The Sanctum City Emergency Shelter at Junction Square had been designed to accommodate hundreds of dispced civilians during Breach events. Its reinforced structure, magical containment barriers, and dedicated support staff made it one of the safest locations in the city during dimensional incursions. But nothing in its practical design or efficient organization could soften the fundamental reality of the space—it was a pce of temporary refuge for people whose lives had been violently disrupted.

  Eris had visited such shelters countless times in her capacity as a Syer. She had escorted civilians to safety, had coordinated with shelter staff, had performed security assessments and parameter checks. But she had never entered one with the weight she now carried—the knowledge of what she would have to tell a four-year-old boy, and how completely that information would transform both their lives.

  As she presented her Syer credentials at the security checkpoint, her enhanced senses cataloged the environment automatically—the controlled chaos of processing stations, the subdued conversations of dispced residents, the occasional cry of an overtired child or comforting murmur of a parent. Normal sounds of human anxiety and resilience in the face of crisis.

  "I'm here for Marcus Taylor," she informed the intake coordinator, her voice steady despite the emotional turbulence beneath her professional exterior. "His parents were David and Emma Taylor."

  The coordinator checked her database, expression shifting subtly as she accessed relevant information. "Yes, Syer Kane. We have him registered. He's in the children's area, Blue Section." She hesitated, gncing at her screen again. "I see the father is confirmed deceased, and the mother..." Another pause. "Our system just updated with the notification from Sanctum General. I'm sorry."

  Eris nodded, absorbing the coordinator's sympathy without response. "I have documented authorization for guardianship transfer," she said, transferring the relevant files from her Syer communication device to the shelter's system. "Recorded consent from Emma Taylor before her death, to be followed by formal adoption procedures."

  If the coordinator was surprised by this information—by the idea of the notoriously reserved Syer Kane assuming guardianship of a suddenly orphaned child—she maintained professional composure. "I'll process this immediately. It will require verification from Central Services, but given the circumstances and your Syer status, emergency provisional guardianship can be granted tonight."

  "Thank you," Eris said, her attention already shifting toward the children's area, her enhanced senses seeking the specific energy signature she had come to recognize as uniquely Marcus—that particur combination of vibrant curiosity and irrepressible spirit that somehow radiated from his small form.

  She found him sitting slightly apart from the other children, clutching his shadow beast toy to his chest, his usual enthusiasm subdued as he watched the emergency shelter staff organize activities intended to distract their young charges from the crisis outside. He wasn't participating, his gaze repeatedly shifting to the entrance area, clearly watching for familiar faces to appear.

  Waiting for his parents. Waiting for her.

  For a moment, Eris stood frozen, the magnitude of what she was about to do—what she was about to become—striking her with physical force. She had faced dimensional monsters without hesitation, had confronted threats that would paralyze ordinary humans with fear. Yet somehow, the prospect of this conversation with a four-year-old boy seemed more daunting than any Breach event she had ever encountered.

  Before she could move forward, a shelter staff member approached Marcus, kneeling to his level. Eris's enhanced hearing picked up their conversation despite the ambient noise of the crowded facility.

  "Marcus? Would you like to join the other children for a story? It might help pass the time while you wait."

  Marcus shook his head, clutching his toy closer. "No, thank you. I'm waiting for my mama and daddy. Or for Ms. Monster Fighter. She promised to come back."

  "Ms. Monster Fighter?" the staff member repeated, confusion evident in her tone.

  "She's a Syer," Marcus expined with the patient air of someone educating an uninformed adult. "She lives in our building. She found me when the monsters came and took me to safety. She promised to come back."

  "I see," the staff member said, clearly trying to be gentle while managing what she assumed were a child's unlikely expectations. "Well, many Syers are very busy right now, dealing with the emergency. Maybe—"

  "She promised," Marcus interrupted, absolute certainty in his voice. "And she never breaks promises. Not ever."

