Kyren’s POV
*****
"You." His fists clenched beside him, so much so that his nails dug into his skin.
The air outside chilled, the birds going quiet as if retreating from the woman standing in front of him.
Amara Redthorn.
His mother.
After all these centuries—
"I expected at least a hug for a woman you haven’t seen in centuries." Amara spread out her arms, bringing down her hood with a flick of her wrist.
Her face was tiless. She still looked like she was in her late twenties even though she was far older than many witches out there.
Kyren never knew her exact age. But the ancient stories she’s shared with him like she lived in them—that was a clear sign she was ancient herself.
"You really believe I would run into your arms?" He raised his right hand, ready to cast a spell. "Is this so kind of illusion? I already figured you were still alive after Garrick—"
"Your father was right." She suddenly appeared beside him, strands of her black hair blowing around her face. "Ruling a nation has made you so... Arrogant. Comfortable in your feeble idea of power."
Kyren’s expression turned to ice. He swatted his hand at her, sending a blast of red flas in that direction.
But she disappeared yet again, the flas hitting the hedge. The fire dissolved before it could cause real damage, Amara’s voice echoing through the wind like a phantom:
"I taught you your first spell. Led you through the arcane arts."
He looked around, his teeth gritting. His fingers glowed with his magic, his aura flaring beneath his skin in preparation.
"Everything you know and have mastered was built on knowledge I gave you." She continued, finally appearing several ters in front of him. "Challenging would be your biggest mistake, my child."
He snarled. "You lost the right to call that after abandoning in a wasteland like trash."
"I was protecting you."
"You were saving yourself!" Kyren took a few steps forward, centuries of hidden rage and malice rushing out like skeletons erging from a grave. "Saving yourself from the judgnt of the High matron. Saving yourself from having to ever look at ."
Amara scoffed. "Is that what you believe? Or do you still have emotions under all that delicious darkness?"
Emotions?
A humourless smirk curled his lips, his shoulders relaxing. He was actually speaking to his mother right now so casually after centuries.
He didn’t break down. Didn’t shatter. Didn’t try seeking answers on what happened to her or why she left him.
And she thought he was being led by emotions?
"The only emotion I feel right now is irritation and rage that you would show your face here." His voice was deadpan. "If you ca here for reconciliation after your man toy got found hiding in the Beta’s body... You’re three centuries too late."
He turned around now, not wanting to see her face again. "You’re no longer a weakness—"
"Of course, I’m not." She whispered, tone oddly calm. "You’ve perfected shutting down your emotions. You’ve survived through blood, death and bodies—until now."
He froze.
Until now?
"You can feel it. Can’t you?" She sniggered as he slowly turned to face her again. "That nauseating feeling. Vulnerability for another soul. Eating at your insides like earthworms through rotten fruit."
Her red eyes glinted with a knowing light, lips still curled in a smirk.
Kyren knew what she was talking about instantly. Or rather... Who.
"Your mate. Elian Ashford." Amara raised her chin, her cloak flapping around her like shadows co alive. "He’s pierced through the darkness you spent centuries building around your heart. Hasn’t he?"
His lips parted but she spoke before any words could leave his lips.
"You don’t have to say anything. I can sll it on you. And that’s why I’m here." Her voice was silvery as she slowly swerved to a rose sticking out of the hedges.
She plucked it gently, eyes softening in a way that made Kyren’s stomach churn.
"If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave Elian out of your sches." His crimson eyes ignited, his shadow growing into sothing grotesque behind him. "You might control the Dark Hand but I have the might of a nation behind ."
She arched a brow, eyes still locked on the rose. "Naive little thing... You really think the Dark Hand is all I have behind ?"
Suddenly, the petals of the rose began withering into ash, like death itself had breathed into them. The rose bent unnaturally under her hold, completely disintegrating into the wind.
She dusted her palms, raising her head to look into the Rogue king’s eyes again.
"How do you think I’ve ’escaped’ the High matron’s punishnt for birthing you all these centuries? Or made the Dark Hand root itself into the three nations?"
Silence.
Kyren’s brows furrowed but even he couldn’t think of a concrete answer.
It didn’t matter. Because sothing told him she would reveal it anyway.
They always do.
Or so he thought—
"Well, I never taught you to get answers spoon-fed to you." She shrugged, flicking invisible dust from her nails. "So you’ll have to find that one out yourself."
He clicked his tongue.
This was becoming a waste of ti.
"Did you co here to stall?" He pondered out loud.
"Stall?" She laughed dryly. "I ca here because I know you’ve opened the information box we left for you. So you know about the Ascension protocol experints."
Amara swatted her cloak out of the way, taking slow steps toward him.
He watched her, unease gnawing through every cell.
"You probably think you’re the ’perfect’ being we created from those experints." She drawled, shaking her head. "But you’re not. Your powers are natural, Kyren. A blessing from your parents."
Blessing?
Kyren had had enough at this point.
"So your experints failed? All those people who died during them were for nothing?" He tapped his fingers on the side of his lap.
However, her face twisted with a grin. Unnatural. Like soone unveiling sothing grand.
"The moon blessed—our perfect being. Is soone you’ve already tangled yourself with in every sense of the word." She blurted. "And I’m here to tell you the ti to collect him is nigh."
Kyren’s blood ran cold. His mind blurred, settling on one person but refusing to believe.
He didn’t even want to say the na—but it was glaringly obvious now.
Moon blessed—
"Elian?"
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