"Mother," Lyon whispered, his voice carrying the weight of long-buried emotions.
The white snake's white eyes softened, and though her form remained serpentine, the warmth in her gaze was unmistakably maternal. "You've grown so much," she said gently. "I can see it—those eyes hold the echoes of storms. You've faced trials, endured loss, and risen through it all. You've been tempered like the sharpest blade."
Lyon's lips curved in a bittersweet smile. "But... I feel like I'm young again," he said, as if trying to reconcile his current self with the man who had battled across lifetimes.
"Of course, son." The white snake gave a playful quip, her voice carrying a softness that he hadn't felt in what seemed like lifetimes.
Lyon's smile lingered, but there was a glint of seriousness now. "Mother... I've found the others as well. They're gathering. You should come, too. They'll want to see you."
