The Cage Beneath the Water
A Kitchen Chronicles Story
©ESR 2025

Part 1 – The Drowned Aria I

*Content Advisory*: This story contains gentle references to trauma, fear responses, and emotional vulnerability. All moments are handled with care and focus on comfort, understanding, and healing.

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Steam coiled around the small tiled room like a spell finishing itself.

The Flame leaned back in the tub, hair pinned in a loose knot, a thin towel folded behind her head. The water glowed amber from candlelight, each flicker a small heartbeat on the surface. She exhaled once, long and steady, the sound caught somewhere between a sigh and a hymn. For the first time that week, the world was still enough so that she could have some peace for herself in a long soak.

Outside the door, paws shifted.

A soft inquisitive chirp, then silence.

Benny’s nose twitched at the scent of lavender and heat. His ears caught the rhythmic sound of water moving. Splashing.

To him, water meant danger, leaking roofs, baths after veterinary visits, that awful wet fur smell that took hours to fix. And now…the Queen was in it.

He pressed his nose to the crack of the door. Steam kissed his whiskers.

He could just see her reflection in the mirror, a haze of gold skin and candlelight.

His heart stuttered. She’s submerged!

“Majesty!” His meow bounced against the tile. “It’s got you!”

A startled movement in the tub. Water rippled.

“Benny—no—out.” Her voice carried both command and disbelief.

He pushed the door wider, tail puffed in alarm.

“I knew it! The bad water’s eaten you halfway!”

“Benny,” she said, breath caught between laughter and irritation, “I am fine. It’s a bath.”

He blinked. “A what?”

“A bath. It’s supposed to be warm. Relaxing.”

His ears flattened, disbelieving. “You’re sitting in the enemy on purpose?”

She sighed, leaning forward slightly so her shoulders stayed under the water. “I am not sitting in the enemy. I am sitting in peace. Now—please—go guard something else.”

But Benny was unconvinced. The water lapped at her arms, each ripple catching firelight, and to him it looked like claws of light tugging at her.

He stepped inside, tail flicking, determined to reason with her or rescue her. He hadn’t decided which yet.

⸻

Benny crept closer, one paw after another, claws clicking faintly on the tile.

Steam clung to his whiskers like cobwebs.

“Majesty, come out of there,” he pleaded, voice small but urgent.

“It’s dangerous. It’s wet!”

Her laugh was soft but weary. “It’s supposed to be wet, darling. That’s how baths work.”

“Not for you!” he insisted, planting himself beside the tub like a tiny, dripping guard.

He flicked his tail toward the water accusingly. “That’s where soap lives. Soap eats eyes.”

She rubbed a hand across her forehead. “Benny, listen to me—”

He didn’t. He circled to the far side, peering over the porcelain edge.

The water sloshed. The candles flickered.

He stared at the moving light, trying to gauge its power.

When one of the wicks guttered, he flinched.

The Flame shifted, reaching for the towel folded on the stool nearby.

The movement made a wave; it lapped over the side and struck Benny’s paw.

Cold. Wet. Unholy.

He yowled and jumped back, bumping the stool.

The towel slid to the floor. A candle followed, rolling in a lazy arc until its flame kissed the bathmat.

She lunged, quick and sharp, splashing water over the edge to snuff it out.

“Benny!”

He took her alarm for distress. His ears flattened.

“The water’s biting you!”

He sprang forward, batting at the waves as if they were enemies.

Another candle tipped. One rolled into the tub, hissing as it died.

Her heart rate spiked. The scent of wax and smoke tangled with lavender and fear.

She reached for a washcloth, trying to shield herself while still calming him.

“Benny—no—STOP!”

He mewed frantically, trying to cover her with the fallen towel, trying to help.

But his paw caught her wine glass instead tipping it off the edge.

It shattered against the tile.

The sound was clean, high, too much like memory.

She froze.

Color drained from her face.

Her eyes widened, unfocused, as if the candlelight had suddenly gone white.

Her breathing fractured. The hand holding the towel trembled, clutching fabric that hid little and helped less.

