Gwen stretched, letting out a small sigh as she stood up. "Alright, Nicholas, it's late. We've had enough late-night revelations for one evening. You should go to bed."
Nicholas opened his mouth to protest, but Gwen fixed him with a stern look, one eyebrow raised. "And if you ever think about sneaking around and bothering me at night again..." She tilted her head slightly, her expression darkening just enough to make her point crystal clear.
Nicholas froze, his stomach knotting. He wasn't sure what exactly she'd do, but the look in her eyes was enough to chill him to the bone. "I-I won't," he stammered, his confidence from earlier completely evaporating.
Gwen smirked faintly, amused at his reaction. "Good. Now get out of here before I make you regret it."
He didn't need to be told twice. Nicholas bolted up from the chair, mumbling something incoherent as he shuffled toward the door. His sister's quiet chuckle followed him as he stepped out into the hallway, his pulse still racing.
As he closed the door behind him, Nicholas shook his head, a faint smile creeping onto his face despite his nerves. "She's terrifying when she wants to be," he muttered to himself, heading back to his room.
Still, despite the fear, there was a small sense of relief. Tonight, for the first time in years, Gwen had finally opened up to him, even if she'd made it clear she wasn't going to tolerate his midnight snooping again.
--
Gwendolyn stirred as a small hand tugged insistently at her arm. A groggy groan escaped her lips as she cracked one eye open, the dim light filtering through the window.
"Esmond," she muttered, voice thick with sleep, "what time is it?"
"Morning," Esmond replied cheerfully, far too awake for this hour. "Get up, Gwen! I'm hungry!"
Gwendolyn rolled onto her back, blinking blearily at the ceiling. "You're always hungry, little monster," she grumbled. She rubbed her eyes and sat up slowly, her movements sluggish. Her body protested—she'd grown used to pushing herself as the Red Ranger, but some nights took their toll, and last night's conversation had drained her as much emotionally as physically.
She sighed, lamenting her inefficiency at keeping her secret under wraps. First Tsuyen, then Zhong, now Nicholas is halfway there… I'm terrible at this.
And yet, she couldn't deny the relief that had settled in her chest. A burden had been lifted, however slight. Keeping it all to herself—the battles, the weight of leadership, the late nights—had been crushing. Nicholas knowing something, even just a glimpse, made it feel less lonely.
Esmond hopped onto the bed unceremoniously, her smile wide, revealing the gap where her tooth had fallen out. Gwendolyn's gaze lingered there, and a small smirk tugged at her lips. "Losing teeth already, huh? You're probably going to lose your first set soon."
Esmond tilted her head curiously, poking at her teeth as if checking for any others.
"Don't worry," Gwen added playfully, ruffling Esmond's hair, "you've got another five or so years before you run out of teeth entirely."
As Esmond giggled, Gwendolyn's thoughts drifted, unbidden, to her own childhood. She had lost her front tooth twice. Once when it naturally fell out. The other… her lips curled into an amused grimace.
The accident.
Nicholas had been laughing so hard when she'd tripped and knocked her tooth out again, her cheeks burning as she stood there with a bloodied mouth. Their mother had not been pleased. The image of her mother's caramel face twisting in anger came back to her vividly, the sheer terror in Nicholas's eyes as she was scolded ringing clear even now.
He deserved it, she thought with a smile, though it was hard to deny that the memory had become funny in hindsight.
Her gaze softened as she sat on the edge of the bed, Esmond still wriggling around behind her. Gwen idly thought about how much they all resembled their mother—darker caramel skin, black hair, the same upturned nose. Even their smiles, though different in size, mirrored their mother's.
Nicholas had pointed it out once with a teasing edge: "You look just like mother if she were younger. Same honey-brown eyes. Same attitude. Same smile. It's scary."
Nicholas, though, had darker brown eyes and a button nose, their features only slightly diverging. And Esmond? Gwen glanced back at her youngest sibling. Esmond looked like Nicholas writ small—same face, just more squishable.
We look so similar, Gwen mused. It's sad when people who don't know us think we're not related.
