My voice trembled. I opened my eyes and let out a small laugh—thin and frayed and unsure. “It’s the strangest thing. It’s like I fell asleep… and when I woke up, the world had aged without me. Twenty rotations.” I shook my head, blinking fast. “That’s what they tell me. But I don’t remember going to sleep. I don’t remember dying. I don’t even remember what it feels like to be me.”
Tears welled unexpectedly, chasing the edge of the laughter that hadn’t quite faded yet. I pressed a hand to my chest, as if trying to steady the storm inside it. “Everyone keeps saying my name like I’m supposed to know what that means. Daphne. Vissy Daphne. Querilly. Mother. Mate.” My laugh cracked wide open. “But I feel like a blank slate in a story already halfway written.”
Myccael stepped closer, his hand still clasping mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. I felt the heat of him, the steadiness, and gratefully I took it. I needed it.
“I look in the mirror, and I see a face that doesn’t feel like mine,” I whispered. “I listen to others tell me memories—theirmemories—and they sound beautiful, like pieces of music I’ve forgotten how to play. And it’s terrifying. Because I want to remember. I want to feel it all. But it’s like I’ve been cut loose from everything that made me… me.”
The tears spilled then. But so did the laughter, helpless and raw. “I mean, really, whocomes back from the dead? Who wakes up two decades later in a glass shrine, like some ancient relic, and gets told by a giant, golden-scaled man that she’s his mother?”
Myccael laughed too, though his eyes shone. “Only you.”
I let out a breath that turned into a hiccup, then a sob, then another hiccup. “I feel insane. I’m laughing and crying, and I don’t know what I’m doing?—”
“You’re doing exactly what you’re meant to do,” he said gently, pulling me into another hug, one that felt easier this time. Softer. “You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”
“But whoamI?” I whispered into his chest. “Who was I?”
“You were brave,” he said quietly. “You were kind. And fierce. Generous, warm, loving. You were my mother, and even if you never remember, I’ll still be proud to say it.”
Something broke open in me then. Not a memory. Just the weight of his words. And the truth behind them.
“I want to be her again,” I said.
“You are.”
And somehow… for the first time since I woke in that shrine, I believed it might be true.
He gave me time to collect myself, and I was grateful for it. After a while, when the tears had dried, I chuckled, "I'm a fine mess."
He shrugged, "Who cares. You're here. I didn't expect to ever see you again, but here you are. It's a gift."
A gift. I'd seen myself as many things, since I woke, a burden, a liability, a stranger, but not asa gift. Although, to be honest, Mallack probably saw me that way too.Mallack. Just thinking his name made me all giddy inside.
"Mallack said Grandyr raised you," Myccael continued.
"I don't know," I seemed to say those three little words a lot lately. "All I know is that I woke up with the urge to see you, to tell you to stop the magrail."
He nodded. "I should have known that the gods wouldn't like it."
I tilted my head and waited for him to explain. "There is a reason why my predecessors never allowed spacecrafts or anything mechanical to land near Bantahar. The priests tried to tell me, but I…" he rubbed his neck like a young male who made a mistake, "thought I knew better and didn't listen."
I could see why he wanted it built. It made so much more sense to bring in supplies and wares to Bantahar and the surrounding cities via magrail than by nicta caravan. It was so much more efficient, especially given the Leander’s technology.
I placed my hand on his chest; it was naked like all vissigroths. I felt the scales through my palm, rough and warm. He put his hand on top of mine, "These scales were all I ever wanted."
"You didn't have them as a kid." It was a guess, not a memory.
He shook his head. "Mallack always said it was because…" his face twisted in an apology to me, "because you were a human. But it was just an excuse, because the gods hadn't chosen me to be his successor."
"Ney," I looked up and locked eyes with him, "you were chosen to be a susserayn, our susserayn."
He smirked wryly, "Zyn, and the first big decision I made turns out to be such a mistake it wakes the dead."
I laughed. Loud and clear, so hard, tears ran down my face, again. He chuckled too. Within seconds, we were holding eachother, laughing harder than his words deserved, but it felt good. So good. And freeing.
"You're lucky if I'm the only one dead who was awakened," I managed to retort, wiping the tears off my face.
"I'm lucky you're here." He replied seriously.
