When I was eight, I used to watch the twins like they were magic.

  Not because they were flashy like Damian or clever like Peter. But because when they fought together, they were something else entirely.

  One afternoon during training, the Guardians paired up the older kids for a sparring match—Leander and Ella against Peter and Helena. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch. Even Hector looked up from his work in the forge.

  The moment the match started, the twins moved like they shared the same breath. Leander launched the first arrow in a perfect arc just as Ella darted forward, her body a streak of gold-lit motion. Peter tried to flank, sword in hand, but Leander’s second shot curved just enough to knock him off his angle, like he’d known exactly where Peter would step before Peter did.

  Ella ducked under Helena’s first strike, but Helena pivoted fast, flicking her wrist. A vine snaked out from her glove and tried to catch Ella’s ankle. Ella blasted a burst of concentrated light into the ground, forcing Helena to shield her eyes.

  Helena wasn’t down for long. She summoned two blooming thorn lashes from the surrounding vines and twirled them in synchronized rhythm. Peter joined her with fast, precise swordplay—every movement sharp and calculated, constantly adjusting to the twins’ unpredictable rhythm.

  But the twins never gave them a chance to settle.

  Leander dropped low behind Ella’s light burst, loosing three more arrows in rapid succession—one to intercept Helena’s vines, one to keep Peter back, and one that whistled just past Ella’s ear to strike the ground where Peter would’ve landed had he advanced.

  Ella spun through the battlefield like sunlight in motion, her daggers flashing as she pressed both opponents. Her steps were fire, Leander’s were ice—steady, deliberate, always in sync.

  No words. No signals. Just instinct.

  They spun and struck like dancers, always one step ahead. Leander’s calm precision balanced Ella’s fiery speed. When one of them overcommitted, the other was already there.

  I sat on the edge of the training yard, wide-eyed and silent. It wasn’t just that they were good—it was that they were better together.

  When the match ended, Helena was winded, Peter had a cut on his sleeve, and all four of them were grinning. Even they couldn’t deny it—no one could touch the twins that day.

  That was the day I stopped thinking of the twins as two people.

  And started thinking of them as one heartbeat in two bodies.

  They made each other stronger just by being there. And even now—after all this time—I still feel safer when I know they’re together.

  We didn’t move at first. Just stood there, breathing hard, surrounded by ash and silence—until one of us let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh.

  Then Damian broke it.

  “So,” he said, dragging a sleeve across his forehead. “Remind me never to drop you two in the middle of a desert again.”

  Bay raised an eyebrow. “Why? Because we still kicked ass even without our elements?”

  “Sure, if by ‘kicked ass’ you mean almost collapsed in the dirt. You and Helena looked like dehydrated tumbleweeds out there.”

  Bay punched him—light, but solid enough to make him grunt.

  “I missed you too,” she said, grinning.

  Suddenly we were running toward each other. There were hugs—tight ones, the kind that lifted people off the ground. There were grins and wide eyes and overwhelmed, half-laughing exclamations of, “You’re taller!” and “I can’t believe it’s really you!”

  Damian nearly tackled Phoenix in a hug, then spun around and grabbed Bay and Helena into one chaotic, clumsy group embrace. Bay pretended to shove him off—then laughed and pulled him right back in.

  We laughed. Loud, full, and messy. The kind that came from relief and recognition and the impossible joy of being whole again.

  Hector and Helena met near the edge of the group, both of them bruised and quiet. He gave her a small nod, eyes soft beneath the weight of his silence. She smiled back—just a little—and that was enough. They didn’t need words.

  Peter and Nix exchanged a brief glance that held more than words could say. He moved closer, brushing dust off her shoulder. “Glad you’re okay,” he said. Nix gave a subtle nod and replied, “You too.” The corner of her mouth lifted—not quite a smile, but close.

  Xandor stepped up beside me and slid an arm around my shoulders. His voice was low, just for me. “You made this happen.”

  I looked up at him, warmth blooming in my chest. Before I could say anything, he squeezed my shoulder and moved into the group, letting the others swallow him up in noise and laughter.

  And I realized just how long it had been since I felt this way.

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  Whole.

  We were dirty. Bloody. Worn out and stitched together with stubbornness and old memories. But we were here. Eight of the twelve.

  I looked around at the circle of familiar faces—eight pieces of something that had once been shattered.

  And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t scared of what came next.

  I was surrounded by my friends.

  And we were just getting started.

  We began gathering our things—bags we’d dropped mid-battle, packs kicked aside in the dirt. Dust and monster ash clung to everything.

  Hector knelt beside a battered duffel and pulled it open. The heavy canvas groaned under the weight. He looked up at the girls and said simply, “I’ve got something for each of you.”

  The boys turned toward him instantly, curiosity sparking.

  “Wait,” Damian said, eyes wide with mock outrage. “You give them custom weapons after the fight?”

  Bay raised an eyebrow. “You made weapons for us?”

  I looked at Hector, surprised. “All of us?”

  He gave a single, quiet nod.

  Xandor stepped forward, flipping his staff open with a flick of his wrist. Wind whispered through the metal.

  “He made this for me,” Xandor said, the pride barely hidden in his voice. “Perfect balance. It listens to the wind.”

  Damian crossed his arms, smirking as he twirled one of his twin swords with a flourish. “Okay, now I want to see what the rest of you get. This better be good.”

  Hector reached into the bag and pulled out the first weapon: a long, sleek staff with three retractable prongs at one end. He held it out to Bay.

