The shadowy servitors returned, moving with a silent, ceremonial grace that elevated this from a mere meal to a rite of passage. They bore not platters, but artifacts of sweetness: a trembling sphere of captured lunar mist that swirled with pale lavender and silver; a dark, dense cake of compressed nebula, veined with rivers of cosmic vanilla that seemed to tell ancient stories of sugar and light; and a quivering, iridescent delicacy that pulsed with a soft, captive bioluminescence, each shudder releasing a new, faint chord of scent, strawberry, star anise, and the cold kiss of the void.

"Now," Statera announced, her Polaris glow softening to a gentle, celebratory radiance that made the desserts gleam, "for my Rain Baby's first true taste of sweetness. This is not just food, my love. This is a lesson in the gentler laws of the universe. The law that states that for every tear, there must be a corresponding joy. Open wide."

The feeding ritual began anew, but this was a sacrament of indulgence. Statera offered Shiro the first spoonful of the lunar mist. As it touched his tongue, his single amber eye flew wide, his body going still. It was a flavour that bypassed memory and went straight to the soul, a cool, floral explosion that carried the silence of a moonlit crater, followed by a sweetness so pure and profound it felt like a new, sixth sense had been activated behind his eyes. A small, helpless sound, something between a gasp and a whimper of pure pleasure, escaped him. He was not just tasting a dessert; he was tasting the concept of reward, of care, of a childhood he never had.

"Aww, he likes it!" Nyxara cooed, clapping her hands with a sound like shifting constellations. "His wittle taste buds are having a revelation! They're singing the song of their people! The 'I've-never-had-sugar-before' song! It's a classic! Look at his wittle eye, it's all sparkly!"

Kuro was given a precise cube of the nebula cake by Lucifera. He chewed slowly, his strategist's mind attempting to deconstruct the experience, the initial note of dark, almost bitter cocoa that gave way to layers of vanilla that tasted like the birth of stars, and a final, lingering warmth of some ancient, celestial spice. His analytical frameworks shattered against the complexity. "It's… structurally… adequate," he mumbled, a feeble last stand of his princely dignity.

"Adequate!" Lucifera scoffed, feeding him another, larger bite with the air of a scientist correcting a fundamental error. "It is a miracle of sucrose and joy, you impossible infant! It is proof of happiness! Its structural integrity is based on love, not your mundane chatter! Now, eat and be grateful!"

Lyra fed Shiro a spoonful of the glowing delicacy, which dissolved on his tongue into a burst of effervescent, fruity light that seemed to dance along his nerves. "The symphony of sugar on the infant palate!" she sang, her hum harmonizing with the flavours. "A concerto of delight! Listen to the happy little hums! The allegro of amazement! The crescendo of a first time!"

They were fed every last, sublime morsel, the mothers rotating with a joyful, smothering precision that made each new flavour a shared, blushing event. When it was over, the twins sat in a dazed, sugar drunk stupor, their bodies lax and their minds pleasantly void of any thought more complex than the lingering symphony of starlight on their tongues.

It was into this hazy contentment that Statera produced the familiar crystalline vial of Luminis salve. "Now for a quick touch up, my darlings," she chirped, her tone implying this was as natural and necessary as the dessert itself. "Just to make sure all the ouchies from the naughty boys are all sealed up tight.

The application was swift, gentle, and utterly thorough. Statera's hands, cool and sure, moved over Kuro's split lip, the Luminis salve sinking in with a nullifying tingle that was almost pleasant against the sugar heat in his veins. She then turned to Shiro, her touch becoming impossibly lighter as she traced the newly stitched, inflamed flesh of his brand. The salve did not sting; it was a layer of absolute zero, smothering the last embers of pain under a blanket of cosmic cold. It was the physical manifestation of their care: relentless, encompassing, and leaving no hurt untouched.

"There," Statera murmured, capping the vial as the last of the silvery substance vanished into Shiro's skin. "All better. My good, patient infants. You didn't even squirm. The sugar helped, didn't it? So proud!

