Ian almost ran the entire way into the study.

  The door hadn’t been shut properly. Wind poured in from the open balcony, flipping pages and raising a soft, fragmented rustle of paper. Sunlight slanted in, falling across the dark ironwood floor and stretching long shadows. Fine wind-grain patterns ran across the surface of the wood; when stepped on, it gave a faint spring, like the lingering echo of a captured sea breeze.

  Ilyss sat on the long bench by the window, an unfinished letter spread in her hands. The ink hadn’t dried yet; the pen hovered in midair. Today she wore a pale gray sea-silk robe, the collar and cuffs embroidered with delicate silver star charts. The fabric was as light as mist, rising and falling gently with her breath. Her silver-white hair was loosely gathered and pinned with a sapphire hairpin carved into a spiral conch, matching sapphire earrings dangling at her ears, scattering fragments of sea-blue light when they caught the sun. She lifted her head, her gaze resting on the two children for a brief moment, one brow lifting slightly—those blue-gray eyes always carried a gentle scrutiny, as though they could see the words children hadn’t yet spoken. Her face was still beautiful, though fine lines left by time traced its edges; the smile at her lips was warm, yet hid a fatigue that was easy to miss.

  “Mother!” Ian’s voice arrived before he did.

  His silver-white short hair was tousled by the wind, blue eyes bright as midday light on the inner sea, cheeks faintly flushed from running. He wore a simple linen short robe, a blue tie knotted at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows to reveal slender but sturdy forearms. Soft indoor shoes still clung to his feet, their soles dusted with a bit of study-floor ash.

  Lorn followed behind, half a step slower than his brother. His robe was the same style, though his sleeves were rolled even higher, exposing thin wrists. He hadn’t run—only walked quickly to keep up, his face unreadable. His eyes were deeper-set than Ian’s, lashes long and thick, always slightly lowered, as if shielding something.

  Ilyss set the pen aside, folded the letter, and placed it into a silver-edged box beside her. Her movements were elegant and unhurried; when her fingertips brushed the lid, there came a faint metallic click. The box bore the family crest—interwoven spiral conch and starlight—glimmering softly in the sun.

  “What is it?” she asked, her voice gentle, carrying a mother’s particular attentiveness.

  “Master Ryan said,” Ian rattled off quickly, excitement bubbling in his tone, “that we can go find little things to use as symbols.”

  Ilyss’s gaze shifted to Lorn.

  “He suggested we go to the seaside,” Ian added, eyes shining. “I want to pick up shells!”

  Lorn stood quietly to the side, saying nothing, simply waiting. His fingers laced lightly in front of him, as if waiting for an answer rather than rushing to make a request.

  Ilyss looked at them.

  She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stood and draped on an outer cloak—a deep blue sea-silk mantle, its lining embroidered with scattered starlight. The fabric whispered softly as she put it on. She walked toward the door and, in passing, gave instructions to the steward waiting outside.

  “Prepare the carriage,” she said. “And bring some things for a picnic.”

  The steward blinked in surprise, then bowed and answered at once, retreating with brisk efficiency. His dark gray uniform bore the Starcrown family’s spiral conch crest at the collar; a small silver key hung at his waist, its head engraved with a tiny star map.

  Ian couldn’t help asking, “We’re having a picnic?”

  Ilyss glanced at him, a faint smile touching her lips—gentle, yet edged with subtle weariness.

  “That way,” she said, “we won’t have to come back for lunch. You can play a little longer.”

  ?

  By the time the carriage rolled out of the Starcrown estate’s side gate, the sky had fully cleared.

  Valian City’s streets looked wide and quiet under the sunlight. White stone paving reflected a pale glow, arcades casting neat bands of shadow. The carriage headed west, passing beyond the residential quarters, and the air began to change—the cool scent of stone giving way to salt and dampness. Inside the carriage, wooden seats were cushioned with pale blue sea-silk, their backs embroidered with tiny star charts. Gauze curtains hung by the windows, swaying gently in the breeze, carrying in a faint smell of sea salt.

  Lorn sat by the window, watching the city slowly recede. The silhouettes of towers stretched and thinned until only the coastline remained. His fingers absently rubbed the edge of his robe; his rolled sleeves revealed slender wrists, skin pale and almost translucent in the sun.

  Ian sat opposite him, legs swinging back and forth, leaning toward the window whenever he could. His silver-white hair stuck up messily in the wind. He excitedly counted the rocks along the roadside, humming a tuneless little song under his breath, blue eyes gleaming as if catching sunlight itself.

