Lanterns in the Fog

The morning came not with sunlight, but with the dull ache of throats and limbs, the kind that settles after too much rain, too much walking, and far too much silence. Callum Virell groaned as he rolled onto his side, head pounding, throat dry as gravel. His limbs ached as if he had marched through the night.

In truth, he had.

He reached for the glass of water by the bedside and found it empty. His cough startled the silence, raspy and violent. Rubbing his temple, he forced himself to sit up. The room spun.

Then, the door creaked open.

Seraphine emerged slowly, wrapped in a fleece throw, her hair undone and her face pale. Her eyes narrowed the moment she laid eyes on him.

For a breath, they stared.

Two ghosts, not of death, but of fever.

"You look like hell," Callum muttered.

"And your cough sounds like a dying engine," Sera replied, voice like sandpaper.

Callum tried to chuckle but ended up in a coughing fit instead. Sera winced and shuffled toward the stairs, mumbling, "Come on. Before Jonas sees us and loses faith in the future of mankind."

At the dining table, the kitchen light glared down on their misery. Jonas stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the damage like a war medic. Callum sniffled pitifully into his cup. Sera slumped on a blanket like a disgraced general.

Jonas smiled.

"Adults, they say. Full-grown professionals. Then you go around catching colds like rebellious teenagers!"

Callum groaned.

"Thank you, father," Sera muttered under her breath.

Jonas shot her a look, but his mouth twitched.

"Don't thank me. Thank your immune system for still functioning after your glorious night parade."

He turned and slammed two mugs of herbal tea in front of them. "Drink. No arguments. I'll bring the thermometers next."

---

By mid-afternoon, the rain had turned into a misty drizzle outside. The fireplace was lit low, crackling with soft heat. Callum had dozed off on the living room couch, snoring faintly.

Seraphine sat beside him in silence, wrapped in a thick blanket, flipping through reports she wasn't truly reading.

A knock sounded. Jonas answered.

It was Hadrian Elion, still in his navy overcoat, droplets of rain glistening off the shoulders. In his hand was a plain brown paper bag. Jonas let him in with a silent nod.

Hadrian glanced at his daughter first. Then his eyes shifted to the slumbering form beside her. His frown didn't soften immediately, but there was something contemplative in the way he looked at them.

"I heard my daughter's pretending she's still twenty and storm-proof," he said.

Sera lifted her eyes, expression tired. "Sir... sorry."

"Hmmmm," Hadrian muttered and walked forward. He handed her the bag. She opened it to find an assortment of roots, ginger candies, and herbal tonics- the most expensive brands.

Hadrian lowered himself into the chair across from her, elbows resting on his knees.

"I thought this marriage was war," he said after a pause. "But this... looks like a truce. And... you two look like someone we do not know."

Sera didn't answer right away. Her fingers tightened on the bag before she set it down beside her.

"It's temporary, sir, " she said softly.

He studied her for a long time.

"Temporary peace is still peace."

They didn't speak for a while. The fire cracked. Callum turned in his sleep and exhaled something like a sigh.

When Hadrian rose to leave, he paused by the couch. He looked at Callum, then back at his daughter.

"Sera... aren't you two looking good?" he said. Then, without waiting for a reply, he left.

---

Evening fell, and with it, another knock. Jonas opened the door and let out a weary breath.

Fred Virell walked in without needing an invitation, a bottle of aged brandy tucked under his arm like a visiting dignitary. He found Callum awake this time, upright on the couch, still wrapped in a blanket and pale.

Fred sat beside him. Neither spoke at first.

"Jonas called. Said you two were caught in the rain. Like idiots!" Fred began.

"We were," Callum rasped.

Fred didn't laugh. He unscrewed the bottle but poured nothing. The scent alone made Callum wince.

Fred stared into the fire.

"That girl still loves you."

Callum didn't deny it. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor.

Fred continued. "And I know you still love her. But marriage isn't only for love."

Another pause. A long silence.

Fred finally stood.

"I'm not here to pick sides. But your mother would've said... it is always the storm that brings you clarity."

He left the bottle on the table and walked out without another word.

---

Night came quietly.

Jonas was asleep. The house had taken on that late-evening stillness, where every sound felt louder than it should.

Callum and Sera sat on opposite ends of the couch, each swaddled in blankets like children.

A single lamp glowed above them. Two mugs of warm broth steamed in their hands.

Silence. Not cold, but worn-in. Comfortable.

Callum cleared his throat. "Your father threatened me, didn't he?"

Sera didn't look up. "No. He said we must do it again."

Callum blinked.