Kael smiled slightly, satisfied with the implicit confession. He leaned back on the magical pillows with a sigh, watching the comings and goings of passersby beyond the field of silence. For a few moments, the two sat there just listening to the distant melody of the bards, the muffled conversation from the tents, and the rustling of colorful flags on the balconies.

"Did the anchovy stop singing?" he asked, leaning over to peek into the tent.

"It's on the chorus again," Elion replied, amused. "A romantic ballad now, if I'm not mistaken."

"It's strange..." said Kael, absentmindedly fiddling with a pillow. "I should be angry with you. Or at Grandma. Or at this whole absurd plan. But I'm too tired to care."

"That's because the body can age in the blink of an eye, but the heart needs more time," Elion said softly. "You're still trying to understand what you've lost. And maybe... what you've gained."

Kael nodded slowly.

"Do you know what I miss the most?" he asked. "Simplicity. When 'mission' meant carrying a package downstairs. When the biggest problem was sharing dessert. Now, everything seems like a political move or an emotional trap."

Elion pulled out a second floating grape and offered one to him. Kael accepted without resistance.

"Simplicity doesn't disappear, Kael. It just hides behind the layers you put on top. Waiting for you to take it all off and look calmly. You can still laugh at silly things. You can still fall in love with something small, like a bad song or an ugly flower. You just have to remember that you have that right."

He looked at her sideways, curious.

"And you? Do you still remember that?"

"Sometimes," Elion replied with a sad smile. "When I stop. When I breathe. When I'm not saving worlds that don't want to be saved. When you look at me like that and remind me that I'm still a mother before I'm a Witch, Possible Queen, or any other stupid title."

Kael fell silent. After a moment:

"Do you think they're okay?"

"Irelia is probably threatening to cut someone. Amelia is making a mental inventory of all the kingdom's resources. And Sylphie... probably meditating on a floating tree branch."

He laughed. "That sounds... exactly right."

Elion raised a golden eyebrow, the sparkle in her eyes returning little by little. "And you? Are you okay, Kael?"

He thought for a moment. The smell of the sea, the whispers of the square, the field of silence protecting them from the world. Then he replied:

"Not yet. But... almost."

Elion rose gently, as if the very air around her propelled her. Her golden hair danced in the breeze, and the cushions rearranged themselves behind her like a curtsy.

"Great," she said, reaching out to him with a smile that was half knowing, half conspiratorial. "Because now... we're going to have a date."

Kael raised an eyebrow, suspicious. "What kind of date?"

"We're in a port city, the sun is setting, and we have plenty of time. Let's have some fun."

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Kael hesitated for a second. There was something different about Elion at that moment—a lightness he had never associated with the woman he had grown up fearing and admiring in equal measure. The strategist mother, the infallible sorceress, the almost mythical figure who lived in isolation because she was too dangerous.

But there, on that suspended balcony, in the golden light of dusk, she seemed... alive. Not powerful, not unreachable — just alive. Radiant. And for the first time, he realized that perhaps this was the real Elion. The one that almost no one saw. And he didn't want to waste that.

"All right," he said at last, accepting her hand with a small, almost resigned smile.

"Let's have fun!" said Elion, and winked.

The journey through the city was a kind of improvised choreography between mother and son. They crossed an enchanted rope bridge that turned into light under their feet. A little paper dragon followed them through a few streets, spitting harmless sparks while Elion threw gingerbread crumbs to distract the floating mascot.

Kael still felt ridiculous in the embroidered vest she had insisted he wear, but he noticed that people smiled when they saw them pass by—not with reverence or fear, but with genuine sympathy. It was strange. Comforting.

Elion led him to a pier where enchanted boats bobbed gently, each with a glass lantern shaped like a sea creature. They chose one shaped like a stingray, whose wings rippled as the boat glided through the water. The sky was tinged with purple and gold, and the first stars appeared timidly among the crimson-painted clouds.

"I used to come here when I was young," said Elion, her eyes lost in the reflection of the water. "Before I became everything the world demanded of me. There was a boy who played the lute on the edge of the pier. He didn't know any decent songs. But he sang as if his heart depended on it. I thought it was... beautiful."

Kael didn't answer, but his gaze softened. It was rare to see his mother talk about the past as if it were more than a battlefield.

"Did he survive?" he asked.

"No," she replied, without regret, but with tenderness. "But he taught me that not everything has to last to be important."

The boat took them to a small island in the middle of the harbor, lit by enchanted fireflies and a bonfire protected by a circle of runic stones. There were cushions, candied fruit, and an enchanted music box that played soft melodies as the wind blew.