  “Collapsible trident,” he said. “Lightweight, balanced for spin or thrust. Folds down to fit your back harness. It won’t replace the ocean—but it’ll remind you how much damage you can still do without it.”

  Bay took it, her eyes wide. She flicked her wrist and the trident extended with a satisfying click. She spun it once, fast and fluid, before grinning. “Okay… yeah. I love it.”

  Next came a black-handled weapon wrapped in soft cloth. Hector unwrapped it slowly, revealing a short sickle chained to a dagger-hilt weight. He handed it to Nix.

  “Chain sickle,” he said. “For when the skeletons aren’t enough. Range, control, precision. The chain links are tempered to match your strength. You’ll feel when it catches something.”

  Nix weighed it in her hand, tested the swing. She gave him a slow, rare nod. “Perfect.”

  Then he pulled a narrow case from the bottom of the bag and passed it to me. I flipped it open.

  Inside were twelve curved daggers—each small, gold, and feather-light, etched with starbursts along the hilts.

  “Throwers,” Hector said. “Curved to fly true from any angle. I figured you’d want precision over weight. They’re made for flight—just like you.”

  I picked one up, held it in my palm. It hummed against my skin.

  “They’re beautiful,” I said softly. Then I reached forward and hugged him—quick and tight. “Thank you.”

  Hector cleared his throat, not quite meeting my eyes, and reached for the final weapon.

  He turned to Helena and unwrapped two slim rings of etched steel: her chakrams.

  “Light, fast, and versatile,” he said. “They’ll return to you with the right spin.”

  Helena took them, awe on her face. She gave them a short toss, and they spun in the air like silver leaves.

  “They’re perfect,” she whispered.

  Hector just nodded.

  And for a moment, none of us said anything.

  Because we all knew—he’d made these for us long before this day.

  And somehow, they were exactly what we needed.

  Laughter broke the quiet again as the girls began testing their weapons. Bay twirled her trident with new energy, spinning it in quick, graceful sweeps that kicked up dust. Nix moved through a short pattern with her chain sickle, each movement controlled and deliberate. I took a few steps back and let two of my daggers fly—watching them arc perfectly into a half-burned stump. Helena practiced with her chakrams at the edge of the group, the silver rings slicing the air before returning to her hands.

  For a few moments, it felt like we were just kids again. Like the world hadn’t fallen apart.

  I lingered near the edge of the group for a moment, watching them—all of them. The way Nix’s eyes lit up in her own quiet way. The way Bay laughed again, bold and unguarded. The way Helena spun her chakrams with the calm ease of someone who finally had a piece of herself back.

  And the boys—gods, the boys. Damian was practically vibrating with excitement as he darted between us, Xandor stood off to the side with that thoughtful, silent intensity, and Hector—solid, dependable Hector—was already checking over our packs like we hadn’t just fought through a nightmare.

  I hadn’t realized how empty the world had felt without them.

  A warmth pressed into my chest, thick and aching. For the first time in years, I wasn’t just holding the line. I wasn’t just surviving. I was part of something again.

  Then Peter’s voice cut through, clear and steady.

  “We’re not done yet,” he said. “We still need to reach the twins.”

  The mood sobered, but no one protested.

  Xandor stepped to the front of the group. The stars were out, bright and sharp above the flat Texas land.

  “They’re east of here,” he said, eyes scanning the sky. “Not far now. I can guide us straight to them.”

  We fell into step behind him without a word, the eight of us stretching into motion like a single breath held too long and finally released. My wings tucked at my back, the night air cool against my skin.

  The mood stayed light as we walked. Damian told stories—half true, half ridiculous—and Bay kept trying to trip him with her new trident just to shut him up. Helena rolled her eyes but kept smiling, her chakrams swinging at her sides. Nix stayed quiet, but even she didn’t seem quite so distant anymore.

  I watched them all as we moved. Laughter rose and fell around me. Conversations overlapped. Hands brushed, eyes met, smiles grew. It wasn’t just relief anymore—it was something deeper. Familiar.

  Home.

  We were walking through the middle of nowhere, dried grass crackling beneath our boots, shadows stretching long around us. And somehow, I felt more grounded than I had in years.

  I glanced at Xandor leading us, his back straight, the stars reflecting faintly in his silver eyes. His skin glowed subtly in the dark, starlight wrapped around him like a quiet shield.

  He didn’t look back, but I could feel his focus. Steady. Sure.

  We were close now.

  We continued walking, talking, laughing—letting the joy of reunion carry us forward. The chatter never stopped. Small things, big memories, old stories, new weapons. It was noisy and bright and exactly what we’d all needed.

  Then Xandor lifted his hand, pointing toward the dark horizon. “We’re only about a mile away,” he said, voice soft but certain.

  I looked ahead.

  A ranch-style house stood in the distance, glowing faintly with porch lights. The windows were lit. It was waiting.

  I closed my eyes and reached out with my mind, skimming the surface of the quiet around me until I felt it—two familiar sparks.

  Leander. Ella.

  We’re almost there.

  The joy that answered me was instant. Pure. It rolled through me like a breeze on a summer night.

  I smiled.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said, my voice light.

  Without waiting, I stepped away and unfurled my wings. The wind lifted me before my feet even left the ground.

  I soared ahead, cutting through the quiet sky like it belonged to me.

  The house grew larger in my vision. And there, on the porch—

  Leander.

  Ella.

  Waiting for us.

  Waiting for home.