  Ilyss sat between them, her cloak resting across her knees. She held a thin family journal, turning a page now and then, though she wasn’t truly reading. Occasionally she looked up, checking on the two children, warmth in her eyes—and a trace of unspoken concern. Her sapphire earrings tapped softly together as the carriage rocked, making a faint sound like distant waves whispering.

  The carriage came to a stop beside a relatively flat stretch of rocky shore.

  Servants disembarked first, spreading out a thick picnic blanket—deep blue, edged with silver stars. Baskets were quickly set out: freshly baked bread, sliced fruit, fruit juice in glass bottles, and several pieces of seaweed-wrapped cheese. The aroma drifted outward, yet didn’t disrupt the seaside sounds—the steady surf, the low wind, the intermittent cries of distant seabirds.

  “Don’t go too far,” Ilyss said.

  She sat down on the blanket, spreading her cloak behind her as a cushion, sapphire earrings flashing in the sunlight. She didn’t eat right away, instead taking a small silver cup from the basket, pouring herself some juice, and sipping slowly. The wind stirred her silver-white hair, a few strands brushing her cheek; she lifted a hand to tuck them aside, her movements calm and graceful.

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  Ian had already nodded, and the moment his shoes hit the sand, he dragged Lorn forward with him.

  The sea was close.

  Waves rolled up onto the shore, then withdrew, leaving behind slick, gleaming traces. The beach was scattered with fragments of shells and smoothly rounded stones, sunlight dusting them like crushed diamonds.

  Ian quickly squatted down and picked up his first shell—a small white spiral with faint pink-blue edges. He held it up and shook it at Lorn, silver-white hair blown even messier, excitement flushing his face.

  “How about this one?”

  Lorn stepped closer and looked.

  The shell glimmered softly in the sunlight, tiny rainbows hidden within.

  “Do you like it?” Lorn asked gently.

  Ian thought for a moment, then set the shell back down. “It’s… okay, I guess.”

  He ran on ahead, barefoot now, feet sinking into wet sand and leaving small footprints behind. Sea water occasionally washed over his ankles; he laughed and turned back, calling, “Lorn, come on! There’s so many over here!”

  Lorn didn’t immediately start searching.

  He stood still, watching the shifting line of the waves. Each retreat of the tide left something new behind—and took something else away. The sea breeze tugged at his robe, lifting the sleeves to expose his thin wrists. Slowly, he crouched.

  His fingertips brushed against a stone worn very flat, with no color and no distinctive shape. Its surface was smooth, carrying the salty scent of seawater and a cool, damp chill. He didn’t pick it up right away, just let his fingers rest there, feeling its quiet weight.

  Lorn picked up the stone.

  It was very light.

  He didn’t put it in his pocket—just held it in his palm.

  Not far away, Ilyss saw this, but didn’t approach.

  She turned back and continued directing the servants as they finished setting things up. Her silver-white hair stirred in the wind, sapphire earrings glinting, as if answering the distant waves.

  Ian picked up another shell—this one a translucent fan shape, threaded with fine silver veins. He ran back, feet coated in wet sand, and held it up for Lorn to see.

  “What about this one?”

  Lorn looked at it.

  “It’s beautiful,” he said. “Like starlight falling into the sea.”

  Ian grinned and pressed the shell into Lorn’s hand.

  “This one’s for you! I’ll go find more.”

  Lorn lowered his gaze to the shell in his palm.

  It was a translucent fan-shaped shell, the silver veins inside stretching delicately in the sunlight, like light remembered by the sea.

  The smooth stone that had rested in his other palm, he slowly returned to the sand.

  The stone was soon swallowed by the sound of the waves.

  Lorn didn’t look back.

  He closed his fingers around the shell, holding it gently, yet not letting go.

  The sea breeze passed over him, carrying salt, moisture, and the distant rhythm of surf.

  From the blanket, Ilyss softly called for them to come back and eat.

  Lorn turned and saw Ian waving at him, his face full of sunlight.

  He answered and walked in that direction.

  The shell in his palm was very quiet.

  The picnic blanket was spread over a flat patch of sand beside the rocky shore. Its deep blue background, embroidered with silver stars, shimmered faintly in the sunlight, like a slice of night sky that had fallen by the sea. Waves rolled in with a steady rhythm, then receded, leaving behind a thin layer of foam. The sea breeze carried a salty dampness, gently lifting the edges of the blanket and tousling Ian’s silver-white short hair.

