I swallowed.
Myccael stared at me, "You don't remember?"
The question cut deeper than I expected. “I don’t,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t flinch. Not visibly. But I saw it in the way his shoulders drew back, the flicker of pain that passed over his features beforehe masked it with a tight smile. “It’s alright,” he said. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”
But it wasn’t alright. Not for him. Not for me.
Because the shame of not knowing the male I had thought my son was like a stone inside my ribs, pressing harder with every breath. Why didn’t I feel anything? Even if he wasn't mine, Mallack said I had loved the boy.
Mallack shifted beside me, as if he felt the shift in the air too. I glanced at him, at the male whose presence had wrapped itself around me like silk and fire these last days, and guilt surged hot and wild through my blood. I’d clung to him. Reached for him. Wanted him.
And now here I was, face-to-face with my son. Unmoved.
“I believe you,” Myccael said, softer now. “Whatever brought you back, it’s not over. The magrail… whatever we’ve unearthed beneath it… it’s connected. I can feel it too.”
I nodded, numb. “I think… that’s why I’m here.”
He reached for my hand. I let him take it. His grip was gentle, reverent even, but the jolt I braced for—the overwhelming certainty of who we were to each other—never came.
He wasn’t a stranger.
But he wasn’t my son either.
And that realization made me want to cry.
But I didn’t.
Because crying meant feeling. And whatever Grandyr had given back to me… he hadn’t given me that.
Mallack stepped closer, silent and grounding. I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. Because if I did, I was afraid I’d fall into him all over again. I didn’t know what that made me. A mother who didn’t recognize her son. A mate who couldn't remember her querilly.
“Alright,” Myccael straightened, his face hardened, as if he had put on a mask. I couldn't help but admire him. He was a born leader. Power emanated from him, power that said he knew exactly who he was and what needed to be done. "Show me what you found."
Tovahr and Zavahr stepped forward to escort him toward the inner chamber, where the excavation site shimmered under unnatural lights. Myccael didn’t look back. Not at me. Not at Mallack. As if whatever fragile thread had tethered us had been snipped the moment I failed to meet his embrace with more than politeness.
The chill of that rejection hit harder than I expected. I stood there, feeling suddenly brittle, as if my bones were made of glass and one more look of disappointment might crack me wide open.
Mallack lingered beside me, unmoving. His silence wrapped around me like a second skin. But I felt the weight of his gaze, sharp and heavy, as if he expected me to vanish any moment. As if this were all a dream that he dared not believe in. I didn’t want to meet his eyes. Because if I did, I’d crumble. And I couldn’t afford to crumble now.
I wasn’t listening as they filled Myccael in on what they assumed to be Zuten technology. I was still reeling. Myccael had called meMother,and I hadn’t felt it. Hadn’tbeenit. Was it because I’d lost the memories? Or because I’d lost thefeelingbehind them?
I should’ve been proud of him. I should’ve been overwhelmed with love and pain and joy at seeing the boy I once held grown into a king. But all I’d felt was… admiration. Cold and clean. Like watching someone else’s son win a war.
It made me want to scream. To sob. To throw something. Tofeelsomething.
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
Mallack’s voice cut softly through the haze. “You’re not broken.”
I turned, startled. His gaze was on the others, but his words were for me.
“I see you folding in on yourself,” he said quietly. “I see the way you’re blaming yourself. But listen to me, Daphne. You’re not broken. You’re just… still finding your pieces.”
His words struck deep, unexpected, and raw.