  The unwavering faith in his decration cut through Eris's momentary paralysis. This child—this boy who had somehow breached her defenses long before she acknowledged it—believed in her with a conviction that demanded response. She would not, could not, fail that trust.

  She moved forward, the shelter's occupants instinctively parting before her Syer uniform and the subtle energy that emanated from her Battle Mage cssification. As she approached the children's area, Marcus looked up, his entire being transforming in an instant from patient waiting to explosive joy.

  "Ms. Monster Fighter!" he cried, unching himself from his chair and racing toward her with the unreserved enthusiasm that characterized all their interactions. "You came back! Just like you promised!"

  Eris knelt to receive his headlong rush, his small arms wrapping around her neck with familiar confidence. For a moment, she simply held him, allowing herself to acknowledge the relief of finding him physically unharmed amid the chaos that had cimed his parents.

  "I told you I would," she said quietly, her usual reserve softening in ways that would have astonished her colleagues had they witnessed it.

  Marcus pulled back slightly, studying her face with the direct, unfiltered assessment unique to children. "You look sad," he decred. "Did the monsters hurt you?"

  The question—so innocent, so perceptive, so fundamentally inadequate to the reality she must now communicate—created a constriction in Eris's throat that she forced herself to push through.

  "No, I'm not hurt," she assured him. "But I need to talk with you about something very important. Somewhere a little quieter."

  She gnced at the staff member, who nodded understanding and directed them toward a small side room designed for exactly this purpose—for private conversations with children during crisis situations. For delivering news that would permanently alter young lives.

  Marcus allowed himself to be guided to the quiet room, still clutching his shadow beast toy in one hand and holding Eris's hand with the other. As they entered the simplified space—small chairs, soft lighting, muted colors designed to be calming—he looked up at her with renewed concern.

  "Is it about Mama and Daddy? Are they hurt?"

  Eris took a deep breath, centering herself as she would before a crucial mission. Then she sat in one of the small chairs, bringing herself to Marcus's eye level, and took both his hands in hers.

  "Marcus," she began, her voice gentle but direct, maintaining the honesty she had always shown him, "there was a very serious monster attack today. Your father was protecting some people who were in danger, and he was very brave. But the monster was too strong, and your father was hurt very badly."

  Marcus's eyes widened, his small fingers tightening around hers. "Did you save him? Like you saved me?"

  The question pierced Eris with its hopeful simplicity. "No," she said softly. "I couldn't save him. I tried, but I couldn't reach him in time. He died protecting others from the monster."

  Marcus stared at her, processing this information with the limited framework of a four-year-old's understanding of death. "Died? Like Ms. Patricia's fish at the daycare? When it stopped swimming and didn't wake up?"

  "Yes," Eris confirmed, maintaining eye contact despite the difficulty. "Like that, but different because your daddy was a person, not a fish. He won't be coming back."

  Tears welled in Marcus's eyes, but confusion dominated his expression rather than full comprehension. "But Mama will come back? She went to find Daddy, but she'll come back now?"

  This was the harder part, the cruelty of taking not just one parent but both in a single devastating event. Eris steadied herself, knowing that complete honesty, however painful, would serve him better than comforting falsehoods.

  "Your mother was very brave too," she said carefully. "She found a little girl who was alone and scared during the monster attack, and she protected that little girl the way she always protected you. But she was hurt very badly too."

  Understanding began to dawn in Marcus's expression, tears spilling onto his cheeks. "Is Mama... did Mama die too?"

  Eris nodded, her own throat tight with an emotion she had not allowed herself to fully experience in years. "Yes. I was with her at the hospital. The doctors tried very hard to help her, but her injuries were too severe."

  A sob escaped Marcus, the reality beginning to penetrate despite his young age. "But—but who will take care of me? Where will I go?"

  This was the moment—the transition from delivering devastating news to offering what comfort she could, what future she had committed to providing.