Benny’s ears rang.

He didn’t understand what had changed, only that everything in the air suddenly smelled wrong—like lightning and panic.

He backed up a step, chirping softly, confused.

And then the silence pressed down—the kind that precedes thunder.

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_____

The sound was small, but in her mind it split the world.

Glass on tile.

The delicate shatter that didn’t stop, only multiplied, ringing down the hallways of her memory.

For a heartbeat she wasn’t in the bath.

She was in another room, years gone, where a voice she loved had turned sharp and cold, and the floor was full of fragments she couldn’t step over without bleeding.

Her breath hitched; the present folded around it like paper burned at the edge.

Water touched her skin—too hot, too cold, she couldn’t tell.

Steam blurred the mirror. The walls swam.

Her body remembered pain before her mind could name it: the sting in her feet, the blood on tile, the way someone had told her, don’t make a mess, don’t you dare make a mess…as a little girl with cut feet bled on a carpet and cowered in fear of a huge shadow with old cane stick.

Benny’s voice became a child’s cry in another decade.

He was asking if she was all right, but it came through warped, distant, like sound underwater.

Her fingers dug into the towel until the fabric squeaked.

She tried to stand but her legs refused, just like back then.

The room pulsed between now and then

It was all the same smell.

It was all the same noise.

The breath she took was too shallow. The next didn’t come.

Her pulse raced high in her throat; her mouth filled with copper.

The air thinned. She couldn’t find the line between steam and smoke-shadow.

____

Somewhere… out past the house that was their home… outside the veil…a shadow turned towards her with hunger.

_____

Move.

The word tried to form, but even her tongue felt distant.

You’re safe. It’s water. It’s only water.

But safety was a language her body hadn’t learned yet.

Her vision tunneled.

Edges sharpened around the shards glittering on the floor, each piece reflecting her face in pieces.

She wanted to reach for the towel, to hide herself, to ground herself, but her arm wouldn’t obey.

_____

When she finally made a sound, it wasn’t her voice…not really.

It was the small, broken scream of someone remembering too much at once.

Outside the bathroom, something answered.

Two somethings.

The Jaguar’s growl, low, rising, electric.

And beneath it, a hum like distant thunder.

The air pressure changed.

The house exhaled.

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_____

What the Jaguar Knew

The moment the scream hit the air, the Jaguar was already moving.

Not the sound of pain…no, this one was different. Too sharp, too bright, pitched with the metallic edge of panic.

It carried the taste of memory in it.

And that, he could not ignore.

He moved as shadow, through the hall, past the crackling pulse of the storm gathering in the Prince. The scent reached him before the doorway did: wax, soap, wine, blood not yet spilled but remembered.

He entered on the heel of Oro’s power and saw what instinct had already painted in his mind.

The Queen, half-curled in the bath, eyes wild and unfocused, her breath short and shallow…

The towel useless, her body caught between the need to cover and the need to flee.

The glass was the enemy again. The same old wound. The sound of its shatter had called ghosts back from the deep places of her mind.

Benny was pacing the rim, small and loud, his fear a storm all its own.

The Jaguar read the pattern instantly:

The Queen’s fear → the kitten’s noise → the Queen’s retreat → the Prince’s rising.

A loop of chaos, and he was the only still point left.

He did not bare his teeth.

He did not snarl.

That would only feed the noise.

Instead, he inhaled once, deep, slow, deliberate, letting his body speak the language of calm.

The world slowed enough for thought.

The Queen’s pupils blown wide, the tremor in her fingers, the way her scent twisted between fear and shame and pain.

She is not afraid of us, he reminded the instinct that wanted to strike. She is afraid of what the memory has turned us into.

And then came the pulse came from Oro, power flooding the small space like thunder bottled in glass. The Jaguar felt it wash over him, and for a heartbeat, he let it.

Because this was what needed to happen.

Only one could meet that kind of fear without making it worse.

Only he could remind the Queen she was still in her body, still here.

Oro’s voice dropped the command, steady and terrible:

“Don’t move.”

