The days following my awakening passed in a blur. Cassandra remained by my side, her presence a constant reminder of the family I had left behind. But it wasn't just her presence that lingered in the air—it was the weight of the things unsaid, the unresolved pain that clung to us both like a shadow.
I hadn't been able to shake the confusion gnawing at me. Every time I tried to focus, to piece together what had happened during the six months I was gone, my mind remained a darkened void, a place where nothing made sense. I had memories, yes, but they were distant, fragmented, like echoes bouncing off walls I couldn't touch.
Cassandra hadn't asked me to explain what had happened, though her eyes often held the question. She was waiting for me to remember, but I couldn't. I didn't know how.
I had tried to push those thoughts aside, focusing on the present. I had no choice but to deal with the reality I found myself in—whatever had happened, I was back, and now I had to figure out where I stood in this world. But there was one constant I couldn't escape: my mother.
Lady Eryndis, the Duchess of Astralis, had barely acknowledged my return. She hadn't come to see me once, hadn't offered a word of comfort, of explanation, or even a glimmer of concern. Her cold, distant nature was a well-known trait, one I had grown accustomed to long ago. But now, in this strange, fractured state of my life, her absence felt like a chasm between us.
I had spent days lying in my chambers, waiting for the moment she would show up, waiting for the inevitable confrontation. But each day passed, and still, there was nothing.
It was late one afternoon when I finally saw her—standing in the doorway of my room, her back straight and her posture regal, as always. She looked like a statue, like a woman carved from stone, unmoving and unfeeling.
"Cassandra," she greeted with a slight nod, but her gaze quickly shifted to me. Her eyes, though sharp and calculating, held no warmth. "Caelum."
"Mother," I murmured, my voice low and uncertain. My heart beat faster as I rose to my feet, my body still weak from the ordeal I had endured. "I… I don't understand. Why didn't you—"
"Enough," she interrupted, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. "There is nothing to explain."
I stood frozen, unsure of how to proceed. My mind was racing with questions—questions I hadn't dared ask until now.
"Why did you let me go?" I asked before I could stop myself. "Why did you not come after me?"
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but her expression didn't change. She looked at me as though I were a child, incapable of understanding the world she inhabited.
"You left of your own accord," she said flatly. "That was your choice, Caelum. I did not need to chase after you."
Her words stung more than I expected. They cut deeper than any sword could. I had always known that my mother cared little for me, but to hear it so bluntly, to feel her indifference pressing down on me like a weight—there was no escaping it.
I clenched my fists at my sides, trying to contain the wave of frustration building inside me. But the truth was undeniable. I had always been an inconvenience to her. I had always been a burden, something to be managed rather than cherished.
"Do you even care that I've come back?" I asked, my voice trembling, though I tried to keep it steady. "Is there any part of you that's glad to see me alive?"
Her gaze softened for a fraction of a second, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. "You are my son," she said, as though that were enough. "That is all you need to know."
Her coldness, her detachment—it was like being drowned in ice. I wanted to scream at her, to demand the affection, the love I had never received. But in the end, I remained silent. What was the point? It had always been like this.
Cassandra, standing quietly in the background, watched us both with a careful expression. She knew the truth. She knew that the gap between us had only grown wider in my absence, and she knew that nothing would ever bridge it.
But despite all of that, despite everything, she still believed that I could be more than the person I had been. I saw it in her eyes—her hope that I could somehow change, that I could prove myself worthy of the family that had once been mine.
But how could I prove something I didn't even believe in myself? How could I change when everything about me—the way I was raised, the path I had been set upon—felt like a prison from which I could never escape?
Cassandra finally spoke, breaking the silence that had stretched between us like an endless void.
"Mother," she said quietly, her voice laced with a hint of frustration, "don't you think it's time we acknowledged what's happened? Caelum's back, whether we like it or not."
Lady Eryndis's eyes flicked to Cassandra, her expression unreadable. "He has returned. That is all that matters," she replied, her words as cold as ever.
I wanted to say something. To argue. To demand her attention, to make her see me—not as an heir to a title, not as a burden—but as her son, someone who needed her. But I didn't. There was no point. I had learned that much the hard way.
Cassandra, sensing the tension in the room, stepped forward, her gaze shifting between the two of us. "I'll leave you two to talk," she said quietly, her voice gentle but firm. "But don't let this ruin us, Caelum. Don't let this ruin our family."
Her words hung in the air long after she had left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts—and with my mother.
For a long while, neither of us spoke. The silence between us felt like a suffocating blanket, and I couldn't escape it, no matter how hard I tried. There was nothing left to say. No more explanations, no more apologies.
But that didn't stop the questions from circling in my mind. What was I supposed to do now? How could I make sense of this fractured family, this broken legacy that I had been born into? And how could I ever move forward when every step seemed to drag me back into the past, into the same patterns that had defined me for so long?
As my mother finally turned and left the room without another word, I realized something—the coldness, the distance, it wasn't just between us. It was within me, too. It had always been there, a part of who I was, a part of who I had become. I couldn't escape it.
And perhaps, I didn't want to.
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