Watching the woman kneeling and wiping her unceasing tears, I suddenly felt a pang of regret. The ring on her fourth finger, identical to mine, confirmed my suspicions—the person from whom I took the ring had been my father. This meant that the woman standing before me was my biological mother.
When I first saw her, she appeared as a tall, stately woman with a regal bearing and remarkable beauty. She seemed composed, trying to hold herself with dignity despite the obvious anxiety gnawing at her. But when she realized what had happened, her resilience vanished in an instant. She seemed to break down, with tears flowing non-stop, washing away her restraint.
Her strong image collapsed before me like a tower, leaving only a woman who had lost her husband and son—even though her son stood before her, he was no longer the person she remembered, nor was he the one her son remembered.
I couldn't fully comprehend the pain she felt, having lost her husband and seeing her son lose nearly all memory of his past. Yet something in me stirred, as if fragments of that past personality, now gone, lingered. An odd mix of guilt and compassion ignited within me, and I felt tears welling up as I looked at the grieving woman.
Without thinking, I approached her and embraced her. Was it my own desire? Or was I acting on some deep instinct? I didn't know. But in that moment, I felt something warm, something familiar. A fragment of my soul instinctively reached out to her. Though I lacked the memories of the boy, I felt a physical connection, profound and unwavering, with this woman.
"Mom, everything will be okay," I whispered, stroking her hair. She only held me tighter, unable to hold back her tears. Her sobs and incoherent words were drowned in despair; I understood none of them, but that didn't matter. I just stood there, holding her, hoping that my presence could ease her pain, even if only a little.
We remained like this for quite a while. Gradually, her tears dried, and the sobbing ceased. She seemed entirely drained, yet she continued to hold me as if afraid I might disappear just as her husband had.
When her tears finally stopped, an intense silence fell. She slowly pulled back, looking into my eyes with such emptiness and pain that I felt that strange stir within me again. Then, turning her gaze to Virion, she spoke with a trembling but firm voice:
"Forgive me, Lord Virion. You shouldn't have witnessed this... I lost my husband and... almost lost my son," her gaze was filled with pain, yet it now held a new resolve. "I hope you can forgive this unbecoming behavior."
Her fingers gently touched my face, as if she still couldn't believe I was here, with her. In her touch, there was a quiet plea—to confirm that this was not a dream or another nightmare but reality.
Virion, who stood nearby with an unreadable expression, nodded slowly in response to her request.
"Of course, Saria. You've served for so many years; you know I'm not that formal of an elf," his voice was calm, but there was a faint note of care in it. "I understand this is a difficult time for you. But rest assured, we'll do everything possible to help you and Lucius."
My mother nodded in gratitude, her gaze turning back to me. She stroked my cheek, her fingers trembling, but the tenderness and care were clear in her movements.
"Thank you, Lord Virion," she whispered before turning to me again. "Son, let's go home. I think you need some rest."
I nodded, feeling a strange mix of emotions. It felt as if all this was happening to someone else, as if I was only an observer in my own body. Yet, despite this, I couldn't deny the emotions that surged within me when she touched me—they stirred something deep inside, something I couldn't fully comprehend.
We slowly made our way to the exit, and before leaving the hall, I glanced once more at Virion. He said nothing, only nodded, as if assuring me that everything was under control.
We reached home rather quickly. The house looked cozy, despite its modest size. Every corner seemed designed with care and love. I felt a faint sense of déjà vu, as if a part of me knew this place.
"This is our home, Lucius," my mother said softly, her voice still shaky but with a reassuring note. "You grew up here, played here... We were always together here."
I looked around, letting my gaze linger on a swing and a training area. Something about this place gave me a vague feeling of comfort and safety. It was as if I had swung on that swing and trained on that spot myself. My body seemed to know these movements on an instinctual level, though my mind refused to accept it. It was a strange sensation, as if part of me had lived here, even if my mind insisted otherwise.
Mother led me inside, and a maid greeted us with a smile when she saw me. But seeing Saria's empty eyes, the maid fell silent.
The house was warm and inviting—wooden panels, large windows letting in sunlight, and the familiar smell of something, perhaps homemade baking. We entered the living room, where a large couch stood along with a few family drawings on a table.
"The food is ready, Madam," the maid said before we entered the living room. My mother only nodded, and the maid seemed about to speak but held back.
Saria gestured for me to sit down.
"You need to rest," she said, running her hand through my hair again. "I'll go wash up, and then we'll talk."
My mother went to the bathroom, leaving me alone in the living room, observing the surroundings. My attention was drawn to the family drawings placed on the shelves. One showed a boy sparring with a grown man, another depicted a fishing moment with his father. My gaze lingered on each drawing as I tried to grasp what feelings they evoked.