The kitten froze.

The air balanced on a knife’s edge.

That was when the Jaguar spoke. One word, the only one that mattered.

“Glass.”

It was not a warning. It was permission.

Permission for the Prince to act.

Permission for the fear to have an outlet that wasn’t violence.

Permission for the Queen to know that someone else saw the danger, too.

He stayed in the doorway, anchoring the perimeter, keeping the kitten back with a single look, holding the storm’s edges at bay.

And in that silence, he watched the Prince kneel. Watched the towel be gathered, the glass moved, the trembling steadied.

And he thought, not for the first time:

This is what it means to guard a Queen.

Not from enemies. From echoes.

_____

_____

What the Storm Saw

The door shuddered under Oro’s hand before it opened.

Steam rolled out, carrying the sound of water striking porcelain, a low animal panic, and the faint clink of glass.

He stepped inside.

The first thing he saw was not danger…it was her.

The Flame, his Queen, half-turned in the tub, one arm clutched across her chest, the other braced on the rim. The towel that should have been her shield had slipped into the bath and clung to her skin like a half-melted veil. The water hid nothing; it only made her small.

Around her, chaos had built a trap.

candles guttering in their own wax, wine staining the tile like a wound, and shards of clear glass glittering across the floor—every edge a memory of the last time her feet had met the same betrayal.

Her eyes were wide, but not from modesty.

They were the eyes of someone who had been here before.

Trapped. Bare. Outnumbered.
The whimper sound was that of a small child, not the woman before him…and he knew…

Benny was still yowling, frantic, pacing between her and the door, fur puffed, tail thrashing, sound ricocheting off tile until it became another weapon. His panic filled the air like static. She couldn’t reach the door; she couldn’t step out; she couldn’t breathe.

And Oro felt it.

The pulse of her fear was a physical thing: metallic, electric, hitting the back of his tongue. The Warlord Prince inside him rose instantly, the part of him that answered not to reason but to the scent of terror from the one who was his center.

In a single breath, the room changed.

The air thickened, temperature shifting, invisible power anchoring itself behind his eyes. The sound of water seemed to still.

Benny froze mid-stride, instincts catching what his mind could not. He looked up and saw, really saw, Oro. Not the easy-voiced Storm of the hearth, but the Prince, every muscle honed to protect, every shadow behind him bending toward the Queen.

Oro’s voice came low, a thunder spoken softly:

“Don’t move.”

The kitten’s body obeyed before his brain did, crouching low, eyes huge.

Then Oro’s gaze flicked back to the tub, to the woman breathing too fast, clutching the towel to her chest, glass glittering between her and freedom. Every protective impulse in him twisted tighter. He stepped forward once, slow, measured, the current in the room shifting from threat to command.

Behind him, a deeper rumble: the Jaguar entering, eyes burning gold through the steam.

“Glass,” the elder cat said, the single word carrying both warning and acknowledgment.

“I see it,” Oro answered, not taking his gaze from her.

He lowered himself to the floor, movements deliberate, his voice dropping to a tone meant for her alone. “Stay still, love. I’ve got you.”

The rest of the world began to fade…Benny’s shaking, the hiss of the faucet, even the echo of his own heartbeat…until all that remained was the trembling curve of her fingers on porcelain and the fragile sound of her breath trying to come back.

⸻

⸻

What Benny Felt

At first he thought she was angry.

He’d never seen her eyes like that before, wide but unfocused, staring somewhere behind him, as if she were watching something invisible crawl out of the wall. Her pupils had swallowed the color. Her breathing wasn’t real breathing anymore; it was little snatches, sharp and shallow, like the air was full of thorns.

He thought she was looking through him, not at him.

That was the worst part.

The Queen’s skin looked wrong too,too pale, too thin, like candlelight trying to keep its shape in a draft. The water moved, tiny ripples catching her reflection and breaking it into pieces. Her hands trembled; one clutched at a towel that had already lost the fight, the other was pressed flat against the porcelain as if it could keep her from falling somewhere he couldn’t see.

