Chapter Text
Kida sat at the edge of her bed, the morning light filtering through the crystal windows and casting soft patterns across the floor. Her body was still recovering, muscles sore from both the chamber’s strain and the lingering weakness of her recent fever. For the first time in days, she felt a stillness that was not imposed by duty, but by necessity—an unfamiliar pause in the constant rhythm of responsibility.
Milo moved quietly around the room, arranging fresh water, preparing a simple breakfast, and checking the herbs he had steeped overnight. He glanced at her once, eyes warm but careful, as if gauging how much of her energy had truly returned. “You’re looking better,” he said, voice steady. “Still weak, but better.”
Kida watched him, noting the deliberate care in every movement. He was precise and methodical, yet there was an underlying gentleness that spoke of genuine concern. Her father’s lessons about trust and the city’s need for allies echoed in her mind, and she realized that Milo’s devotion had been more than duty—it had been personal, unwavering, and quietly heroic.
She let out a soft sigh. “I didn’t expect… anyone to care for me like this,” she admitted, her voice low. “Not like this.”
Milo paused, meeting her gaze. “You’ve carried more weight than anyone should. It wasn’t about me caring, it was about you surviving. Atlantis needs its queen… but you need yourself too.”
The words struck her in a way she had not anticipated. For so long, she had been the strong one—the protector, the warrior, the unyielding guardian of her people. Vulnerability had been a luxury she could not afford. Yet Milo’s presence, his care, had made that vulnerability safe, even powerful in a quiet, unseen way.
She realized then that the bond between them had shifted. It was no longer only about discovery, the ruins, or the city’s secrets. It was about trust, reliance, and the unspoken understanding that came from seeing each other at their weakest—and choosing to stay.
Kida let herself lean back against the pillows, exhaustion still heavy but tempered by clarity. Milo moved closer, offering a cup of tea, and she took it, feeling the warmth spread through her hands and up her arms. She met his eyes, and for the first time, she allowed herself to acknowledge the truth: this man, this outsider, had earned a place not only in Atlantis, but in her own life.
The city hummed softly outside, the crystal light pulsing like a heartbeat in sync with her own. And for the first time in a long while, Kida felt a tentative peace—not because the trials of Atlantis had ended, but because she no longer had to face them entirely alone.