  Illys sat at the center of the blanket, her cloak spread out behind her as a cushion. Her long silver-white hair was loosely gathered and pinned with a sapphire hairpin, and the sapphire earrings by her ears refracted flecks of sea-blue light in the sun. She set a small silver cup aside, the juice inside swaying slightly, its color like an inner sea at dawn. She didn’t rush to eat. Instead, she took bread from the basket, tore it into small pieces, and handed them to the two children. The bread was still warm, its crust crisp, the inside soft, carrying a faint hint of sea salt and the lingering aroma of yeast.

  “Here, eat a little first,” she said gently. “You’ve both been running around and sweating.”

  Ian took the bread and bit into it with enthusiasm, his cheeks puffing out as he chewed. With his mouth half full, he said indistinctly, “Today’s bread is better than yesterday’s.”

  The wind ruffled his silver-white hair even more, a few strands sticking to his forehead. His blue eyes were bright, like the sea catching sunlight, and his cheeks were faintly flushed from running and excitement.

  “It was baked fresh this morning,” the steward replied evenly. “If you like it, young master, we can have the kitchen prepare more like this in the future.”

  He stood at the edge of the blanket, the small silver key at his waist glinting softly in the sun.

  Ian nodded vigorously and took another big bite. Crumbs fell onto his robe, but he didn’t mind.

  Illys smiled, reaching out to brush aside the hair the wind had blown into his face. Her fingertips lightly grazed his forehead, as if reassuring herself that he was truly here.

  Lorne sat at the edge of the blanket, knees slightly drawn up, still holding the fan-shaped shell Ian had just given him. He didn’t eat the bread right away, only lowered his head to look at what he held. The shell was light and shimmering, the silvery veins inside it resembling a delicate river of stars under the sun.

  “Lorne,” Illys called softly, “what did you find?”

  Lorne looked up, his eyelashes casting faint shadows in the sunlight. He spread the shell open in his palm for his mother to see.

  “The shell is from Ian,” he said, his voice as light as the wind.

  Ian immediately leaned in, still chewing, gesturing excitedly. “Mother, look! There are silver lines inside this shell, like stars falling into the sea! I think this one’s the prettiest—Lorne will definitely be seen by the gods!”

  Illys slid a cup of juice toward him.

  “Don’t just eat dry bread,” she said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

  Ian had already started counting the shells he’d collected, talking as he ate. “I saw a really huge one just now, but it was stuck between rocks. I couldn’t pull it out.”

  “That’s because it didn’t want to be taken by you,” Illys said lightly, the smile at her lips deepening.

  Ian froze for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Then next time I’ll ask if it wants to come with me.”

  Lorne lowered his head and took a sip of juice. You could barely see the curve of his mouth, but his gaze softened a little. The juice was cool, with the sweet-tart taste of blueberries. As it slid down his throat, he felt his chest loosen slightly.

  A servant crouched down and placed a small piece of cheese onto Illys’s plate.

  “Madam, this is the one you usually eat.”

  “Mhm, thank you,” Illys said.

  She cut off a small piece and ate slowly, her gaze drifting back to the children from time to time. Her sapphire earrings flickered with the gentle turns of her head, as if answering the distant waves.

  “Do we still have lessons this afternoon?” Ian suddenly asked, his mouth still full of bread.

  “Originally, yes,” Illys replied. “But I told Ryan that this afternoon’s lessons are canceled. Today, you can just enjoy yourselves.”

  The wind swept in from the sea, lightly lifting the edge of the blanket. Far off, the waves rose and fell, steady enough to make one want to slow down.

  Lorne slipped his hand into his pocket and touched the shell, not taking it out. His fingers gently traced its surface, feeling the silver veins inside, as if confirming that it truly existed.

  Illys noticed, but said nothing.

  She only reached out and wiped the crumbs from the corner of Ian’s mouth.

  “Eat more slowly,” she said.

  Ian looked up at her and smiled, his eyes curving like crescent moons.

  The steward stood where he was, watching the scene. After confirming there was nothing more to attend to, he quietly signaled the servants to withdraw a little farther away.

  On the picnic blanket remained only low conversation, the sounds of chewing, and the ceaseless rhythm of the sea.

  The sunlight gradually slanted westward, shadows stretching longer. Illys leaned back against her cloak, her sapphire earrings catching the last glimmers of light. She watched the two children running across the sand.

  She closed her eyes and listened to the waves.