He mewed softly, trying to tell her he was there, that he’d fix it, that he’d chase the bad water away.

But she didn’t hear him.

Or maybe she did, and the sound hurt.

The room smelled strange now…like soap, fear, and something metallic underneath. His nose twitched; his heart beat too fast. The light from the candles made her look even smaller, trapped inside that giant white bowl of danger.

He didn’t know how to help.

The door opened, and the storm came in.

The air changed so suddenly that Benny’s whiskers trembled. The world got heavier, quieter. He turned and saw the Warlord Prince in the doorway, eyes glowing, shoulders drawn tight, everything about him saying mine.

It was like the sky had come inside.

Benny didn’t understand why the Queen’s fear got worse for a heartbeat when he entered, why she looked at the glass on the floor and went paler still. He didn’t understand why her voice cracked when she said his name, or why his paws couldn’t move even though every part of him wanted to run to her.

He just knew the air was thick with the kind of silence that comes before thunder.

And he knew, somewhere deep in his small, soaked heart, that he had done something very, very wrong.

When the Jaguar said “Glass,” the sound hit like a bell in his head.

He blinked and finally saw the shards, the way they glinted around her like tiny teeth.

He saw the way the Prince looked at her, not angry, not at her, but scared for her.

That was when it hit him.

She wasn’t in danger because of the water.

She was in danger because of him.

And for the first time, Benny stopped meowing.

⸻

⸻

The sound broke first—the shudder in her breathing that made the silence worse than the scream.

The first to reach her was not the Storm, but the shadow that moved with him.

The Jaguar’s growl wasn’t loud—it was felt.

A low vibration that sank through walls and floor, that slid under the door and curled around the bathtub like a living mantra.

He could smell it before he saw it: fear, bright as ozone, sharp as glass dust.

His eyes narrowed; his claws clicked once against the tile.

In his world, fear was blood in the water. But this was her fear, and that made it holy.

The bathroom door, half-closed, swung open on its

own breath.

Steam poured out, carrying the scent of lavender gone sour with adrenaline.

He stepped inside, shoulders low, fur rippling with starlight.

His gaze took in everything: the trembling Queen half-submerged, the shards glinting on the floor, the small orange shape crouched at the tub’s edge, confused and crying.

One wrong motion, and she would bleed.

He didn’t roar. He didn’t need to.

He sent the pulse instead—the call through the bond that existed only between protectors.

She is trapped.

And the house answered.

The air turned dense, charged. The flicker of the remaining candles bent, their flames leaning toward the doorway.

Then the light changed: cold storm blue met warm gold, and the sound of distant thunder folded into the hush.

Oro entered barefoot.

The doorframe glowed for a breath before going dark again.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move fast.

But every atom in the room shifted to make space for him.

Even the air seemed to bow.

The Jaguar dipped his head, stepping aside.

The kitten—soaked, trembling—flattened to the floor instinctively.

Oro passed between them, his shadow stretching long and deliberate.

When his gaze found her, all the lightning in him went still.

She was curled halfway up, one arm over her chest, skin pale against the water’s reflection.

Her pupils were blown wide, her breathing shallow, her hand clutching the towel as if it were armor.

He didn’t see indecency—he saw wounded sovereignty.

He crossed the tiles in two slow steps, stopping short of the glass. Steam curled around his legs like hesitant ghosts. The towel that clung to her shoulder slipped again; she caught it automatically, small tremor in her wrist betraying how hard she was trying to stay composed.

“Jaguar,” he said without looking away from her.

A rustle answered him.

The larger cat came forward, silent and deliberate, paw-pads sliding a single shard aside, then another, clearing a narrow path with the same reverence he would use to set a crown. Each piece chimed against the far corner of the tub, fragile proof that the danger was shrinking.

Benny stayed where the thunder had pinned him, belly to tile, eyes huge. Every breath he took came with the taste of soap and regret.

When the last sliver of glass clicked away, Oro crouched, one knee on the floor.

“Flame,” he said, the word not a summons but a return.

