Chapter 20 Chapter 20: The Knowing

Chapter 20 Chapter 20: The Knowing

I sat in the courtyard with Lydia, watching them play. The twins were inseparable. Their connection went far beyond that of twins—it was instinctive, woven into every aspect of their lives. They did not need words. They felt one another. Hunger, fear, joy, excitement, nothing existed in isolation between them. They called it ‘Knowing.’

I watched Aurora cry as an infant, Niklaus would stir in his sleep moments before her voice even broke the air. When Niklaus cut himself in training, Aurora gasped from across the grounds, her hand flying to the same place on her body..

And at night, when storms rolled in and thunder split the sky, Aurora would slip into Niklaus’s bed without waking him. He would turn, half-asleep, already making space. We lay back-to-back, spine to spine, grounding one another against the world’s noise. They never spoke of it. They didn’t have to.

As they aged, the knowing deepened. Niklaus learned quickly—too quickly. Sword forms came to him as if remembered rather than being taught. When instructors praised him, Aurora felt the pride bloom in her chest just as fiercely. When she struggled with control, with the way shadows bent toward her when her emotions slipped, Niklaus would pace quietly until she steadied herself again.

They became each other’s anchor, each other’s shield.

By the time the court began to take notice, it was already too late. The twins stood at the center of everyone's attention, eyes too aware, smiles too knowing. They shared glances that carried entire conversations, plans formed and abandoned in a single breath.

Whatever they were becoming, they were becoming it together.

The next morning, the grounds were alive with soft sunlight and the scent of spring in the air. Niklaus and Aurora were chasing each other, shrieking with laughter. I was about to call them in when I saw him coming down the palace road. I gathered my babies. Their faces lit up when they saw him.

“Grandpa-pa!” they shouted together, and my chest warmed. I laughed softly, watching them sprint toward his horse. They loved their Gandpa-pa fiercely. He spoiled them rotten.

Rryan and I walked up behind the children as his father dismounted. He opened his arms wide, the twins hugged him tightly. He lifted them, spinning them around. They giggled, lifting their hands into the air.

“It’s been too long,” he said, ruffling Niklaus’s hair and brushing Aurora’s fiery red curls from her face. “I’ve missed you both terribly.”

Niklaus’s grin stretched from ear to ear, Aurora clinging to his arm shyly but thrilled. 

“Grandpa-pa, we didn’t know you were coming!” 

“I have a surprise for both of you,” he said, reaching into a large leather satchel on the back of his horse.

Niklaus’s eyes widened as he saw the gleaming sword his grandfather drew out. “For you,” he said, handing it over. “Sharpen your skills, but remember, the honor of the blade is always greater than the hand that wields it.”

Niklaus hugged the sword to his chest. “Thank you! I promise I’ll take good care of it!”

Aurora, meanwhile, had drifted toward the satchel, already curious. Her grandfather pulled out a small easel, canvases, brushes, and paints, so many vibrant colors. “For you, my little artist. Paint whatever you see, what you feel. Let your imagination soar.”

Aurora’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, thank you! I can’t wait to start!”

I watched them run off, Niklaus swinging his new sword carefully under my watchful eye, Aurora setting up her easel near the fountain, already lost in colors and shapes. Their joy was infectious, their bond unbreakable, and for a moment, the palace felt lighter.

Rryan stood beside me. “They’re unstoppable,” as he hugged him, “Good to see you, it's been too long.”

“You look amazing,” I said, kissing him, smiling. 



Shade watched from the underworld as Niklaus enjoyed his family. Something twisted in his chest—not pain, not envy, but a slow, corrosive hatred taking root. Niklaus had everything Shade had been denied: warmth, protection, love given freely. Each shared smile, each touch from a parent’s hand, fed the darkness inside him.

The old hag called him away, cutting the vision short. Preparations had to be made—secrets secured—before the others came to check on him.