Just a heads up, I'm using my phone for this chapter, since my power is out. Sorry if the grammar is off.
++++
Damiana was in a predicament.
It had been twelve years since she last saw her parents and brother. Twelve. Freaking. Years.
She stood at the entrance of the atrium of her family's villa, her hand resting on the stone pillar beside her, trying to calm her racing heart. The weight of time-pressed down on her like a heavy cloak, and for the first time in years, she felt unsure of herself. In the wilds, surrounded by shadows and ancient magic, she had felt powerful, untouchable. But here, in the place where she had once been a daughter and a sister, she felt... vulnerable.
The villa hadn't changed much in her absence. The tall columns that flanked the entrance were the same pale stone, worn smooth by the years. Vines still crept up the walls, their green tendrils wrapping around the pillars and casting long shadows across the courtyard. The scent of jasmine and rosemary hung in the air, carried on the soft breeze that rustled the leaves of the olive trees lining the path. It was all so familiar, and yet, to Damiana, it felt like a place from another life.
The last time she had stood in this exact spot, she had been a different person—a girl on the verge of awakening, eager to prove herself to a family that had always expected too much. But that was before Deyanira had taken her into the wilds before she had become the huntress who walked with shadows. Now, she was something else entirely, something her family couldn't possibly understand.
She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. She wasn't that girl anymore. She had faced far greater challenges in the dark forests than this—faced down creatures that would send even the bravest men fleeing in terror. And yet, standing here, preparing to face her parents and her brother, her stomach twisted in knots.
Twelve years.
What would they say to her? What would Silas say to her? How had her parents changed in her absence, and what had they become in the years since she had walked away from this life?
How had she changed in their eyes?
Damiana clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she forced herself to take another step forward, her boots scuffing lightly against the stone. She had been gone for too long. Even now, she could hear the soft murmurs of the household staff inside, going about their daily duties as if the world hadn't shifted in the years since she had left.
It felt strange to step into a place that had once been home, knowing that she no longer fit within its walls.
The shadows stirred at her back, wrapping around her like a comforting cloak. They were always with her now, silent protectors that shielded her from the worst of her fears. She had leaned on them more times than she could count since leaving the village, but here, at the threshold of her family's home, they felt like a reminder of everything that had changed. She was not the girl they had known—not anymore.
With a final, deep breath, she crossed the threshold into the atrium.
The cool stone beneath her feet sent a shiver up her spine as she stepped inside, the familiar scent of cedarwood and incense washing over her. The atrium was bathed in soft, dappled light, filtered through the intricate latticework above. The sound of running water echoed softly from the central fountain, the gentle splash of the fountain's stream creating a soothing background to the stillness that surrounded her.
For a moment, she stood there, taking it all in—the familiar sights, sounds, and smells of a place she had once called home. But the sense of nostalgia was fleeting, quickly replaced by the tension that coiled in her chest. This wasn't home anymore. It was just a place—a place filled with ghosts from a life she had left behind.
The household servants had noticed her now, their eyes widening in surprise as they caught sight of her. One of them, an older woman with silver hair, stared at her with wide eyes, her mouth hanging open in shock. Damiana met her gaze, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of recognition.
"Lady Damiana?" the woman whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
Damiana nodded, her throat too tight to speak. The woman gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. She turned and hurried inside, no doubt rushing to inform the rest of the household that the long-lost daughter had returned.
Damiana swallowed hard, feeling the weight of their stares as more of the servants began to whisper among themselves, their eyes darting toward her and then quickly away. She had expected this—had known her return would cause a stir—but it didn't make the situation any easier.
Her footsteps echoed softly against the stone as she made her way deeper into the villa, toward the main hall. She could feel the tension building with each step, the anticipation of what was to come gnawing at her insides. Her heart pounded in her chest, her palms slick with sweat despite the cool air that filled the villa.
What will they say?
The question circled in her mind, over and over, until it became a dull hum that she couldn't shake. Her parents had always expected so much from her and always demanded perfection. She had never quite measured up in their eyes, not the way Silas had. Silas, the golden child, the one who could do no wrong. What would they think of her now, after all this time?
She paused at the entrance to the main hall, her hand resting on the ornate wooden door. She could hear voices inside—her mother's soft, melodic tone mingled with her father's deeper, more commanding voice. They were speaking casually, as if unaware that their daughter, who had been gone for more than a decade, stood just outside.
Damiana hesitated. For all the strength and confidence she had gained in the wilds, for all the power she now wielded with the shadows at her side, facing her parents again felt like walking into a battlefield unarmed.
Taking one last breath, she pushed the door open.
The hall was just as she remembered—grand and elegant, with high ceilings and walls adorned with tapestries depicting scenes from their family's history. Her mother, Elira, sat at the far end of the long dining table, her delicate features softened by the candlelight that flickered from the nearby sconces. Her father, Demetrius, stood near the hearth, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he spoke to a servant who was pouring wine.
They both turned at the sound of the door creaking open, their eyes widening as they caught sight of her.
For a moment, no one spoke. The silence stretched on, thick and heavy, as if the very air had been sucked from the room. Elira's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears as she took in the sight of her daughter. Demetrius' expression was harder to read, a mixture of shock and something else—something guarded.
"Damiana..." Elira whispered, her voice barely audible. "Is it really you?"
Damiana nodded, unable to find her voice.
Her mother stood quickly, her chair scraping against the floor as she rushed toward her daughter, her arms outstretched. "Oh, my sweet girl, you've come back to us!"
Damiana stiffened as Elira wrapped her arms around her in a tight embrace. The scent of her mother's perfume—lavender and rosewater—was overwhelming, bringing with it a rush of memories that Damiana had long buried. But the warmth she had expected, the relief she thought she would feel at being reunited with her family, wasn't there. Instead, there was only a hollow emptiness. Hmm, well, I was five since I last saw them; it's to be expected.
"I—" Damiana started, but the words caught in her throat. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know how to explain the years of distance, the gulf that had grown between them.
Elira pulled back, her hands resting on Damiana's sides of her face as she looked at her daughter with wide, tear-filled eyes. "You look so different," she whispered, her voice trembling. "But you're here. That's all that matters."
Damiana's gaze flicked to her father, who had remained silent, his eyes narrowed as he watched the reunion unfold. Demetrius' expression was unreadable, his mouth set in a thin line as if he was weighing his next words carefully.
"It's been twelve years," Demetrius said, his voice low and steady. "What brings you back now, daughter?"
The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid.
She opened her mouth to speak, when the door leading to the garden opened and two individuals entered.