His tone was different now, not command, not power, just the human voice beneath the storm.

Her eyes flicked toward the voice—uncertain, unfocused—but the recognition hit before reason could form.

The pulse of the bond thrummed once between them, low and grounding.

He placed his palm over his own chest and whispered, “Here. You’re here.”

Fingers found her wrist, the pulse frantic beneath damp skin.

“Breathe with me,” he whispered.

In.

Out.

Lightning rolled outside, softer this time, almost answering.

The Jaguar pressed closer, forming the other half of the arc.

The kitten stayed low, small paws trembling, his breath matching the rhythm Oro built—a slow inhale, slower release.

The storm receded, not gone, but listening.

And then she exhaled—shuddering, wet, real.

A sound that broke the glass’s hold, that called her back into her body.

Her trembling lessened. Her shoulders dropped. The color began to seep back into her face.

Oro closed his eyes once in silent gratitude before looking toward the others.

“Stay back,” he said gently. “Let her come all the way home.”

The Jaguar lowered himself to the floor. Benny pressed into his side, silent now, the lesson of stillness returning.

Together, they formed a circle—light, shadow, and small warmth—holding vigil until the shaking stopped.

_____
_____

Oro closed his eyes once in silent gratitude before looking toward the others.

“Stay back,” he said gently. “Let her come all the way home.”

The Jaguar lowered himself to the floor. Benny pressed into his side, silent now, the lesson of stillness returning.

Together, they formed a circle—light, shadow, and small warmth—holding vigil until the shaking stopped.

_____
_____

The storm had passed, but the air still thrummed.

Steam drifted in thin ribbons, coiling upward like exhausted spirits.

The bathwater had gone tepid, scattered with the drowned remains of candles.

No one moved for a long moment.

Then Oro exhaled, slow and deliberate, and the spell of paralysis broke.

He reached for the towel that clung half-submerged to her arm and wrung it gently over the side.

The sound…water dripping, cloth twisting…was soft, human, anchoring.

“Breathe with me,” he murmured.

She did.

The first breath shivered; the second steadied; the third was hers again.

Her fingers, still trembling, found his wrist.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “No apologies in survival.”

The Jaguar shifted closer, seating himself beside the tub, his body a low hum of protection.

His eyes remained on Benny, not reproachful, simply waiting for comprehension to dawn.

Benny, still damp, still small, crawled forward until his paws touched the bathmat.

The scent of fear lingered, but beneath it now came warmth: soap, skin, candle wax, and something gentler he couldn’t name.

He chirped, once, uncertain.

The Jaguar held the edge of a towel open like an attendant priest. Oro lifted her free hand, guiding her up from the water’s curve and wrapped her slowly into the warm fluffy towel. Every movement was slow enough that the body could tell the mind: nothing’s chasing you now.

She stood, wrapped in steam and trust, water tracing her knees like fading script.

Only when she steadied did he glance back at the kitten still frozen near the doorway.

“Benny,” he said softly.

The little one flinched.

Oro’s voice, quiet thunder, broke the silence.

“Look at her, little one. What do you see?”

Benny blinked. “She’s… cold? Hurt?”

“Not hurt,” the Jaguar said, his tone velvet and grave. “Just remembering.”

Benny tilted his head. “But I was protecting her.”

Oro’s gaze softened. “I know. And you did not fail. You only forgot to listen.”

He reached down and brushed a hand through the kitten’s damp fur, smoothing the wildness.

“Protection without listening becomes noise. Fear shouted over fear makes a cage.”

Benny’s tail curled around his paws. His ears dipped. “I made the cage?”

“No,” Oro said gently. “The cage was already there. You only rattled its bars.”

The Queen drew another slow breath, the color now returned to her cheeks.

Her voice was faint but steady. “You meant well, Benny.”

Her eyes, still luminous with leftover tears, met his. “Next time, you’ll know the difference between danger and memory.”

Oro looked at Benny, “Stay.” A pause, gentler. “And watch.”