  "Your mother asked me to take care of you," Eris said, her voice steady despite the enormity of the statement. "She wanted to make sure you would be safe and loved. And I promised her that I would do that."

  Marcus blinked through his tears, processing this new information through his grief. "You? I would stay with you?"

  "Yes," Eris confirmed. "You would live with me, in my apartment. I would take care of you, make sure you have everything you need."

  "Forever?" Marcus asked, the concept of permanence suddenly crucial in a world where everything stable had just been ripped away.

  "Forever," Eris assured him. "It's called adoption. It means I would become legally responsible for you, officially your guardian."

  Marcus considered this, his small face working through complex emotions no four-year-old should have to navigate. Then, with the directness that had characterized their retionship from the beginning, he asked the question that would reshape Eris's identity more fundamentally than any other moment in her adult life:

  "Then are you my new mommy now?"

  The question hit Eris with unexpected force—not because she hadn't anticipated it on some level, but because hearing it spoken in Marcus's trembling voice, seeing the desperate hope in his tear-filled eyes, made the abstract concept suddenly, viscerally real.

  For a moment, she couldn't speak. Every wall she had built, every defense she had maintained, every careful distance she had established over years of deliberate isotion seemed to dissolve in the face of this simple, devastating question.

  And then, for the first time since she was a child herself, Eris Kane began to cry.

  Not the controlled release of necessary physiological tension she sometimes permitted herself after particurly difficult missions. Not the momentary watering of eyes from physical strain or environmental irritants. But true tears—hot and unrestrained, breaking free from some deep, locked pce within her that had been sealed for so long she had forgotten it existed.

  Marcus stared at her in astonishment, never having seen his stoic "Monster Fighter" dispy such raw emotion. Then, with the intuitive compassion that had marked him from their first interaction, he stepped forward and wrapped his small arms around her, offering comfort even amid his own devastating loss.

  "It's okay," he said, patting her back with a child's awkward gentleness. "Don't be sad. I won't call you Mommy if you don't want me to."

  His innocent attempt at comfort, his willingness to accommodate what he perceived as her preference even while processing his own grief, broke something fundamental in Eris's carefully constructed emotional architecture. She pulled him closer, holding him with a protective fierceness that surprised even herself.

  "I will be whatever you want me to be," she whispered against his hair, the words emerging from somepce beyond conscious thought or careful consideration. "If you want me to be your new mommy, I'll be your mommy. If you want me to be Ms. Monster Fighter, I'll be that. If you need something else entirely, I'll be that too."

  She drew back slightly, meeting his tear-streaked face with her own. "What matters is that we're together now. That you're not alone. That I'll take care of you and protect you and—" She paused, the word still unfamiliar on her tongue despite the reality it had described for longer than she had been willing to acknowledge. "—and love you. For as long as you need me to."

  Marcus studied her with the solemn intensity only children can achieve in moments of profound significance. "I think," he said carefully, "that I still want to remember my first Mama and Daddy. But maybe you could be..." He paused, searching for the right concept with his limited vocabury. "Maybe you could be my Eris-mama. Like how I have a home-teacher and a school-teacher, but they're both teachers."

  The suggestion—so practical, so compassionate, so perfectly aligned with his need to both honor his lost parents and secure his new retionship—struck Eris as wiser than anything she could have proposed herself.

  "Eris-mama," she repeated, testing the term. "I think that's perfect."

  Marcus nodded, apparently satisfied with this solution to the immediate nomencture problem. But then his expression clouded again, fresh tears welling. "I miss them already," he whispered. "My heart hurts."

  "I know," Eris said softly, drawing him close again. "Mine does too. And it's okay to feel that hurt. It's okay to cry. It's okay to miss them."

  "Will the hurt ever go away?" he asked, the question muffled against her shoulder.

  Eris considered her response carefully, mindful of the honesty she had always maintained with him. "Not completely," she admitted. "But it will change over time. It won't always hurt this sharply. And you'll find ways to carry your love for them that don't hurt as much."