She sighed again, shaking herself from her thoughts. Gwen tugged the satin scarf off her head, unraveling it to tend to her hair. She always slept with it to protect the dark strands, though it was beginning to come loose thanks to Esmond's earlier efforts.
She always wore it to bed to protect her hair, a habit instilled in her from as far back as she could remember by her mother. It was one of the few things she still did for herself amidst the chaos of being the Red Ranger. Her hair, long and dark, tumbled over her shoulders in soft waves.
The washbasin sat in the corner of the room, its water cool to the touch as she dipped her hands in. With care, she worked through the strands, gently detangling them with her fingers before wetting her hair at the roots. The rhythmic motion grounded her, each pass smoothing away the faint frizz and knots that had developed overnight.
She paused, running her hands through the dark mass once more, her reflection faint in the water. Her mother used to sit beside her, comb in hand, humming soft songs while carefully tending to Gwendolyn's hair. Those moments had felt so small and simple, yet now they were precious memories of a time when life was easier—when she was just Gwen, not the Red Ranger.
Her fingers lingered as she tucked a few loose strands behind her ears. Her thoughts drifted to her siblings. Nicholas, who constantly fought against the world's expectations, and Esmond, who still lived in that sweet, innocent space where losing a tooth was the day's biggest event.
How much longer can I protect them? she wondered.
Her reflection wavered as she shook off the thought. Gwendolyn picked up the wooden comb she kept nearby, its smooth teeth gliding through her hair. The tension in her scalp eased as she worked through the tangles methodically, humming a soft tune to herself, the same one her mother used to sing.
Once her hair was combed and smooth, she reached for a length of ribbon to tie it back. She pulled the strands into a firm bun at the crown of her head, tucking the ends neatly in place. It wasn't glamorous, but it was practical. A bun kept it out of her face when she worked at the forge—or when she fought monsters as the Red Ranger.
She turned slightly, checking her work in the small mirror propped up against the wall. It was her mother's mirror, old and faintly cracked at the edges, but still clear enough to show Gwen's face staring back. Black hair framed her upturned nose and honey-brown eyes, the same ones her mother had.
Gwen ran her fingers through her hair, unbothered by the frizz, and stood up. Patting her hair one last time to ensure the bun held firm. Gwen turned to the door and called out over her shoulder "Alright, little monster, go bother Nicholas. He's awake, I'm sure. Or he will be after you jump on him. I'm sure he'll love to see you."
Esmond grinned mischievously, already halfway to the door before Gwen finished speaking.
Gwen allowed herself a small chuckle as she dipped her hands into the cool water, splashing it against her face before wetting her hair. Bun today, she decided. It was efficient and kept it out of the way.
As she worked, carefully brushing and twisting her hair, another thought surfaced.
My birthday.
It was still a few months away, but she could feel it lingering on the horizon. She would be thirteen years old.
"Four years…" she whispered softly, her fingers pausing for just a moment.
Four years since their father passed away now.
She inhaled shakily as the familiar ache clawed its way into her chest. Her reflection in the washbasin rippled, and she blinked hard against the sting in her eyes. It's been four years, and it still sometimes feels like yesterday.
A tear slipped down her cheek before she brushed it away hurriedly. Gwen finished her hair, tucking the last strand into place as though sealing away her sorrow.
Her shoulders squared. Esmond's hungry, Nicholas is probably brooding again, and there's work to be done.
Finished with her hair, Gwen leaned back slightly, letting out a quiet sigh. It was always the smallest, simplest tasks—like tending to her hair—that reminded her of who she was before the Morpher. A daughter. A sister. A girl on the cusp of twelve years old, who once laughed freely without the weight of the world on her shoulders.
She turned away from the basin, putting her father—and the ache—back into the quiet recesses of her mind.
The sound of Esmond's small feet scampering away brought a smile to her lips. Gwendolyn allowed herself one last look at her reflection before turning to face the day.
--
Gwendolyn made her way down the creaking wooden stairs, each step echoing faintly in the quiet house. The scent of roasted grain and fresh air wafted in through the open windows, mixing with the faint smell of yesterday's embers lingering in the hearth. Morning light filtered in, catching on the worn edges of furniture and giving the room a golden hue.
