Vera stared at the image of her mother, then turned to Serel.

  Her mouth opened, then closed.

  A quiet voice inside her tried to speak, but she hesitated to give it shape.

  It was true. She’d never once called herself Serel’s mother. Others had called her that, and she hadn’t corrected them, but she’d never said it herself. Never claimed it out loud, or thought it. She had kept her distance in the smallest ways—stuck to ‘kiddo,’ ‘little one,’ or simply ‘Serel.’ Never ‘sweetie.’ Never ‘honey.’ Never anything that felt like something a real mother might say.

  She hadn’t thought that was wrong of her. Those words didn’t feel like hers to use. Even if she’d accepted her role as the girl’s guardian—anchored her new life around protecting and providing for her—it didn’t seem right to just step into that identity like it was hers by default.

  It would have come with time. She had never admitted as much, but… she’d always assumed she would grow into it, just like she learned to adapt to everything else. That Serel would, too. That it would happen naturally.

  That had seemed fine. Safe. Practical, even. Was there anything wrong with that?

  Her gaze lingered on Serel’s closed eyes.

  “Vera,” her mother said. “Why did you choose to protect her as one of the first things you did here?”

  “Because it seemed like the responsible thing to do,” Vera answered. “Because it’s what this body told me to do.”

  “Then why did you decide to base your new existence around her?”

  “Because I was confused. I needed a starting point. And I couldn’t ignore her.”

  Her mother sighed—a sound of half fondness, half disappointment. “Any other time, I’d be proud of that instinct of yours. That you tried to be responsible. I always admired how adaptive you were. How resilient in the face of adversity, even if it was incredibly frustrating to watch you deal with everything in your own stubborn way.” Her tone softened. “But your greatest weakness has always been assuming others can handle things the same way you do.”

  Vera looked to the woman, who smiled in a sad but knowing manner.

  “Do you think Serel didn’t notice that something was different about you?” she asked.

  Vera hesitated, then shook her head. “No. I know she did.”

  “And what did you do about it?”

  “…What I knew to do.”

  She’d tried to let the girl smile. Tried small reassurances. Tried not to make things worse, because she wasn’t certain about how to make them better other than her own way. She wasn’t blind to Serel’s sensitivity, but she had genuinely thought she would have the time to work through that.

  Because the interference of some eldritch deity wasn’t anywhere on her radar.

  “I do love that about you,” her mother murmured, looking toward Serel. “And I’m sure she loved it too. But children don’t think like adults. They don’t always understand restraint, or distance. They don’t always realize when something is only temporary. With a normal child, maybe your approach would still have worked. But Serel isn’t normal. She felt the space between you, and she couldn’t completely tell it wasn’t rejection. A small part of her began to feel without a home. That’s what the Graven Daughter responded to.”

  Vera’s chest tightened. “Is that why—?”

  Her mother nodded. “As I said, I don’t know the exact terms. She felt Serel’s uncertainty and thought you no longer wanted the girl. So she came to claim what she believed was owed.”

  “That’s not true,” Vera said sharply. “She’s seen that. You’ve seen it.”

  “She has now. However…” Her mother was silent for a beat. “I’ve only got a thin understanding of how she thinks, but to the Graven Daughter, what she saw doesn’t matter. She believes Serel is hers.”

  Vera stepped closer, locking eyes with her. “Serel is mine.”

  The moment the words left her, she stopped. Her eyes widened, and she stepped back slightly again, hand rising.

  “No—I don’t mean—”

  She hadn’t meant to say it like that. But it came from somewhere raw and possessive, a flare of anger at the thought of Serel being taken away. Part of the anger that had driven her here. It made her sound like she was claiming the girl as property—like Serel was just one more prize in Veralyth Mournvale’s collection.

  But that wasn’t how she saw the girl.

  A soft chuckle escaped her mother.

  Vera looked at her warily. “What?”

  The woman raised a hand to her mouth, stifling a laugh. “Oh, I haven’t seen you this possessive since you were seven and refused to let your cousin touch your first guitar.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Honey,” her mother cut in gently, “it’s not that unusual for mothers to feel possessive of their children. Sometimes it comes from love, sometimes insecurity. Oftentimes both. Knowing how emotionally repressed you can be, I imagine you’ve got a backlog of feelings to unpack. But you’re more than mature enough to carry that weight. I’m not worried about that.”

  Her voice shifted, carrying that same motherly authority again.

  “But if you’re going to walk this path, you first have to accept what that means. This girl is not one where half-measures will suffice.”

  Vera fell silent, watching her. She studied the lines at the corner of her mother’s eyes that were the same as she remembered. Small markers of all their arguments.

  She turned back to Serel.

  “…If I do,” she said, “will the Graven Daughter give up?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But it’s what Serel needs?”

  “It’s what she needed, Vera. Now, I can’t say. You’re the one who needs to determine that.”

  Vera looked at Serel quietly. She wasn’t certain for how long. So many thoughts passed through her mind in that time. So many emotions that she had only started trying to wrangle after arriving in this world, and that she doubted she’d entirely understand any time soon.