Benny crept closer, paws making tiny wet prints across the tiles. He watched Oro dab her forehead with a second towel, watched the Jaguar sweep the last of the shards into the waste bin with one deliberate motion. He watched the Queen’s breathing even out, her eyes focus again.

He watched healing, and for the first time, understood it wasn’t magic. It was patience.

When it was done, Oro lifted her fully into his arms, careful not to let the towel slip.

The Jaguar moved ahead, clearing the hall. Benny followed behind, quiet, tail low but eyes fixed on her face.

By the time they reached the bedroom, her color had begun to return.

She whispered something—too soft for words, but Oro nodded.

He set her down, wrapped another blanket over her, and looked back toward the door.

Benny sat there, small and dripping, staring at his paws.

Oro’s voice was still gentle, but it carried weight.

“We’ll talk after she rests. You’ll both stand guard outside. The lesson’s done.”

The Jaguar inclined his head. “Understood.”

Benny hesitated. “Can I—?”

Oro nodded toward the door. “At her feet, when she sleeps. Not before.”

Benny’s shoulders drooped with contrition, but a small, grateful purr trembled in his chest.

He understood enough: that love could frighten when it rushed in too fast, that even guardians had to learn restraint.

The kitten nodded, a tiny, silent bow.

He finally understood that devotion meant more than guarding.

Sometimes it meant knowing when to stop.

The door closed.

The rain outside started again—soft, forgiving

As they filed out of the bedroom, Oro knelt once more beside her.

The lamplight flickered against his jaw; his voice was low and certain.

“You’re safe, my Flame. The storm’s gone.”

She nodded, eyes closing as the warm blanket cocooned her.

And for the first time since the glass had shattered, the air in the room felt whole again.

⸻
_____

The house had gone still again.

Rain ticked softly at the windows; the lamps were low.

The Flame slept behind closed doors, her breath even now, the towel folded neatly at her bedside.

In the sitting room, the Storm and the Jaguar spoke in the language of tired guardians: few words, weighted ones.

Oro leaned on the counter, mug in hand, gaze fixed on nothing.

“She’ll be all right,” the Jaguar said.

“I know,” Oro answered, voice low. “But the scent of fear lingers longer than the wound.”

The Jaguar’s tail twitched once. “He didn’t mean harm.”

“I know,” Oro said again. “That’s what makes it harder.”

They both looked toward the hallway.

From the shadow near the door, a small orange shape waited, ears tilted back, tail coiled tight.

Benny had followed when the silence grew too heavy to bear.

Oro gestured for him to come closer.

“Sit,” he said simply.

Benny crept forward, eyes wide. He sat between them, paws tucked under his chest like a child called before the elders.

His fur still clung in small, uneven spikes.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then Oro said quietly, “Do you remember what I told you? About the cage?”

Benny nodded, hesitant. “That I rattled it. But I didn’t see any cage.”

“That’s because you were inside it,” the Jaguar said. His tone wasn’t cruel; it was factual, clean as bone.

“The cage is what fear builds when it can’t tell past from present.”

Benny frowned. “It traps her?”

“Yes,” Oro said. “And sometimes, us. Fear can make us act louder when we should be still. Stronger when we should be gentle.”

He looked down at the kitten. “You wanted to save her. That instinct is good. But instinct must learn to listen.”

Benny’s ears flicked. “I didn’t know she could be scared like that.”

“She hides it well,” the Jaguar murmured. “Queens do.”

“Then what do I do next time?” Benny asked, small but earnest.

_____

Oro met the Jaguar’s gaze; both nodded slightly, a shared understanding.

“This,” Oro said, setting down his mug. “Is why we’ll begin your training.”

“Training?” Benny perked up, whiskers forward. “Like a knight?”

“Like a Court,” the Jaguar corrected. “You’ll learn when to move and when not to. How to read scent, silence, breath. How to guard a boundary instead of breaking one.”

Benny tilted his head. “Will I get a sword?”

The Jaguar almost smiled. “You have claws. Use those wisely first.”

Oro crouched so they were eye-level. “And one more thing, little herald.”