She adjusted her bun as she reached the bottom of the stairs, the stray hairs at her temples already starting to rebel against her efforts. She grumbled to herself and smoothed them back with her palm before stepping into the kitchen.
Their mother stood by the counter, slicing bread with a focused expression. Hazel skin glowed faintly in the sunlight, her features as sharp and precise as the blade in her hand. For a moment, Gwendolyn felt a pang of guilt, noticing the faint lines of exhaustion etched into her mother's face. She was always working, always carrying the family in ways they never truly thanked her for.
"Good morning," Gwendolyn greeted softly, her voice still groggy from sleep.
Her mother glanced up, offering a small, tired smile. "Morning, Gwen. Esmond woke you, didn't she?"
"Like clockwork," Gwendolyn replied, shaking her head with mock exasperation. "She was already full of energy before the sun even came up."
Her mother chuckled faintly, setting the knife down. "She gets it from you. You were the same way when you were little."
Gwendolyn snorted. "I doubt that. Nicholas is the one who used to wake up before dawn just to bother me."
As if summoned by the mention of his name, Nicholas stepped into the kitchen, looking half-awake and still mussed from bed. His dark green coat was draped haphazardly over one shoulder, and his hair stuck up in odd directions.
"Speak of the devil," Gwen teased, crossing her arms as she leaned against the table.
Nicholas yawned, rubbing the back of his neck. "If you're going to talk about me, at least wait until I've had breakfast."
Esmond ran into the room a moment later, her small face bright with excitement. She carried a wooden block she'd painted on the day before, brandishing it like a prized treasure.
"Look! Look! I made it a castle!" Esmond announced, holding the block up for everyone to see.
Their mother knelt down, giving her youngest a warm smile. "It's beautiful, Esmond. You've got a talent for building things."
Esmond beamed and darted over to Nicholas, tugging at his sleeve. "Do you think I could make a real one someday?"
Nicholas looked down at her, his tired expression softening. "Sure. Maybe Gwen can help you hammer the walls together."
"Hey!" Gwendolyn protested, though she couldn't keep the grin off her face.
Their mother stood, brushing her hands on her apron. "All right, enough teasing. Let's eat before the day gets away from us."
The family gathered around the table, the warm light of morning enveloping them. For a brief moment, Gwendolyn let herself relax, enjoying the simple act of sharing a meal together.
But even as they laughed and talked, she felt the weight of her secrets lingering in the back of her mind. The world outside their home was harsh and unforgiving, and she knew it wouldn't be long before the responsibilities of the Red Ranger called her away again.
For now, though, she focused on the present—on the warmth of her family and the sound of their voices filling the room.
As they settled into their seats, Nicholas reached for a piece of bread, pausing before taking a bite. "So, what's on the agenda today?" he asked, glancing at their mother.
"The usual," she replied, pouring tea into mismatched cups. "Esmond and I will be working in the garden. Gwen, Master Hargrove mentioned he might need help at the smithy again."
Gwendolyn nodded, taking a sip of her tea. "I'll check in with him after breakfast. What about you, Nicholas? What's your grand plan for the day?"
Nicholas shrugged. "Probably helping with the fields, as usual. Unless something more exciting comes up—like Esmond building her castle." He winked at their little sister, who giggled.
Esmond looked up at Gwendolyn, her wide eyes curious. "Gwen, do you think knights need castles? Like the ones in the stories?"
The question caught Gwendolyn off guard, and she hesitated, her spoon hovering over her porridge. "Well… knights don't always need castles," she said carefully. "What's most important is protecting people, not where you live."
"But castles are cool!" Esmond protested.
Nicholas smirked. "She's got a point, Gwen. Maybe you should think about building one. You could call it 'Fortress Gwendolyn.'"
Gwendolyn rolled her eyes. "Very funny. Maybe I'll name it after you instead—'Fortress Nicholas.' That way, it'll be full of excuses and complaints."
Their mother chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Enough bickering, you two. If you have so much energy, perhaps you can both help with chopping wood later."