"Was all this set up?" Kael asked, looking around.

"Maybe," said Elion, already sitting down with the grace of someone who still mastered the art of performance. "But it only works if you want to be here."

Kael sat down next to her. The smell of the sea, salty wood, and sweet fruit mingled with the distant sound of waves breaking on the rocks. For a while, they said nothing.

The comfortable silence between them lasted only as long as it took for the boat to gently anchor alongside a smaller pier, adorned with floating lanterns attached by enchanted silk ropes. Elion rose with a light movement, as if her feet barely touched the ground, and pulled Kael by the hand before he could hesitate again.

"Time to stop thinking," she said, smiling with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "And start living a little."

The city was still bustling with life, even as the sunset tinged the rooftops with gold and the alleys with lilac shadows. The waterfront market had turned into a kind of spontaneous festival—street musicians took turns playing rhythmic melodies and dramatic ballads, sparks danced on the sidewalks in magical patterns, and stalls stretched out with games, sweets, challenges, and eccentricities that only a place like this could harbor.

Right on the first corner, a troupe of jugglers spun flaming swords above their heads while a kobold blew bubbles of colored smoke that, when they burst, released distinct aromas: clove, vanilla, sea air. Elion applauded excitedly, throwing an enchanted coin into the bowl, which in response spun in the air and exploded into mini fireworks that formed her smiling face. Kael laughed, despite himself.

"Let's go," said Elion, pulling him to another tent. "This one has psychic dagger throwing."

"That sounds dangerous."

"Only for those who think too much," she replied with a broad smile.

Kael, of course, lost badly. The psychic dagger floated of its own accord and refused to obey his mental commands — even stopping in midair and, in a clearly mocking tone, turning the blade toward him as if to say, "Really? Is that what you're thinking right now?"

Elion won three rounds in a row and received a small crown made of liquid light as a prize, which she immediately placed on Kael's head.

"A souvenir of your defeat."

"A souvenir of my trauma," he corrected, but smiled.

They walked through the alleys lit by lanterns with small elementals inside—each floating according to its mood: sad lanterns hung low and bluish, cheerful lanterns danced high and sparked. Elion pointed out every detail with almost childlike enthusiasm: the bread seller who made his loaves levitate like solar discs, the shadow theater that used real friendly specters instead of puppets, the fortune-telling tent that read destinies based on the smell of breath.

"That part of the market is always changing," she said, as they tasted glass flower juice that crackled on their tongues. "It's as if the city has a will of its own."

Kael looked around, observing the laughter, the encounters, the children playing with paper familiars, the couples dancing in magical circles that reproduced sounds as their steps touched the ground. It was like living inside a dream that asked for no explanation. For the first time in many months, he didn't feel like he was being watched. He wasn't the heir, nor the problem, nor the missing link. He was just a boy on a magical night with his mother.

"Here," said Elion, stopping suddenly in front of a tent lit by enchanted candles. "You need this."

"What, a caramel saber? An amulet against boredom? A pair of singing socks?"

"Better," she said, pulling him inside.

It was a magical portrait studio. A painting made itself in front of an enchanted mirror, capturing the "spirit of the moment." The artist, a gnome with a blue mustache, positioned them in front of the glass as if setting up a souvenir display case. Elion grimaced. Kael tried to look serious, but she pulled his cheek at the last second, and he laughed. The frame glowed. The painting emerged like a living watercolor—the colors moving slightly, as if breathing.

"It's perfect," said Elion, looking at the two in the image: mother and son, tired and alive, together despite everything.

"Where are you going to put this?"

"In every tower I have a right to," she said dramatically.

They then went to an alley where bards dueled in rhyming verses. Elion challenged one of them to an impromptu contest — and won, to the bard's horror, when he rhymed words like "hexachromia" and "transdimensional marmalade." The audience applauded. Kael covered his face, laughing loudly.

"I should be surprised," he said.

"You should be writing my biographies."

It was already nightfall when they arrived at a deck where they sold "edible comets": small spheres of ice cream wrapped in magic, which floated for a few seconds before melting in the mouth. They ate sitting on a stone bench that whispered compliments in a low voice ("beautiful nose!", "regal shoulders"), while a band of satyrs played elven jazz that seemed to hypnotize the fireflies.

Kael sighed, his eyes lost in the reflection of the lights on the canal.

"Did you plan all this?"

Elion stretched his legs and leaned back on the bench.

"Not everything. But enough to make room for the unexpected."