The most remarkable drawing, however, was the last one in the row. It depicted five elves. Two adults, a man and a woman, held the hands of two children—a taller one and a smaller one, standing in the center, with a woman in a maid's uniform to the side. At the top, names were written:
— Mom – Saria, Dad – Misha, Sister – Alya (Alea), Aunt – May, and me – Lucius.
This drawing confirmed who belonged to this family.
"So, I have an older sister," I murmured, stroking my chin. Just then, my mother entered the living room and called me to the kitchen. She saw me looking at the drawings and gave a sad smile before saying:
"Turn it over," she said, approaching. "That was the last thing you drew. You even wrote a little biography of yourself on the back."
I got up and carefully turned the drawing over. On the back was indeed a story—a few notes about each family member.
"I love my family very much. I like playing with them. I adore when Dad plays with me, especially when he says he's training me. I also love playing with my little sister, even though she annoys me often! She only plays with me in the evenings, and only when I come to her with a wooden sword, she often shrugs me off. Why can't we spend more time together?! She says she loves me, but I can see she doesn't want to play with me! Ugh, it's so annoying! Mom tells me to wash up before going to bed and often scolds me when I don't, but she's always very kind. But Aunt May is even kinder; she always gives me treats. She has her own family, but she's not a real aunt. Yet, I call her my aunt, so she is family. I really dream of becoming an adventurer like Dad. The main thing, as Dad says, is never to give up! Dad is so cool, everyone respects him, and Mom is awesome too! Mom, like my sister, only comes home in the evenings, but I'm glad that Dad is always home. I love my family; they are the best!"
Reading this, I felt mixed emotions. How was I supposed to feel about this family now? For me, they were strangers, but to them, I was family. Perhaps this is how adopted children feel—when they start to realize they belong to people who consider them their own.
"Mom, I'm home!" The door clicked open, and the girl, taking off her shoes, walked down the hallway. "What smells so good, Aunt May?"
As she stepped into the living room, she froze for a second upon seeing us sitting on the couch. Before her mother could say anything, the girl rushed over to me.
"Luci!" she cried joyfully, throwing her arms around me. I felt the air squeeze out of my lungs as the feeling of oxygen became more and more scarce. "You're already back?! I'm so glad!"
She held onto me as if she needed to make sure I was really there, really back home. So this is what my sister is like, I thought in my near-death musings.
"Alya, you're going to suffocate him," my mother laughed quietly, covering her mouth with her hand and watching us.
Alea finally let go of me, and I could breathe deeply again, gulping in air. She smiled happily, patting my cheeks as if I were her toy. The tingling sensation was anything but pleasant, and I tried to pull away as tears of pain welled up in my eyes. But her grip was strong, and my cheek ached even more when I tried to lean back. What a strong girl!
After she was done playing and tormenting me, Alea looked over at Mom.
"Mom, where did Dad go? Off to the market again, or out drinking with friends after another successful outing?" she asked slyly. But noticing the empty, sad look on Mom's face, her tone grew worried. "Mom, what's wrong?"
Her eyebrows knitted together, and her face turned serious as she watched Mom's silence.
"Mom, tell me what happened," she added in a cold tone. Mom stood from the couch and gently embraced her daughter.
"Our Lucius doesn't remember anything…" She swallowed hard, trying to hold back tears, but the tremor in her body betrayed her. "And your father… he has left this world…"
"What?" Alea froze, trying to understand the meaning behind her mother's words. She asked again, but Mom remained silent, unable to repeat herself, and Saria began to cry.
Alea pulled away from her mother, grabbing her by the shoulders.
"Mom, you're joking, right?" she began to laugh hysterically, staring at her mother in disbelief. "Funny joke, Mom. Have you picked up Luci's strange sense of humor?"
But seeing her mother in tears, who said nothing, her hysterical laughter slowly turned to anger.
"Mom, you must be joking. This can't be true. Our father is an A-rank adventurer!" she shouted in anger, as if trying to convince herself more than her mother. "It's not true! He couldn't!"
She glared at Mom as if blaming her, then turned abruptly and left the room, slamming the door loudly behind her.
Silence filled the room, broken only by Saria's quiet sobs. I sat on the couch, not knowing what to do. Suddenly, I felt out of place, as if I had intruded on a private, painful family moment.
Saria, noticing my awkward silence, tried to wipe her tears and pull herself together. She struggled to collect her thoughts and lifted her eyes to me.
"Lucius, I…" her voice trembled. "I didn't know how to say all this. Please forgive me. We just… it's all too much to bear."
I nodded, unsure of what to say. All I knew was that my memory was empty, and the people around me were in pain. My eyes wandered to the table, where a vase held a bouquet of flowers. I noticed that one of the flowers was slightly wilted, as if someone was trying to preserve it despite the loss.
Soon, Saria got up from the couch and went into the kitchen. I remained in the living room, where all the family photos now seemed foreign and strange. Time passed slowly, and every sound, every movement felt exaggerated and loud.
Don't forget to give a power stone