Nicholas groaned. "Why is it always chopping wood? Can't Gwen handle that with her smithing arms?"
"Excuse me?" Gwendolyn raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. "I'll remember that next time you need help with anything heavier than a bucket."
Esmond, oblivious to the sarcasm, piped up. "I'll help chop wood! I'm strong too!"
Everyone laughed, the moment light and easy.
But as the conversation turned back to daily tasks, Nicholas leaned back in his chair, studying Gwendolyn. "You know, Gwen," he said, his voice quieter, "you always seem to have somewhere to go or something to do. Do you ever think about just… staying here?"
The question hung in the air for a moment, and their mother glanced at Gwendolyn, her expression unreadable.
Gwendolyn paused, carefully setting her spoon down. "Of course I do," she said, her tone measured. "But there's a lot that needs doing out there too. I want to make sure this family—and this town—has a future."
Nicholas frowned slightly but didn't press further. He simply nodded and returned to his meal.
Their mother reached over, squeezing Gwendolyn's hand briefly. "We're proud of you, Gwen," she said softly. "Just… don't forget that home is here too."
For a moment, Gwendolyn couldn't respond. She nodded, her lips pressed together, and let the conversation drift back to lighter topics.
--
The table was set with care, and the rich aroma of creamy peanut-lime chicken with noodles filled the air. Their mother placed the dish in the center, and the three siblings stared at it in awe.
"Whoa," Nicholas said, leaning closer. "This smells amazing."
"It looks fancy," Gwendolyn admitted, though her tone was impressed. "What's the occasion?"
"No occasion," their mother said simply, settling into her chair. "Just thought I'd try something different."
Esmond clapped her hands in delight. "It's like a feast!"
Their mother served generous portions for everyone, the noodles steaming as the creamy sauce clung to them, dotted with bits of chicken, vibrant bell peppers, and fresh herbs. Nicholas took a bite first, his eyes widening.
"This is… really good," he said, his mouth full. "Where did you learn to make this?"
Their mother glanced at him briefly before focusing on her plate. "I used to cook more often," she said quietly. "Before."
The word hung in the air for a moment before Esmond chimed in, oblivious. "I love it! Can we have this every day?"
"Maybe not every day," their mother said with a small smile. "But I'll make it again sometime."
As they ate, Gwendolyn found her thoughts drifting. She twirled a noodle around her fork absentmindedly, her mind slipping toward the Dino Hedge—their hidden base. She wondered how Zhong and Tsuyen were faring.
Zhong, with his ever-sarcastic remarks, probably had something witty to say about her absence. And Tsuyen, quiet but dependable, was likely working on analyzing cult activity or improving their strategy.
It had been quiet lately. Too quiet. Outside of their brief mission debriefs, the cult had been surprisingly easy to deal with after the battle of Greymoot. There had been four encounters since then, but each time the cultists either resisted weakly or poisoned themselves to avoid capture. Those who didn't poison themselves always managed to escape.
Gwendolyn frowned, taking another bite of her food. She should head back to the base soon, if only to check in. Maybe there was something they were missing.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Esmond throwing a peanut at Nicholas.
"Stop it!" Esmond demanded, scowling at her older brother.
Nicholas smirked, leaning back in his chair. "What? I didn't do anything. You're just mad because you're too short to reach the cookies on the top shelf."
"Am not!" Esmond crossed her arms. "I'm taller than you were at my age!"
Nicholas snorted. "Sure you are. Keep telling yourself that, Es."
Esmond pouted, sticking her tongue out at him.
Their mother said nothing, her attention focused on her plate. She ate slowly, savoring each bite. Gwendolyn knew her mother had always loved healthy food, a habit from her days as a cook. Their father's death had changed things, though. While she still cooked occasionally, it was rare to see her so deliberate in preparing something elaborate like this.
"I think she worked for Lord Alastair," Gwendolyn thought to herself, her brow furrowing. "Sorry—ex-Lord Alastair. Dead, cult-affiliated Lord Alastair."
The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth, but she quickly pushed it aside, focusing on her plate.