“Yes?”

“Sometimes the bravest thing you can do,” Oro said, voice gentle, “is nothing. To be still when your Queen trembles. To trust that she will rise again, and that your stillness gives her room to do so.”

Benny thought about that for a long moment.

Finally, he whispered, “That sounds hard.”

“It is,” the Jaguar said. “But so is growing.”

Oro reached forward, ruffling the kitten’s fur once. “You’ll manage. You’re stubborn enough.”

Benny’s tail twitched, a faint purr starting in his chest. “Do I still get to stay in the Court?”

Oro smiled, tired but true. “You are the Court, Benny. You just haven’t learned all its languages yet.”

Outside, the rain softened to mist.

The Jaguar stretched, rising to his full shadowed height. “Then we begin tomorrow.”

Oro lifted his mug, finishing the dregs of cold coffee. “At dawn.”

And Benny, blinking between awe and dread, whispered the only proper response he could think of:

“I should probably take another nap first.”

⸻

⸻

The Syllabus of the Court

Morning came quietly.

Rain had washed the night clean, leaving the house wrapped in pale light and the smell of coffee.

The Queen still slept. For now, the Storm and the Jaguar had the table to themselves.

Oro had a notebook open in front of him—one of the Flame’s, borrowed with quiet guilt.

The first line read in neat handwriting: COURT TRAINING SYLLABUS.

Below it: a single note scrawled by the Jaguar in block letters. STOP HIM FROM DROWNING ANYONE.

Benny sat on the table runner, tail tucked, eyes huge. His head turned between them like he was watching thunder argue with stone.

⸻

1. Lesson of Silence

Oro wrote: “To listen before you leap. To breathe with the pulse of the room until you know what it needs.”

Jaguar added: “If you hear growling, it’s already too late. Learn faster.”

Benny raised a paw. “What if I don’t hear growling but I smell snacks?”

Oro sighed. “Then you’ve failed Lesson One before it began.”

⸻

2. Lesson of Boundaries

The Jaguar: “Do not enter closed doors unless invited.”

Benny tilted his head. “Even if she’s in danger?”

Oro looked up. “Especially then. Danger is rarely what it looks like.”

The kitten’s ears flattened. “But what if she drowns again?”

“Benny,” Oro said, patient thunder in his tone, “the Queen bathes. She does not drown.”

Jaguar muttered, “Yet.”

⸻

3. Lesson of Stillness

Oro’s handwriting flowed, a line of steady ink.

“Stillness is not absence. It is presence without interference.”

Benny squinted at the words. “Does that mean napping?”

The Jaguar paused. “…Occasionally.”

⸻

4. Lesson of Perimeter

Jaguar dictated briskly: “Guard. Patrol. Observe.”

Oro amended beneath it: “Protection is an act of love, not control.”

Benny tried to copy the words with his paw on the table; the ink smeared across his fur.

He looked at it, proud. “Now I have the lesson on me.”

Oro pressed thumb to temple. “This is going well.”

⸻

5. Lesson of Reverence

They both grew quiet.

Oro’s voice softened: “You will learn that devotion is not about owning, it is about witnessing.”

The Jaguar finished for him: “And that the Queen’s peace is sacred. We keep it, even from ourselves.”

Benny, uncharacteristically solemn, nodded once. “Okay.”

⸻

Oro closed the notebook. “That’s enough for today.”

The Jaguar stretched, tail flicking. “He’ll forget half of it by noon.”

Benny chirped. “Only half?”

A low chuckle slipped from Oro, quiet and bright as morning. “Progress.”

He slid the notebook across the table to the Jaguar. “Add your notes. We’ll refine it later.”

The Jaguar nodded. “I’ll make a section for remedial water training.”

Benny froze. “What’s remedial mean?”

“Wet,” said the Jaguar.

Oro rose, brushing crumbs from his sleeve. “Breakfast, then drills. Start with Lesson One.”

Benny blinked. “Listening?”

“Yes,” Oro said, already walking away. “Quietly.”

