Afternoon sunlight bathed Silverthorne Manor in rich amber warmth while summer winds drifted lazily through the open terrace doors, carrying with them the scents of wildflowers, rain-damp earth, and distant pine from the outer sanctuary forests. The manor had settled into a peaceful stillness after breakfast hours passed quietly into midday, the kind of calm that only arrived when every member of the household finally stopped running long enough to breathe. Somewhere deeper in the estate, magical creatures called softly across protected grounds while enchanted fountains murmured through the gardens beyond the crystal windows. Inside the manor’s grand living room, Elarisse sat near the long windows with a stack of correspondence resting untouched beside her tea, though her attention wandered more often toward the upper floors than toward the letters themselves. Alaric occupied one of the armchairs nearby reading through several Ministry reports with the calm focus of someone long accustomed to balancing responsibility even within moments of peace. Yet despite the papers in his hands, he too occasionally glanced toward the staircase leading upward. The manor itself seemed to understand the importance of today’s silence. No one disturbed the sleeping family members upstairs.
Then suddenly—
emerald flames burst brightly within the enormous marble fireplace.
The Floo Network roared alive in swirling green light while magical wind rushed briefly through the room, scattering loose parchment edges and rustling the curtains beside the windows. A second later, an enormous figure stepped carefully out from the flames with practiced caution to avoid cracking the fireplace arch again. Caelum Silverthorne straightened slowly to his full towering height once both boots touched the stone floor, broad shoulders nearly blocking the hearth entirely while faint traces of ash dusted the heavy traveling cloak draped across his back. His black with silver-white streaks hair had been loosely tied behind him for travel, though several strands had escaped entirely during the journey from Madagascar. Sunlight caught warmly against bronze-toned skin weathered by months beneath tropical heat while faint claw marks and old scars crossed his forearms like half-forgotten maps from years working among dangerous magical creatures.
The moment Caelum inhaled the familiar air of the manor, his entire posture softened visibly.
Home.
The word itself seemed to settle into his chest like warmth after a long storm.
“Finally,” he rumbled deeply, voice carrying the rough warmth of distant thunder. “I swear the Reserve grows hotter every year.”
Elarisse rose immediately with unmistakable relief brightening her face while Alaric lowered his reports with quiet amusement.
“You say that every summer,” Alaric observed.
“Because it’s true every summer.”
Elarisse laughed softly before crossing the room to embrace her son despite the obvious difference in size between them. Caelum bent automatically to make the hug easier, one enormous arm wrapping carefully around her shoulders while exhaustion melted gradually from his expression. Even after years managing the Madagascar Silverthorne Reserve—a sanctuary spanning massive, enchanted territories filled with dragons, ancient magical beasts, and endangered creatures powerful enough to flatten villages—Caelum still looked younger whenever he returned home.
“You’ve lost weight,” Elarisse murmured immediately.
Caelum sighed dramatically. “Mother, I fought a thunder-scaled wyvern three days ago.”
“And clearly lost an argument with proper meals.”
“I survived.”
“That was not the requirement.”
Alaric hid a smile behind one hand.
Caelum released a long-suffering sigh that suggested this conversation had repeated itself for most of his life. “I have returned from months of dangerous fieldwork only to be immediately ambushed by maternal disappointment.”
“You expected otherwise?” Alaric asked dryly.
“Hope keeps people alive.”
That earned another soft laugh from Elarisse as she guided him farther into the living room.
Caelum glanced around then, brows lifting slightly.
The manor felt unusually quiet.
Too quiet.
Normally by now Mira would have already launched herself into conversation about new inventions, Isolde would be asking about rare herbs from Madagascar, Korrin would be exaggerating Auror stories louder than necessary, and Nyx would be pretending none of them were being ridiculous despite clearly listening to every word.
Instead—
silence.
Caelum blinked once, “Where is everyone?”
Alaric leaned back calmly in his chair. “Still asleep.”
Caelum stared, “All of them?”
“Mmhm,” Elarisse confirmed while summoning tea with a flick of her wand.
That answer immediately erased any confusion from Caelum’s face and replaced it with quiet understanding instead.
Because if Mira, Isolde, Korrin, and Nyx were all still asleep this late into the afternoon—
then the year had exhausted them far more deeply than their letters admitted.
Caelum lowered himself carefully onto the reinforced sofa with a long exhale, massive frame sinking into the cushions while sunlight spilled warmly across the room around him. “That bad?”
Alaric folded his reports neatly aside. “They needed rest.”
The simplicity of the answer said everything.
Caelum’s gaze drifted briefly upward toward the upper floors where the others still slept peacefully beyond the manor’s quiet halls. Though separated by distance for much of the year, he followed their lives closely through letters, reports, and international conversations. He knew about Mira’s reforms. The prosthetics. The sanctuary programs. The exchange systems. The Chamber crisis. He knew Isolde had practically buried herself in restorative brewing beside Elarisse for months. Korrin and Nyx rarely spoke openly about their assignments, but exhaustion had become increasingly visible even through enchanted mirrors during family calls.
Too much responsibility.
Too young.
Too often.
Caelum leaned back slightly with a thoughtful rumble in his chest. “Good.”
Elarisse glanced toward him softly.
“They deserve to sleep,” he continued quietly. “Especially Mira.”
At the mention of his youngest sister, something protective settled visibly across his expression. Caelum had adored Mira since the day she first toddled after him through the sanctuary gardens demanding to meet every magical creature she saw. Even now, despite all her brilliance and terrifying accomplishments, part of him still remembered a tiny silver-haired child insisting she could “absolutely negotiate with dragons.”
To be fair—
she eventually had.
Alaric watched his son carefully. “How was Madagascar?”
Caelum groaned softly. “Complicated.”
“That narrows it down considerably.”
“The southern preserve nearly flooded after a storm surge,” Caelum explained while accepting the tea Elarisse handed him. “Three juvenile moonfang drakes escaped containment.” He paused briefly. “One stole an entire supply cart.”
Alaric blinked slowly.
Elarisse covered her mouth trying not to laugh.
Caelum pointed solemnly with his teacup. “You laugh now, but do you know how difficult it is to negotiate with a dragon that has decided potatoes are sacred treasure?”
Silence.
Then Alaric quietly muttered, “That does sound inconvenient.”
“It was emotionally exhausting.”
The room warmed gently with laughter after that.
For a little while, conversation drifted slowly through the afternoon sunlight while Caelum described portions of his work at the Madagascar Reserve—storm seasons, nesting grounds, injured magical beasts, and increasingly ridiculous creature incidents that somehow always involved property damage. Elarisse listened with maternal concern hidden beneath practiced calm while Alaric occasionally asked precise questions only another experienced field operative would think to ask.
And throughout it all, the upper floors remained quiet.
Sleeping.
Resting.
Healing.
Eventually, one of the house-elves appeared quietly near the doorway.
“Lunch is prepared, Master Caelum.”
Caelum nearly looked emotional again.
“Bless this manor.”
Alaric stood with a faint smirk while Elarisse shook her head fondly.
As the three headed toward the dining hall together beneath the warm glow of afternoon light, Silverthorne Manor settled deeper into peaceful stillness around them. Outside, summer wind stirred through the silverwood trees while distant sanctuary bells echoed softly across the estate.
And upstairs—
for the first time in far too long—
Mira and the others continued sleeping without fear of the next crisis waiting beyond the door.
ns216.73.216.62da2
and then Add to home screen.