  They sat together in the quiet room for some time after that, Eris holding Marcus as he cycled through waves of grief—moments of heart-wrenching sobs followed by brief periods of exhausted calm, questions about what would happen next interspersed with memories of his parents that triggered fresh tears.

  Throughout it all, Eris maintained a physical and emotional presence she would have believed impossible just a year earlier. She answered his questions honestly but gently. She held him when he needed holding. She gave him space when he pulled back. She validated his feelings without trying to minimize or distract from them.

  And somewhere in that process—in that raw, painful, necessary navigation of a child's first encounter with devastating loss—something shifted within her. A realization that the walls she had built to protect herself had not, in fact, been protection at all. They had been a prison of her own construction, keeping out not just pain but the full spectrum of human connection.

  Now, holding this grieving child who had somehow recognized something in her worth connecting with long before she had acknowledged it herself, Eris understood that true strength wasn't found in isotion. It was found in the courage to remain open despite knowing that connection inevitably brought vulnerability. That love inevitably brought the risk of loss.

  Eventually, a shelter staff member knocked softly on the door, informing them that the emergency guardianship paperwork had been processed. Eris was now legally authorized to take Marcus home—to begin the practical aspects of their new life together amid the emotional complexities they had only started to navigate.

  As they prepared to leave, gathering the few possessions Marcus had with him at the shelter, he looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes that somehow managed to contain both devastating grief and the resilient hope unique to children.

  "Eris-mama?" he said, testing the new title. "When we go home, can we go to your home? I don't think I want to go to my old home tonight."

  "Yes," she replied, understanding instinctively his need to avoid the space so intimately associated with his parents. "We'll go to my apartment. And tomorrow, we can talk about how to make it our home together."

  Marcus nodded, slipping his small hand into hers with the trust that still humbled her. "Will you tell me a story tonight? Mama always told me a story before bed."

  "I will," Eris promised, leading him toward the shelter exit. "Any story you want."

  "Can it be about a brave monster fighter?" he asked, a ghost of his usual enthusiasm flickering beneath the grief. "One who becomes an Eris-mama?"

  Something that might have been a smile in another context, in a moment less shadowed by loss, touched Eris's lips. "I think I know just the one," she said quietly.

  As they stepped out of the shelter into the rain-washed evening, the convergence event contained but its effects still evident in the damaged buildings and emergency response vehicles that dotted the city ndscape, Eris felt the weight of the commitment she had made settle around her shoulders. Not as a burden, though the responsibility was enormous. But as a mantle willingly assumed, a purpose that aligned with something essential in her that had long been denied expression.

  She did not know if she would succeed in this unexpected role. Did not know if years of emotional isotion could be overcome through sheer determination and the fierce protectiveness she felt for the child whose hand now csped hers. Did not know if the skills that had made her an exceptional Syer would transte to the entirely different requirements of parenthood.

  But as Marcus looked up at her through his grief with unwavering trust—the same trust he had shown when slipping drawings under her door, when decring her his hero, when believing absolutely in her promise to return for him—Eris knew one thing with certainty: she would try. With everything she had, with everything she was, she would try.

  And perhaps, in that trying, she might discover parts of herself long buried beneath the walls she had built. Parts that had been waiting for exactly this moment, this child, this opportunity to finally emerge into the light.

  The practical aspects of assuming guardianship of a suddenly orphaned child proved both more complicated and more straightforward than Eris had anticipated.

  More complicated because the bureaucratic systems involved were byrinthine, the documentation requirements extensive, the verification processes time-consuming even with her Syer status expediting certain procedures. The legal transition from emergency guardianship to formal adoption involved multiple agencies, each with their own protocols and requirements.

  More straightforward because Eris approached these challenges with the same methodical efficiency she applied to mission pnning—identifying objectives, allocating resources, establishing timelines, executing required actions with precision. Her Battle Mage abilities, with their emphasis on enhancement and adaptation, served her well in navigating the overwhelming array of tasks suddenly demanded of her.

