Everything stopped.
The world tilted again beneath me, the grief striking fresh and cruel and impossibly real. I had been holding it off—burying it beneath urgency, beneath survival, beneath hope. But her name undid it all.
I took a step forward. “Shaelith?—”
“Don’t,” she hissed. She didn’t look at me, her hands were balled into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms.
“I just—” I tried again, guilt swelling in my throat, cracking my voice. “I didn’t mean?—”
“Idon’t blameyou,” she snapped.
But her eyes slid to mine for a split second, and I saw it.
The lie.
She might notwantto blame me. She might notchooseto. But somewhere deep in the marrow of her grief, some part of her already did. Maybe she always would.
I stood there, hollow, useless, as the others began to gather around her in stunned silence. Darian with his jaw clenched tight. Linc whispering a prayer under his breath. Fenric remained slumped on the ground where healers were already fussing over him.
Cindrissian stood apart, his gaze fixed on the sky, like if he didn’t look down, it wouldn’t be real.
But it was.
We had made it out.
And she hadn’t.
Brynelle.
Her laughter. Her bite. Her loyalty. Her quiet strength.
Gone.
And there was nothing left to do now but bleed and burn.
“We should go inside,” Darian said, rough with exhaustion. “The others will be waiting.”
The others. My children. They would be waiting, wondering, terrified for us. The thought of them sent a surge of renewed strength through my battered body.
Varyth’s hand slipped quietly into mine, warm and grounding. His touch was gentle, yet firm, guiding me forward with silent reassurance. I clung to it, allowing him to lead me toward the castle, each step pulling me further away from the nightmare we’d escaped.
The doors swung open, bathing us in a wash of warm light from within. Familiar faces blurred together—concerned,relieved, grieving—but I searched desperately past them, seeking two small figures above all else.
Then I saw them. Mireth and Eryx, standing at the far end of the hall, eyes wide and hopeful, waiting anxiously for me. Relief crashed through me with such force it nearly brought me to my knees.
I stood frozen in the threshold.
I had imagined this moment a thousand times while locked behind Xyliria’s walls—racing toward them, dropping to my knees, holding them until my arms gave out. I had imagined their cries of relief, their laughter, the warmth of their little hands gripping mine.
But now, with Mireth and Eryx just steps away, I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t breathe.
Because what if I wasn’t that person anymore?
What if the blood on my skin—the blood I hadn’t realised was still smeared across my arms, my clothes, drying in angry streaks—was all they saw now?
Not their mother. A stranger. A monster wearing her face.