As the meal came to an end, their mother stood and began clearing the table. "Nicholas, Gwendolyn," she said, "you two can handle the dishes today."
Both siblings groaned in unison.
"Why do we have to do it?" Nicholas protested.
"Because I said so," their mother replied firmly, giving him a look that brooked no argument.
Gwendolyn sighed, pushing back her chair. "Fine, fine. Come on, Nicholas, let's get this over with."
Nicholas grumbled under his breath but followed her to the sink.
Esmond watched them with a mischievous grin. "You missed a spot, Nick!"
Nicholas glared at her over his shoulder. "You're lucky I'm doing dishes and not chasing you right now."
Gwendolyn chuckled, rolling up her sleeves. As she reached for the soap, her mind wandered again to Dino Hedge and her responsibilities as a Ranger. But for now, she pushed those thoughts aside. For now, she was just Gwendolyn, cleaning dishes with her brother, trying to make the most of a quiet morning.
--
As Gwendolyn scrubbed at a particularly stubborn stain on a bowl, she glanced sideways at Nicholas, who was drying the dishes with exaggerated sluggishness.
"Could you try to be any slower?" she muttered, flicking water at him.
Nicholas raised an eyebrow, dodging the splash. "Hey, I'm doing my part. Don't blame me if you're scrubbing like you're attacking the cultists with a sponge."
Gwendolyn rolled her eyes but couldn't help smirking. She rinsed the bowl and handed it to him. "Maybe if you worked this hard on the farm, we'd actually have some free time."
"Bold words coming from someone who spends most of her day pounding metal and coming home covered in soot," Nicholas shot back.
"That's called being productive."
"It's called being messy."
Their playful bickering continued as they worked through the pile of dishes. By the time the last plate was dried, Gwendolyn wiped her hands on a towel and leaned against the counter, sighing in mock exhaustion.
"There," she said, "all done. Now I can finally—"
"Gwen! Nick!" Esmond's voice rang out from the living room.
The siblings exchanged a look. "What now?" Nicholas muttered, heading toward the source of the commotion.
They found Esmond standing on her tiptoes, peering out the window with wide eyes. "There's someone outside!" she exclaimed.
Gwendolyn's stomach sank. She crossed the room in quick strides and peeked out the window. Sure enough, a figure stood in the distance, just beyond the fence. They weren't moving—just standing there, watching.
"Stay here," Gwendolyn said sharply, grabbing her coat. She slipped into her boots and stepped outside, motioning for Nicholas to follow her. "You too, Nick. If it's trouble, I'll need backup."
He hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Right."
As they approached the figure, Gwendolyn's eyes narrowed. It was a man, his face obscured by the shadow of his hood. He didn't seem armed, but that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous.
"What do you want?" Gwendolyn called out, keeping her voice firm.
The man raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "I mean no harm," he said, his voice calm and steady. "I'm just a traveler passing through. I was hoping to ask for some water."
Gwendolyn studied him carefully. Something about him felt… off. But it wasn't unusual for travelers to come by their farm, especially this close to the main road.
Nicholas stepped forward, his expression skeptical. "You've been standing there a while for someone just looking for water."
The man chuckled softly. "Fair point. I didn't want to intrude."
Gwendolyn exchanged a glance with Nicholas. After a brief hesitation, she nodded. "Stay here," she told the man. "I'll bring you some water."
She turned back toward the house, motioning for Nicholas to follow. As they walked, she whispered, "Keep an eye on him. If he makes any sudden moves, yell."
"Got it," Nicholas replied, his voice low.
Back inside, Gwendolyn filled a small jug with water, her thoughts racing. Something about the encounter didn't sit right with her. Travelers were common enough, but this man's presence felt… calculated.
She handed the jug to Nicholas. "Take this to him. I'll stay back and watch."
Nicholas frowned. "Why do I have to do it?"
"Because I trust you to handle it," Gwendolyn said simply.
Grumbling, Nicholas took the jug and headed back outside. Gwendolyn lingered by the door, her hand hovering near the edge of her coat where the Morpher was hidden.
Something told her this was just the beginning of another long day.
Just my luck...