  Within the first week, she had established a temporary living arrangement in her apartment—converting her minimalist guest room into a space suitable for a four-year-old boy. Marcus had been hesitant at first about selecting items for his new room, the process complicated by grief that emerged in unpredictable waves. But gradually, with gentle encouragement, he had begun to express preferences—a bed with space-themed covers, a small desk for drawing, a nightlight that projected stars onto the ceiling.

  They had visited his former apartment only once during that first week, a difficult but necessary expedition to collect essential possessions and meaningful keepsakes. Eris had prepared thoroughly for the visit, consulting with grief counselors about how to support a child returning to a space associated with lost parents. But all the professional advice in the world couldn't fully prepare either of them for the emotional reality of that visit—Marcus alternating between silent tears and frantic collection of items that connected him to his parents, Eris maintaining a steady presence while managing her own unexpected grief for the family that had, however briefly, begun to include her.

  By the end of the second week, they had established the beginnings of a routine—structured enough to provide stability but flexible enough to accommodate the unpredictable nature of both Marcus's grief process and Eris's professional obligations. The Syer Association had granted her temporary administrative duty status, allowing her to maintain regur hours while the initial transition unfolded. Her superior officers, whatever their private thoughts about her unexpected shift to parenthood, had been professionally supportive, recognizing both the humanitarian aspects of her decision and the practical reality that Battle Mages of her caliber were too valuable to lose over scheduling complications.

  Throughout it all, Marcus had dispyed a resilience that both impressed and concerned Eris. He grieved openly—crying for his parents at unexpected moments, asking questions about death that no four-year-old should have to contempte, sometimes retreating into uncharacteristic silence or clinging to her with desperate intensity. But he also adapted with surprising flexibility to his new living situation, seemed genuinely comforted by Eris's presence, and occasionally even managed moments of his usual enthusiasm, particurly when engaged in drawing or when Eris shared carefully edited stories of her Syer missions.

  On the morning marking three weeks since the convergence event that had cimed his parents, Eris awoke to find Marcus standing beside her bed, shadow beast toy clutched to his chest, tears silently tracking down his cheeks.

  "I had a dream about Mama and Daddy," he whispered when she opened her eyes. "They were fighting monsters together, like you do. But then they couldn't find me. They kept calling my name, but I couldn't answer."

  Without hesitation, Eris lifted the covers in silent invitation. Marcus climbed in beside her, his small body curling against hers with the trust that still humbled her. They y in silence for several minutes, Eris gently stroking his hair as his quiet tears gradually subsided.

  "I think," she said carefully, "that dreams like that happen because our minds are trying to understand big, difficult feelings. Your heart misses your parents very much, and sometimes that feeling comes out in dreams."

  Marcus considered this, his brow furrowed in the expression of intense concentration she had come to recognize. "Do you think they're looking for me? From heaven or wherever people go?"

  The question touched on territory Eris had little personal framework for navigating. Her own spiritual beliefs were undefined at best, shaped more by practical experience with interdimensional entities than by traditional religious concepts. But she recognized the importance of the question to a child struggling to locate his lost parents in some conceptual framework that allowed for continued connection.

  "I think," she answered slowly, "that the love they had for you doesn't just disappear. It's still here, in your memories of them, in the ways they taught you to be kind and brave, in the stories you remember them telling. And if there is a pce people go after they die, I'm certain they would still love you from there."

  Marcus absorbed this, his expression suggesting he found some comfort in the concept. "Eris-mama?" he asked after a moment. "Will you tell me the story about the time you fought the water monster in the big ke? Daddy really liked that one when you told it at dinner that time."

  The request—connecting a memory of his father with their current retionship—created a tightness in Eris's throat. "Of course," she agreed. "But first, I think we need breakfast. Monster fighters and Eris-mamas both need proper fuel before storytelling."

  Marcus nodded, his solemn expression lightening fractionally. "Can we have pancakes? With blueberries inside them?"

