice hoarse. "Are you—"
"I'm fine!" I chirped, wriggling in her arms. "I'm awake!"
Elowen held me tighter for a heartbeat, like she needed to confirm I was real.
Then she leaned back slightly to look at my face.
Her eyes were tired.
But warm.
Alive.
"You're awake," she repeated, softer.
"Yes!" I said again, way too loudly.
Somewhere in the wayhouse, a floorboard creaked.
A muffled voice hissed, "Is that the relic yelling?"
Another voice answered, "That's not yelling. That's… enthusiasm."
Maera's voice—distant but unmistakable—cut in like a knife through cloth:
"It's six in the morning."
I froze.
Then slowly looked toward the hallway like I'd been caught committing a crime.
Elowen's shoulders shook with a silent laugh.
She tried to hide it by clearing her throat.
It didn't work.
I whispered, scandalized, "Maera heard me."
Elowen's smile deepened. "Everyone heard you."
I went red instantly. "Oh no."
Elowen kissed the top of my head—brief, instinctive—then realized what she did and didn't apologize for it at all.
"You're safe," she murmured. "You're here."
I nodded vigorously. "And you're awake now!"
Elowen exhaled slowly. "Yes. Because you attacked me."
"It wasn't an attack," I argued. "It was… a wake-up mission."
Elowen lifted an eyebrow. "A mission."
"Yes," I said proudly. "Operation: Wake Mommy."
Elowen's mouth curved. "Successful."
I grinned—then remembered I was supposed to be dignified.
I straightened up in her arms like a tiny officer. "Good. Now we have to do important things."
Elowen blinked. "Important things like…?"
I leaned close and whispered dramatically:
"Breakfast."
Elowen stared at me for half a second.
Then she laughed—quiet at first, then real, the kind of laugh that shook exhaustion loose from her ribs.
It made my chest warm.
It made me want to giggle too.
And I did.
Elowen held me like a baby while she stood up, stretching carefully, keeping one arm around me as if she'd decided carrying me was just her default state now.
"Breakfast," she agreed, voice still soft.
I nodded, then—because my mouth hates me and my heart hates me more—I rested my forehead against her collarbone and whispered:
"Mommy… I missed you."
Elowen went still.
Then her arms tightened around me with a quiet, fierce gentleness.
"I missed you too," she whispered back.
Behind us, Sable's voice drifted in from the doorway, amused:
"Look at that. The Heroine survived the terrifying morning assault."
Maera's voice followed, flat as ever:
"Do not encourage it."
Sable replied cheerfully, "Too late."
Elowen carried me toward the kitchen anyway, ignoring them both.
And as we walked, I bounced slightly in her arms—too much energy, too much relief, too much *alive*—and whispered like it was the most natural thing in the world:
"Mommy, mommy, mommy."
Elowen sighed—long-suffering—and kissed my hair again.
"Yes, Rin. I'm awake."