The revelation hung heavy, a specter of loss filling the quiet room, mingling with the morning light and the faint scent of beeswax polish.As Roman stood there, grappling with the ghost of a brother he never knew, I realized no amount of stitching could mend the tear in our family that destiny had wrought.
Roman’s face froze—disbelief etched in every line, hurt creeping in like frost.
“And you didn’t think that was important to tell me?”His voice cracked under the weight of this new reality.“Why now?Is it to keep me from leaving?”
“Gods, no, Roman.”The words rushed out, frantic, my hands reaching for him, desperate to pull him back from the edge.“I just can’t bear to lose you too.Don’t go.”
In my panic, the secrets I’d buried began to unravel.
“There’s so much you don’t understand.About time travel, about Dancing Fire?—”
“Time travel?”He stared at me, incredulous, an eyebrow arched in disbelief.His look said it all—he thought I had lost my mind.
“Listen to me,” I begged, my voice breaking.“You were born during the solar eclipse.And with your birth… a dagger appeared.A sign of your heritage.Roman—you are a time traveler.”
“Mother—” The word landed like a wound reopened, and the skepticism in his eyes cut deeper than any secret I had ever buried.
“Roman, please.”My voice shook, but I pressed on.“If you go to the New World, you will find your destiny.I’ve only tried to protect you—from dangers and truths that would burden your soul too soon.”
My plea hung heavily between us—a mother’s last desperate attempt to shield her son from a world far too eager to claim him.
He stared at me, those piercing blue eyes—his father’s gaze, softened by dawn light.Disbelief still clung to him, but something shifted—a subtle loosening of his jaw, a flicker of something that might’ve been understanding… or pity.
“Mother,” he said, softer now, his tone laced with the kindness of a man who believed he was humoring someone fragile.“You’ve been alone too long.”
Roman stepped forward, closing the distance I hadn’t realized had stretched between us.His hands rested on my shoulders, warm and reassuring.“These ideas… they’re preposterous.Time travel?Daggers?”He shook his head gently, like one comforting a child.
Before I could speak, he bent down and kissed my forehead—a benediction or perhaps… a farewell.
And then he turned away, leaving silence in his wake—vast, unspoken, and final.
I stood frozen, bereft, watching the back of the man who was both my son and the living legacy of a love that burned eternally… yet always out of reach.
“Where are you going?”My voice broke the stillness, and I trembled with desperation as I watched him gather his meager belongings.
He didn’t look up.
“I must prepare for my journey,” Roman said, steadfast.“The ship leaves in two days.”
The finality in his voice hit me like a door slamming shut.My time to protect him was running out.
“Two days?”The words tumbled from my lips, with disbelief and a dawning horror.“You’ve already secured passage?”My heart sank.The room seemed to darken around me as if the light knew to retreat in the face of such sorrow.
“Please… don’t go.”The plea slipped out as a whisper, barely audible, trembling between us.
Roman straightened and turned to face me.His eyes—so achingly like Amir’s—held the fire of untested courage.“Mother,” he said gently but firmly, “I am a man.I have to fight for something.I must go.”
Tears welled in my eyes and spilled freely.I saw not the man he had become but the child I had once cradled against my breast—the one I had sworn to protect.“What if I lose you?”I choked out, my voice thick with anguish.“I’ve buried my entire family, Roman.I can’t bear to lose you, too.”
He stepped closer, taking my trembling hands in his.His touch was warm and steady—too steady for someone I still saw as my boy.“You’re stronger than you know,” he said softly.“And I will come back.I won’t be on the front lines, not at first.I’ll be cleaning weapons and running errands.I probably won’t see battle.”
His reassurances fell hollow against the pounding dread in my chest.
“Nothing will stop me,” he added, his tone hardening.“Daggers and time travel… they’re stories.Fantasies.They don’t exist.Please, let me go.I promise I will return.”
But as he spoke, I knew—some promises were made in love, not in certainty.And some were broken by fate.
* * *