  "We can," Eris confirmed, grateful for the shift toward routine normality. "And you can help mix the batter."

  As they moved through their morning routine—making pancakes together, Marcus insisting on arranging the blueberries in patterns before Eris cooked each one, both of them careful to "save some for Alexander" (the shadow beast toy who had become Marcus's constant companion)—Eris found herself reflecting on the transformation of her living space. What had once been a spartan, utilitarian apartment had gradually accumuted evidence of a child's presence—drawings taped to walls, small shoes by the door, toys emerging in unexpected locations, breakfast including conversations about whether shadow beasts preferred maple syrup or honey.

  The changes extended beyond the physical environment. Eris had become acutely aware of adjustments in her own behavior, her own patterns of thought. She found herself considering the emotional impact of her words more carefully, moduting her naturally direct communication style to accommodate a child's understanding. She became conscious of her physical posture, of how her height and Syer presence might appear from a four-year-old's perspective. Most significantly, she observed herself accessing emotional registers she had long kept carefully sealed—allowing herself to express affection, concern, even joy in ways that would have been unthinkable a year earlier.

  That afternoon, when Marcus had finally settled for his nap (a process that still involved reading exactly three stories and checking the closet for "real monsters, not the nice kind like Alexander"), Eris received an unexpected communication from Syer Command—a request for a private meeting with High Commander Reeves, the most senior Battle Mage in the Sanctum City division and her direct superior.

  She arranged for Marcus to spend the meeting time with his grief counselor, a kind but no-nonsense woman who had established good rapport with both of them, then presented herself at Command headquarters precisely at the appointed time.

  High Commander Isabel Reeves was a formidable presence even by Syer standards—a towering figure with silver-streaked dark hair and the distinctive silver-flecked eyes common to high-level Battle Mages. At sixty-two, she had accumuted more field experience than any other active Syer, her reputation for both tactical brilliance and unwavering ethical standards making her as respected as she was intimidating.

  "Kane," she acknowledged as Eris entered her office. "Thank you for meeting on short notice. Please, sit."

  Eris complied, maintaining professional composure despite her internal curiosity about the purpose of this unexpected summons. Three weeks of administrative duty was not unusual following a major convergence event, but a private meeting with the High Commander suggested something beyond routine reassignment was at hand.

  "How is the boy?" Reeves asked, surprising Eris with the personal nature of the opening question.

  "Adjusting as well as can be expected, given the circumstances," Eris replied after a moment's consideration. "The grief process is unpredictable, especially at his age, but he's demonstrating remarkable resilience."

  Reeves nodded, studying Eris with the penetrating gaze that had made generations of Syer trainees stand straighter. "And you? How are you adjusting to your new... role?"

  The question was delivered with professional neutrality, but Eris detected genuine curiosity beneath the inquiry. Her sudden transition from notoriously isoted Syer to guardian of an orphaned child had undoubtedly generated significant discussion within Command structures.

  "It's challenging," Eris admitted, maintaining her customary honesty. "But manageable. I'm developing systems to bance responsibilities effectively."

  A fleeting smile touched Reeves's stern features. "Systems. Of course you are." She leaned forward slightly. "Kane, I didn't summon you to discuss your personal arrangements, though I admit to professional interest in how one of my most promising Battle Mages is adapting to such a significant life change."

  "Understood, Commander," Eris acknowledged, shifting her posture subtly to indicate readiness for the meeting's actual purpose.

  "The real reason for this meeting concerns your performance during the convergence event," Reeves continued, her expression growing more serious. "Specifically, the power surge you manifested when protecting the Taylor child from multiple D-rank entities."

  Eris had anticipated this discussion. The level of Battle Mage energy she had dispyed during that confrontation had exceeded normal parameters for her rank cssification—a fact that would have been documented in multiple after-action reports and energy monitoring systems.