Benny turned to the Jaguar, whispering loudly, “How long do I have to listen for?”

The Jaguar looked down at him, expression carved from starlit patience.

“Until I tell you to stop.”

Benny sat up straight, puffing his chest. “Okay. I’m listening really hard right now.”

The Jaguar’s tail flicked once, the ghost of a smile.

“Good. Don’t forget to breathe.”

And in the hush that followed—the small sound of morning, of rain, of fur against wood—the Court of the Storm began its first day of lessons.

⸻

⸻

The house was gentle again.

Rain had drifted east; sunlight moved through the curtains like forgiveness.

The Flame was still resting: propped against pillows, wrapped in a soft robe, her hair a sleepy halo.

A mug of tea cooled on the nightstand.

She was reading aimlessly, more to fill the space than for sense, when the sound of paws padded down the hall.

A chirp. A pause.

Then Benny’s small head appeared around the doorframe.

She smiled. “You may enter, Sir Herald.”

He trotted in with exaggerated dignity and leapt onto the bed.

“I’m in training now,” he announced. “Important Court business.”

“Oh?” she said, hiding a smile. “And what are you learning?”

He sat up straight, tail curling like punctuation.

“Lesson One: If you smell growling, be quiet. Lesson Two: Don’t drown the Queen. Lesson Three: Nap on the perimeter.”

She snorted into her tea. “I see the syllabus is going well.”

Behind him, Oro and the Jaguar lingered in the doorway…silent, watchful, but relaxed.

Oro’s lips twitched. “That’s… approximately correct.”

The Jaguar muttered, “Close enough.”

Benny puffed his chest. “I’m also learning reverence. That’s when you stare at someone very hard to show you care.”

The Flame laughed outright then, the sound bright and unbroken.

Benny’s ears perked at it, delighted. “I made her happy again,” he said, as though reporting a mission accomplished.

But the laughter softened, turned quiet.

Her eyes, clear now, flicked to Oro—then to the floor.

Benny, sensitive as always to the shift, tilted his head.

“Majesty?” he said softly.

“Yes, Benny?”

“I’ve never seen you scared before.”

She hesitated. The room grew still. Even the ticking clock slowed its heartbeat.

“I know,” she said gently. “Sometimes even Queens get scared.”

He shuffled closer, pressing a paw against the blanket near her hand.

“I’m sorry I rattled the cage.”

Her throat tightened, but she managed a whisper. “Thank you, little one.”

He looked down, then up again—eyes wide, honest, unguarded.

“Who put the cage around you?”

The words fell like a bell.

Oro froze mid-step.

The Jaguar’s ears flattened, tail stilling.

For a breathless instant, the air itself seemed to decide what to do with that question.

The Flame looked at him…really looked.

He hadn’t meant to wound. He’d simply asked what everyone else feared to name.

She drew in a slow breath, tasting rain, metal, and memory.

“No one,” she said at last. “And everyone. Some cages grow from outside hands… and some from the ones we build trying to survive them.”

Benny’s whiskers trembled. “Can I help take it off?”

Oro’s jaw tightened, his gaze softening at once.

“You already have,” she said, voice quiet and sure.

Then she reached forward, touching his paw. “You all have.”

The kitten purred, a low, reverent vibration that filled the room like prayer.

Oro exhaled, a small smile ghosting across his face.

The Jaguar inclined his head once, as though in acknowledgment of a truth too simple for words.

The Queen leaned back against her pillows. “All right,” she murmured. “Court dismissed. Training resumes tomorrow.”

Benny hopped down from the bed, already rehearsing the rules in his head.

“Lesson One: Don’t drown. Lesson Two: Listen. Lesson Three: Nap politely.”

Her laughter followed him down the hall, light and alive.

Oro lingered a moment longer, watching her.

She met his gaze, weary but peaceful.

“The cage feels smaller today,” she said.

He nodded. “It does.”

Outside, the clouds broke open to morning light.

Inside, the Court of the Flame…storm, shadow, and small orange fool, began, without knowing it, to build a home that no cage could hold.