[Part 1]
The house had quieted to a tender stillness. Beyond the windows, the meadows whispered under a veil of moonlight, and the cicadas sang their slow, rhythmic lullaby to the night. Inside, the hearth burned low and golden, the light flickering softly over the old wooden beams and the worn furniture that had not changed since Eve was small.
She sat cross-legged by the fire, shoulders draped in a knitted shawl her mother had fetched earlier. Isari and Cid lay in a heap before the hearth — silver and brown fur tangled together, their slow breaths rising and falling in gentle unison. Every so often, Isari's tail twitched, and Cid's massive paw would flop lazily over her as though to say stay still, little one.
Eve watched them fondly, a ghost of a smile on her lips. The sight warmed something deep inside her chest, something that had felt hollow for too long.
Mariana returned quietly, carrying two small cups of steaming tea. She set them down with practiced grace and settled beside her daughter, close enough that their shoulders brushed. For a while, they said nothing. The crackle of the fire filled the quiet.
Eve turned the cup between her palms, feeling the warmth seep into her fingers.
"Thank you, Mama," she said softly. "For dinner. For everything.."
Mariana's smile was faint, touched with pride and sadness both.
"You've always had the same favourites. Some things don't change, hm?"
Eve huffed a little laugh through her nose.
"Mm... Some..."
Mariana's hand came to rest on hers then, and for a moment they just sat like that, the silence stretching out between them, comfortable, inviting, full of things unsaid.
It was Eve who broke it. Her gaze lingered on the fire, silver eye catching the light as she whispered.
"I'm... scared, Mama."
The words seemed to surprise even her. They hung in the air, fragile and trembling.
"So much is changing," she went on. "Everything's happening so quickly and I… I don't know if I can handle it."
Mariana said nothing, only tightened her hand slightly around Eve's.
"There was a fight," Eve continued, voice low. "A bad one. Between two people I care about deeply. I felt it when it happened. In the Force. It was like something inside me cracked." Her throat tightened. She blinked slowly, picturing Reina's storm of emotion, Colette's pained restraint. "I couldn't stop it."
Silence again. Only the soft crack of the logs and the steady rhythm of the cicadas outside. She drew a breath.
"And then there's... everything else. The enclave, my Padawan, now the council too. Valery trusts me so much. I just... what if I'm not enough for any of it? What if, when it really matters... I fail them all?"
Her mother didn't hesitate. She leaned forward and gathered Eve into her arms, holding her tightly as though shielding her from the very fear she confessed.
"Oh, my love," Mariana murmured against her hair. "You have already done more than most ever will. You've grown into everything I hoped for and more. I'm so proud of you, Eevee. So, so proud."
Eve couldn't hold the tears back then. They came silently, spilling hot down her cheeks, soaking into her mother's shoulder as she clung to her like a child again.
"I... I-I'm so scared," she managed to whisper, voice breaking. Saying it aloud seemed to open the floodgates, the weight she'd carried for months spilling out all at once. Her body trembled as she cried, and Mariana only held her closer, one hand rubbing soft circles on her back.
"I know," her mother whispered. "I know, my darling. It's all right. You're allowed to be scared. You're allowed to feel it." Eve shuddered, trying to breathe, as Mariana added softly, "At least you have Tigris, yes?"
Eve sniffled, lifting her head just enough to meet her mother's eyes.
"She's... my rock," she admitted hoarsely. "Through everything. But... I hardly see her now. She's gone on so many missions and... I miss her so much." Mariana brushed the hair gently from her face.
"I understand," she said quietly. "I went through the same with your father. It's never easy, loving someone whose duty calls them away."
Something in that comparison struck a chord deep inside Eve. A flash of dread, raw and instinctive. The thought of losing Tigris, of her not coming back someday, just like her father, hit her like cold water. Her breath caught, and the tears came again before she could stop them. Mariana held her tight once more, instinctively understanding her daughter.
"She will come back to you, always," she whispered firmly. "That woman loves you far too much to stay away. You know that."
Eve nodded weakly, clinging to her mother's words as though to warmth itself.
"I know..."
At that, a soft sound stirred at her feet. Isari had risen, blinking sleepily, and padded to Eve's side. The fox rested her chin on Eve's knee, eyes luminous in the firelight. Eve's lips trembled into a small, weary smile. She reached down, scratching between Isari's ears. Isari gave a tiny, comforting trill, the same she'd make on the long nights at the enclave when Eve had been awake thinking too much. Mariana watched, smiling gently.
"Same goes for this little soul," she said, voice tender. Eve gave a small, watery laugh.
"Y-yeah," she whispered, as Mariana kept her daughter close and safe and warm.
The fire burned lower. Outside, the cicadas sang on. Inside, mother, daughter, and two loyal creatures stayed close, wrapped in the small, sacred peace of the night.
And for the first time in months, Eve let herself simply be—held, loved, and safe.