  But eventually, she did come to a conclusion. One that felt scary, but maybe right for her.

  She lifted her hand. Stillwake rose, but instead of brandishing the weapon, she dismissed it into her Vaultring. In its place, a sheet of parchment and a charcoal stick appeared.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “I’m not sure how to do what you’re saying,” she said, walking up to the girl on the bench. She knelt in front of her. “I get that I haven’t been doing this the best way. That I need to change if I’m going to keep her safe. That if I’ve taken on this role, I can’t do it halfway.”

  She placed the parchment on the bench beside Serel and began to draw—slow, deliberate strokes of charcoal across the surface.

  “But I can’t just be like you,” she added. “Like how my mom was.”

  The charcoal whispered as her hand moved almost instinctively, forming lines she didn’t plan.

  “But I’ll try,” she murmured. “For the first time in my life, I’ve got reason to stretch my comfort zone. For her, I’ll try.”

  When she finished, she exhaled. The charcoal disappeared from her hand into the Vaultring in a tiny burst of Resonance. Vera looked at what she had created.

  It was simple. Basic. Rough. Childish, even.

  But she supposed it was her kind of promise.

  Gently, she took Serel’s hands from the girl’s lap, uncurling her small fingers and placing the parchment in her palm.

  “Serel,” she whispered.

  No response.

  “Serel,” she repeated, brushing a thumb across her knuckles. “It’s me. Could you open your eyes for just a moment, okay?”

  A faint twitch stirred behind the girl’s eyelids.

  “I’ve got something I want to show you,” Vera said quietly. “It’s just for you.”

  Serel’s brow furrowed slightly. A muted sound escaped her. Then, slowly, her eyes fluttered open, silvery-crimson irises squinting at Vera in sleepy confusion. “…Mommy?”

  Vera’s throat tightened. “Mm. I’m here.”

  Serel blinked, focus gradually returning. “Mommy…? What’s happening…?”

  “Something confusing. But you don’t have to worry about that right now. I’m here.” Vera brushed one hand through the girl’s hair. “And look. I made this for you.”

  She guided Serel’s gaze down to her open hand. The girl blinked at the parchment lying there—at the faint charcoal lines. It showed a small drawing of Serel, flanked by two figures. Two Veras—Veralyth Mournvale and Vera Morgans—each resting a hand on her shoulders.

  Serel stared at it. “…I don’t understand,” she finally whispered.

  “That’s fine,” Vera whispered back. “I don’t really either. But it’s a promise. A vow. Even a reminder. That if you ever feel lonely, scared, or lost, I’ll be there. Today, tomorrow, next week, next month, next year—even when you’re old and weird like Korrin. I’ll be nosy and stubborn and even a pain if that’s what you need. But I won’t ever leave. Okay?”

  Serel blinked again. She shook her head, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “I don’t understand, Mommy… why…?”

  She sniffled, even though she didn’t seem to entirely know the reason.

  Vera lifted a finger, wiping a tear away. “Because apparently there’s competition for you, and I’m not sure I should fight it off.”

  She glanced at the dampness on her fingertip.

  “Mom,” she said without turning around, “is it possible to speak directly with the Graven Daughter?”

  “Not here,” her mother answered.

  “So if I want to send a message, I’ll have to do it through you. Or another way.”

  “…Vera, should I be worried?”

  There was that familiar hint of exasperation in the voice now. It made Vera want to smile, hearing it again after so long.

  She moved her hand, holding it above the stone bench beside Serel. The Resonance inside her stirred. The sigil-scars along her knuckles and forearm blazed to life as an ocean of power swelled within. She let her hand fall.

  Space resisted, shivering, but she pressed through it.

  Her power surged outward, and lines of Hollow runes twisted and fractured the air, tearing it open like a wound in her hand’s wake.

  Mark of Hollow Reach.

  Her original plan when getting here had been to find Serel and leave immediately.

  This wasn’t quite that.

  Vertigo hit her as a sense of emptiness rushed in. A hollow ache left when Resonance poured out far faster than it had even when she entered the Graven Daughter’s domain. Using Stillwake would have made this easier, sharper, and far more efficient. But she didn’t want efficiency right now.

  Right now, she didn’t feel like acting the part of Veralyth Mournvale, the ascendant warrior. She didn’t even feel like acting the part of Vera Morgans, the player behind the screen.

  She just felt like being whoever she was right in this very moment.

  The space around them trembled. An invisible weight settled over everything. Vera felt the weight of countless gazes pressing down from every direction.

  “If we leave now,” she said evenly, “you’d just try to take her again, wouldn’t you?” She turned, eyes sweeping to meet the unseen presences lingering in the air. “You’ve seen what I am. I’d fight you, if you did.” Her tone hardened. “I’d find a way to kill you.”

  Silence met her words.

  “You’re asking for a price,” she continued. “You think you’re owed Serel.”