  "The situation required maximum output," she stated simply. "The threat level to a vulnerable civilian justified extraordinary measures."

  "'Extraordinary' is putting it mildly," Reeves countered, activating a holographic dispy on her desk. Energy signature readings appeared in the air between them—Eris's Battle Mage output during the critical moments of the convergence event, compared to standardized metrics for various rank cssifications. "You temporarily manifested power levels consistent with A-rank capabilities. Significantly beyond your B-rank cssification."

  Eris studied the data without comment, recognizing its accuracy. She had felt the unprecedented surge during the event, had known she was channeling energy beyond her previous capacity.

  "This isn't merely academic interest," Reeves continued. "Battle Mage cssifications exist for good reason—they help us predict energy requirements, manage burnout risks, allocate appropriate assignments. When a Syer suddenly accesses capabilities significantly beyond their established cssification, we need to understand why."

  "The circumstances were unique," Eris offered, uncertain herself of the full expnation. "The immediate threat to a child with whom I had established... connection... may have triggered enhanced access to tent abilities."

  Reeves regarded her thoughtfully. "Emotional catalyst for power manifestation. Not unprecedented, but rarely documented with such clear metrics." She deactivated the holographic dispy. "The Science Division has requested you participate in controlled testing to better understand this phenomenon."

  Eris tensed slightly. "Testing that would require separation from Marcus?"

  "That was their initial proposal," Reeves acknowledged. "However, I've reviewed their protocols and authorized a modified approach. Any testing will be conducted here in Sanctum City, scheduled around your guardianship responsibilities, with no extended separation required."

  Relief flickered briefly across Eris's features before she could suppress it. "Thank you, Commander."

  "Don't thank me yet," Reeves warned. "There's more. Based on the convergence event data and your overall performance record, I'm recommending you for advancement to A-rank cssification. This would normally require a formal assessment period, but given the empirical evidence already collected, we can expedite the process."

  Eris absorbed this unexpected development with careful neutrality. Rank advancement was professionally significant, bringing increased responsibilities, resource access, and mission flexibility. Under normal circumstances, it would be an unequivocal professional achievement.

  But her circumstances were no longer normal.

  "A-rank status would involve deployment to more severe Breach events," she noted. "High-risk missions with unpredictable durations."

  "Correct," Reeves confirmed. "Which brings me to the final matter. Your guardianship situation presents unique logistical challenges for Syer deployment. Challenges that have never been addressed in our operational framework."

  "I understand," Eris said carefully. "If the requirements of A-rank service are incompatible with my guardianship responsibilities, I am prepared to maintain B-rank cssification or accept alternative assignment options."

  The statement—a willingness to limit her professional advancement for the sake of her commitment to Marcus—emerged without hesitation or regret. A year ago, such a choice would have been unthinkable to her. Now, it seemed the only possible position.

  Reeves studied her with renewed intensity. "You would decline advancement? After working toward it for years?"

  "My commitment to Marcus takes precedence," Eris stated simply. "I will not accept assignments that require extended separation or present unacceptable risk profiles, regardless of rank cssification."

  A long moment of silence followed this decration. Then, to Eris's surprise, Reeves smiled—a genuine expression that transformed her usually stern features.

  "Exactly the response I expected," she said, satisfaction evident in her tone. "Which is why I've already approved a specialized deployment protocol for your situation. A-rank cssification with modified mission parameters, prioritizing Breach events that allow for regur return to home base, with emergency coverage systems for unprecedented situations."

  Eris blinked, momentarily disconcerted by this unexpected solution. "Such accommodations aren't standard procedure."

  "Neither is a Battle Mage adopting an orphaned child," Reeves pointed out dryly. "Kane, contrary to what many believe, the Syer Association isn't interested in forcing our operatives to choose between service and personal commitments. Particurly not when those commitments clearly enhance rather than detract from their capabilities."

  She gestured toward where the energy readings had been dispyed. "Whatever connection you've formed with this child didn't compromise your effectiveness—it amplified it. That makes supporting this arrangement not just humanitarianly sound but tactically advantageous."