As Statera put the salve away, a profound, comfortable silence descended, thick as nebular gas. It was Lucifera who broke it, her voice cutting through the sweetness with the gentle, inexorable finality of a collapsing star.

"Now that desert is over," she purred, her brilliant white eyes fixed on them, "it is time for your punishment."

"Punishment?" Kuro asked, his voice drowsy.

"For wunning away without telling your mommies," Lucifera decreed, her tone a wicked, parody of a judge passing sentence. "It was a very naughty, very reckless thing to do. So, here is your sentence, my wittle fugitives. For as long as I see fit, you will not take a single step outside this room without holding a Mommy's hand. No more solo adventures. You will be physically tethered to our love at all times. It's for your own safety, you see?"

The decree landed. For a moment, the old defiance flared. Kuro straightened his back, a prince facing an unjust law. "That is… excessive. We are not children who need to be led by the hand."

Shiro, emboldened by his brother, added, "We learned our lesson. We won't go off alone again. You have our word."

Lucifera's smile was a sickle moon. "Aww, the wittle babies think their word is enough! How precious! But sorry, my darlings, trust is earned, and you spent yours on your early morning field trip." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial, terrifying whisper. "The hand holding is Mommy being nice. The real punishment, the one for especially naughty infants, is different. It involves two specially crafted, padded high chairs, the kind with trays that lock, being placed in the centre of the Refractory. You would be buckled in for the entire training day. You'd wear large, padded helmets to protect your wittle heads from your own tantrums, and little bibs with cute animal faces to catch the drool from your concentration. Every lesson, every attempt at resonance, would be conducted with you both strapped in, unable to move, while the entire court files past to see the mighty Twin Stars being fed their mushy wushy lessons like the helpless babies they are. There would be a chart on the wall tracking your 'accidents' with a star sticker system. So Which will it be? The hand holding, or the 'Strapped In Star Baby' protocol?"

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The description was a psychological atom bomb. It wasn't just humiliation; it was a systematic, public erasure of everything they were, reducing them to objects of pity and mockery. The image of being trapped in those chairs, helmeted and bibbed, while Antares and his ilk smirked from the doorway, was a hell so profound it made the Plaza of Screams seem dignified.

Their bolstered defences didn't just crumble; they vaporized. All colour drained from their faces, replaced by a sick, horrified pallor.

"No!" Kuro gasped, the word a plea. "Not that. Never that."

Shiro looked genuinely nauseated, his hand flying to his mouth. "The hand holding! We'll do the hand holding! Please, Mommy Luci, never… never even mention that other one again!"

Their acceptance was instant, absolute, and desperate. They would have agreed to be dragged everywhere by their ears rather than face that fate.

Lucifera's smile widened into a thing of beautiful, terrible triumph. "Ohhhh," she cooed, tapping Kuro's nose. "So the hand holding isn't so bad after all, is it? It's quite reasonable! But don't you worry, my darlings. I'll save that protocol for later. I'm sure you'll be inevitably naughty again, and we must be prepared."

The conversation lulled again, but the sugar and the day's events had stirred a new, quiet fervour in the twins. Nestled in the warm safety, the memory of their powerlessness pressed against the promise of tomorrow's training.

"Mother?" Shiro's voice was small, still shaken from the threatened punishment. "The magic… will we learn other spells? Bigger ones? More… destructive ones? So we can truly take the fight to Ryo?"

Nyxara chuckled, a low, rich sound. "Is my wittle rain cloud already dreaming of making big, loud booms? Of course you are! That's your true blood singing! But first, you must learn to make a leaf feel cold before you can make a mountain feel afraid. You can't summon a hurricane if you can't first whistle up a breeze."

Lucifera nodded, her expression one of scientific delight. "The infant seeks the terminus before learning the alphabet. Adorable. Destructive applications are a complex calculus, my son. To unmake something, you must first understand the precise architecture of its making in exquisite detail. It is not about rage. It is about… editing. Finding the single keystone in the edifice of a thing's existence and politely asking it to step aside. Your wittle brains are still learning the basic grammar of reality. We will not hand you the syntax for apocalypse until you can reliably conjugate the verb 'to be'."