  Vera couldn’t tell why, but Resonance threaded her words, adding an edge of something that wasn’t human.

  “But no one is owed her. Serel is my daughter. And only she decides who she stays with.”

  She turned back toward the girl. Serel’s cheeks were wet with tears, her nose running, her small face trembling as she looked up at Vera.

  “Serel,” Vera said softly, “do you want to stay with me, even if I’m not the best mother?”

  The girl’s lip quivered. Confusion, fear, hope—all flickered across her expression before she looked down at the drawing in her hand. Her fingers tightened around it. Then she looked back up and nodded hard. “Mmm. I want to stay with you forever.”

  Vera smiled, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered, and stood.

  She looked around them. Looked at the hues of violet and lilac, and the endless nothing. At the unseen hands staring, and whatever lay beyond. “I don’t know what debt you think you’re owed,” she said to it all, “but if you’re connected to Serel and don’t mean her real harm, I’ll find another way to pay it. Some other form. So leave her be. Don’t turn us into enemies if you don’t have to.”

  The air pulsed once. The pressure didn’t vanish, but it did ease.

  Several seconds passed.

  Vera turned her gaze to her mother. “What’s her answer?”

  The woman’s eyes moved across the empty space. “…I think she is trying to understand.”

  “Do I need to make myself clearer?”

  “There’s a gap in communication here, honey. Our words don’t mean the same thing to her.”

  “Can’t you translate for me?”

  “Not any better than I already have.”

  Vera frowned. She looked around. “Then give me time to find Mireya Halstrad. Your Last Sung.”

  And possibly one of Vera’s few real friends.

  More seconds passed. Nothing happened. Vera was starting to doubt when, finally, a ripple appeared to pass over the space, and the pressure faded entirely. Within their surroundings, she thought she caught the faintest flicker of light.

  Her mother was silent for another moment. “She… seems to accept that. For now. As long as her due is eventually paid.” She turned to Vera, smiling faintly. “Congratulations, honey.”

  Vera watched her. “…Thanks.”

  For a time, they simply looked at each other.

  Then Vera spoke again. “I thought you were against me keeping Serel with me.”

  Her mother tilted her head. “Was that how you took it?”

  “That’s what you said.” Vera studied her carefully. “…Were you just trying to push me over the edge? Make me call her my daughter?”

  Her mother’s smile turned milder. “Vera, I am not your real mother. But if my being here means anything, it’s to help you leave this place carrying less weight than when you arrived. Whether that meant with or without Serel was for you to decide.”

  Her gaze shifted toward the girl. “That said, I’m sure I would’ve been delighted for my beautiful daughter to give me such a darling granddaughter. Your father would’ve been too.”

  Vera’s next words caught in her throat. For a long moment, she couldn’t speak. “Mom, I…”

  Her mother raised a hand, gesturing toward the Hollow Reach. “I think it’s about time you leave. There are people who need you. As a mother, nothing would make me happier than more time here—but I know you wouldn’t forgive yourself for being late.”

  Vera held her gaze, memorizing the lines of that face.

  …The truth was, she and her real mother had rarely been this genuine with each other. They’d never really had the space. Or maybe the opportunity. That was probably Vera’s fault. But if this had truly been her mother, she couldn’t even say for sure the woman would have been as understanding as she was.

  Thinking about that left a bitter aftertaste in her mind.

  But even so, seeing this version of her mother—being seen by this version of her—left something warm behind. Even with the anger and sorrow she’d felt at the Graven Daughter reshaping that memory into a tool.

  She felt somewhat guilty for being almost grateful.

  “Hurry along, honey,” her mother said. “I know you’re still adjusting to the notion, but you’re a hero now. And heroes don’t show up late when people are in jeopardy.”

  Vera watched her for a couple seconds longer, then turned to Serel. She brushed a hand over the girl’s damp cheek, then leaned forward to lift her into her arms.

  “Come on, now… honey.”

  She tried the word for herself, unsure how it’d feel coming from her lips.

  No, that still didn’t quite feel like her.

  She’d figure something out.

  Serel shifted in her arms, glancing over Vera’s shoulder. “Mommy… is that…?”

  Vera smiled quietly without looking back. “I’ll tell you all about her later, okay?”

  The girl hesitated, then nodded. “Mmm. Okay.”

  Vera stepped closer to the Hollow Reach and paused, just in case. But the Graven Daughter made no show of interfering or protesting.

  She waited a moment longer, then spoke. “Mom… thank you. For everything. I wish I could’ve told you that while I still had the chance. To you and Dad.”

  “I think we both knew,” her mother’s fading voice replied from behind.

  “Yeah,” Vera murmured. “That would’ve been nice.”

  She drew in a steady breath, tightened her hold on Serel, stepped up on the bench and then through the rift.

  The world folded around them.

  Right here and now, she’d accepted the shape of Veralyth the mother.

  But like her own mom had said, what came next might demand her taking on another role she’d been hesitating about.

  Veralyth, the Ashborn Ascendant.