  Eris absorbed this pragmatic framing of what she had assumed would be viewed as a professional complication. "Thank you, Commander. I appreciate your flexibility."

  "Don't misunderstand," Reeves cautioned. "This will still be challenging. You'll be pioneering protocols that may eventually benefit other Syers with family responsibilities, but the integration won't always be smooth. There will be difficult choices, compromises, moments where neither role—Syer nor guardian—receives your full attention."

  "I'm aware," Eris acknowledged. "But the alternative—not fulfilling either commitment completely—is unacceptable."

  Reeves nodded, apparently satisfied with this response. "The formal advancement process will begin next week. In the meantime, continue your administrative duties and work with Division Support to design appropriate coverage protocols for your unique situation."

  As the meeting concluded and Eris prepared to depart, Reeves added one final comment that suggested her understanding went beyond professional assessment.

  "The boy is fortunate," she said quietly. "Not many would make the choice you've made, particurly not someone who has worked so hard to avoid precisely such connections."

  Eris paused at the door, considering her response. "I'm not certain fortune enters into it," she replied finally. "He chose me long before I recognized the significance of that choice. I'm simply honoring what already existed."

  With that surprisingly personal admission, she departed, returning to the Syer Science Division to complete required documentation before retrieving Marcus from his counseling session. The boy greeted her with his customary enthusiasm, unching into a detailed expnation of the "feelings drawing" he had created during therapy—a complex collection of colors and shapes that somehow managed to convey exactly the tumultuous emotional ndscape a grieving four-year-old might experience.

  As they walked home together, Marcus's small hand csped securely in hers, his voice rising and falling with the cadence of childhood storytelling, Eris reflected on Commander Reeves's final observation. Was Marcus fortunate? The question seemed inadequate to the reality they were constructing together—not luck or chance, but deliberate choice on both their parts. His persistent belief in her capacity for connection. Her beted recognition of her need for exactly that.

  "And then," Marcus was saying, his free hand gesturing expressively, "Alexander told me that shadow beasts get sad sometimes too, but they can still be brave and strong. Just like me."

  "Alexander sounds very wise," Eris observed, navigating them through a crowded intersection with protective awareness.

  "He learned it from you," Marcus replied with absolute certainty. "You're the bravest, strongest person, even when you're sad. That's why you're a good Eris-mama."

  The simple decration—delivered with a child's unfiltered honesty—created a warmth in Eris's chest that she was gradually learning to recognize as happiness. Not the temporary satisfaction of a mission completed or a skill mastered, but something deeper and more enduring. Something she had denied herself for so long that its reemergence felt both foreign and strangely familiar, like returning to a pce once known and long forgotten.

  "Thank you, Marcus," she said quietly. "I think you make me braver and stronger too."

  He beamed up at her, grief momentarily eclipsed by the simple joy of connection. "Can we have spaghetti for dinner? With meatballs? And can Alexander have his own pte?"

  "Yes to spaghetti with meatballs," Eris agreed, the negotiation now familiar territory. "Alexander can share your pte if he sits in his own chair."

  Marcus considered this compromise with exaggerated thoughtfulness before nodding agreement. "Deal. And maybe ice cream after? Since I was brave at therapy today?"

  "Maybe," Eris replied, the hint of a smile touching her features—a expression that, like so many other changes in her life, was gradually becoming less foreign, less carefully rationed. "We'll decide after dinner."

  As they continued toward home—their home, now, not just hers—Eris recognized that the path ahead would not be easy. Bancing Syer responsibilities with parenthood would present challenges she could not yet fully anticipate. Supporting Marcus through his grief while navigating her own emotional reawakening would require resources she was still developing.

  But for the first time in more years than she cared to count, she was not facing that path alone. And perhaps that, more than any Battle Mage ability or Syer rank, was the true power she had finally allowed herself to access.