"But the power is there?" Kuro pressed, needing the confirmation that the path led somewhere worth the humiliation. "In us? To do… that? To edit a fortress? To unmake a legion?"

Statera stroked his hair. "The potential is a seed in your blood, my love. A tiny, sleeping star. What you felt today, that snap of will that broke a wrist? That was the seed cracking open, a single, desperate root seeking light. What we will teach you is how to make it grow. How to make it flower. And yes, some flowers are beautiful, and some are carnivorous. Some can heal a world, and some can convince a sun to go supernova. It is all the same root. The same soil. The same, patient, loving gardeners."

"We will see your progress, yes?" Lyra harmonized, her melody a soft, promising thread. "And if your song is strong and true, if you learn your scales and your simple nursery rhymes, we will one day teach you the symphonies that can silence black holes. But first, my darlings, you must learn to hold a note."

The promise was enough. It was a path forward, a reason to endure the forging and the hand holding . The power wasn't a myth; it was a curriculum. And they were enrolled for life.

In the comfortable silence that followed, the sanctum seemed to hold its breath. The only light came from the dying embers of the hearth and the soft, pulsing glow of the mothers. Shiro, lulled by the sugar and the safety, let his head rest fully against Nyxara's shoulder, his body becoming a dead weight of trust. Kuro, though he tried to maintain a semblance of posture, felt his own head drooping, his good eye heavy. The fear of the alternative punishment had been so visceral that the reality of their current situation, warm, fed, and surrounded, felt like a reprieve. They were punished, yes, but they were theirs. The hand holding decree, which moments ago had seemed a chain, now felt almost like an anchor, tethering them to the only safety they had ever known.

Lucifera observed their near sleeping forms, her brilliant white eyes softening into pools of liquid starlight. "Aww, look at them," she murmured, her voice a warm, humming lullaby, all traces of the sharp councillor gone. "Their wittle eyelids are getting so heavy. All the big, scary feelings of the day have been washed away by all the yummy food and all the mommy cuddles." She reached out and, with a touch impossibly gentle, brushed a stray strand of hair from Kuro's forehead. "There now. All better. My sweet, sleepy storms are all recharged and ready for their big day tomorrow."

It was Nyxara who finally gave voice to the moment, her voice the softest of lullabies. "That's enough talking for now, my wonderful, exhausting babies. The big, scary, beautiful world of cosmic power will still be there in the morning, waiting for you. It's time for night night."

They were laid down in the heart of the divan, the four women arranging themselves around them in their now customary constellation of protection. Lucifera's arm was the final, unbreakable bar across their chests. Nyxara was a warm fortress at their backs. Statera was a steady radiance against Shiro's side, and Lyra was a melodic hum at their feet, her song a soft, grounding thrum that vibrated through the furs and into their bones.

The last thing Kuro felt was the profound, cooling pressure of Lucifera's lips pressed to his forehead, a brand of pure, possessive love that seeped through his skin and into his very bones. Her final, whispered words were not a command, but a soft, warm breath against his skin, a lullaby woven from certainty and starlight. "Dawn approaches, my precious sons," she murmured, her voice a silken promise. "When it comes, your training will resume, but you will not face it alone. Your injuries are so minor, my love, barely a whisper on your skin. So rest now, and do not worry. Your Mommy is here, and we will let nothing and no one harm you ever again."

The last thing Shiro heard was Nyxara's whisper, "Your mommies love you, you foolish, wonderful, naughty babies. Forever and ever."

And in the heart of that living, breathing, loving fortress, the twins did not just sleep. They dissolved. The first day of their new understanding was over. The dawn of their forging awaited. And for the first time, the thought of it did not bring dread, but a strange, blushing, and utterly accepted sense of purpose. They were there infants. But now it was time to become there weapons.

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