"Okay, that was weird," Damon muttered under his breath.

"What was weird?" his mother asked, glancing back at him as she walked down toward the village.

Damon hesitated, unsure if he should tell her or not. But eventually, he decided to speak.

"Well… it was weird, but I saw myself."

Ranar narrowed her eyes, her voice thoughtful.

"Is that philosophical, or… not? I'm not clear on what you mean."

Damon shook his head. "No, I mean literally. I saw myself. I looked different. I had long dark hair."

Ranar's eyes drifted to her son's neatly cut hair. "So, you want to grow your hair out? That's fine. I think you'd look cute—well, cuter."

Damon chuckled softly at her quick correction.

"That version of me didn't look quite right," he continued. "My eyes were dark, dark as night. I looked so… tired, I guess."

Ranar stopped walking for a moment, drawing in a slow breath before speaking.

"If you don't want to leave the village, you don't have to. It's okay. You don't need to feel pressured. It doesn't matter whether you become a hero or not."

Damon shook his head, a strange pulse of thought echoing in the back of his mind.

'Wake up, dammit.'

"I… I want to," he said quietly.

His mother nodded, though worry softened her face. She smiled, but it was the kind of smile he knew all too well, the one she forced when she was hurting.

It was the same smile she wore on the day she marched off to war, leaving him and Luna behind.

This smile meant he would never see her again.

"I made tamberry cake, your favorite. Let's celebrate your seventeenth birthday."

Damon followed her home slowly, that strange feeling still lingering in his chest.

His heart was in turmoil, struggling against something he couldn't name. It felt as if his mind was being pulled in two directions, his conscious self refusing to acknowledge what his unconscious tried to scream.

He walked beside his mother like a ghost drifting through a dream. The villagers greeted them kindly as they passed, smiles warm and familiar. But every face Damon saw filled him with an inexplicable revulsion, a heat rising from deep within, a strange and bitter rage.

It made no sense. These were people he had known all his life. They'd treated him kindly, laughed with him, trusted him. He'd never hated anyone before. He was mischievous at times, yes, but at his core he was good.

So why, when he looked at them, did he feel this… hatred? This deep resentment he couldn't understand?

Shame settled in his chest like a heavy stone.

He followed his mother home, watching the way her hair danced in the soft breeze. He couldn't take his eyes off her, afraid that if he blinked, she would disappear. Seventeen years had passed since his birth, and still he felt like he hadn't spent enough time with her.

When they reached their home, the warm scent of tamberry cake filled the air. He could hear his father and sister inside, more accurately, Luna lecturing their father about the proper way to use kitchen utensils.

His mother smiled faintly at the sound, but it was followed by a quiet sigh.

"Damon," she said softly, "I can tell you're not alright."

"I… I…" Damon tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. His mouth opened, yet nothing followed.

Ranar sighed, placing her hands on her hips.

"I suppose you've already figured this out by now, but… I'm actually a noble. My father is a Grand Duke. I doubt you'd have guessed that much."

She stepped closer to him, her gaze steady. He was taller than her now, but in that moment he still felt like a child standing before his mother.

"You've grown into a man," she said. "I should be happy about that. But I hate that it means you'll leave me one day."

Her voice broke. Tears fell freely now, splattering against the dirt. She reached for his hands, squeezing them tightly, the kind of touch no illusion could ever fake.

"When I left my father, I didn't understand this feeling. But now I do. No parent wants to see their child grow up and go. Yet we have to accept it, no matter how much it hurts."

Her tears darkened the earth beneath her feet.

"I wanted to send you to my father because I knew he'd never reject you. He wouldn't reject me either. But I'm ashamed to face him."

Ranar's eyes softened as she met her son's.

"No matter what happens, Damon, you can always come back to me. You can always rely on your mother. I'll always be on your side. I'll never be ashamed of you."

Something inside Damon cracked. His heart throbbed with emotion he couldn't control, tears slipping down his face before he even noticed.

"I… I kill people," he whispered, voice trembling. "And I eat them. Some of them are innocent. I burn villages and justify it in my head as necessary. How can I not be ashamed?"

Ranar's breath hitched, but she shook her head, her words breaking through the sob in her throat.

"I don't care. I'm not ashamed. I still love you."

"I've killed before, and I'll kill again. I hurt people. I don't even know why anymore. I'm lost, Mom. I'm so tired."

"Then persevere," she said, her voice cracking under the weight of her tears.

Damon's shoulders shook. His tears weren't weakness, they were humanity resurfacing through the cracks of a hardened soul.

"I want to stay here with you, Mom," he whispered.

She shook her head, crying openly now.

"But I am dying," he said quietly, the truth sinking in. He knew this place wasn't real. Every second he lingered here, he was dying more in the real world.

"Go," she whispered, though her voice trembled with pain. "Go."

Even as an illusion, born of strange power, her love outshone any magic that could have created her.

"Leave, Damon. Please. Go."

He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly one last time. Then, with shaking hands, he drew a dagger and plunged it into his own heart.

His mother screamed, catching him as he fell. Blood soaked her hands as she tried to heal him, her magic flaring wildly, desperation burning in her eyes.

Her tears fell onto his chest, mingling with the blood that pooled beneath him.

It was a face that countless mothers must have worn through history, the face of a parent watching their child die.

Damon's vision blurred, his breathing slowing.

"I'll see …You soon …" he whispered one final wish.

This was a beautiful dream, he thought as the darkness closed in.

When his eyes opened again, he was no longer in the village. Thick, twisted roots coiled around him, merging with his flesh.

And on the branches above, something waited.

A strange entity sat perched on the golden boughs, watching him in silence.

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