The following morning, a few hours before her execution, Evering went to her cell to speak with her.

"Why did you do this?"

But she did not respond; instead, she gathered what little strength she had left and struck Evering’s chest with both hands, pushing forcefully against his heart. Evering felt nothing at that moment and did not understand why she had done this.

"Like your father, as you grow, your pain will grow with you; you will wither little by little. The Kassyel do not wither, but you will be the wilted flower among them. Get out of my sight now; I do not want to see you."

Evering did not understand at that time what she meant, but now, of course, he knew.

Later, Cassius came to see her. She was sitting on the floor, her face pale, showing signs of surrender and sadness. When Cassius entered, their eyes met, each expressing shock and pain clearly.

He approached with heavy steps, his face a mix of anger and sorrow. When he reached her, he gently bent down, lifted her slowly from the ground, and drew her into his embrace. Their hearts seemed to intertwine as if it were their final farewell.

In that moment, he felt the depth of his emotions. He hugged her tightly, as if trying to hold on to every last bit of his love for her, just for this final moment. His eyes were filled with tears, and he whispered in a broken voice, "I curse myself for still loving you despite everything you've done... Damn it, you didn’t just hurt our child; you wanted to hurt us all for your foolish father's dream and the silk of Sirathor. Was it worth all this?" 

She was breathing heavily, listening to his words as her tears flowed. The embrace was full of grief, and as he gently kissed her forehead, she tried to find comfort in this hug, which was a stark contrast between love and betrayal. Then she came to her senses and pushed him away. 

"You fool, did you really believe I loved you or your children at any point? This was all a scheme of mine and my father’s. That damned Cassyal blood, if it doesn’t free Sirathor, will make us immortal. Your blood heals everything it touches. It was the only thing we desired. You are the fool who thought I loved you." 

He looked at her with eyes burning with anger and sadness, as if his heart had shattered into tiny, irreparable pieces. For a moment, he lost the ability to speak, as if the shock had stolen his words. He tried to find any trace of love or remorse in her eyes, but all he saw was the cruelty and coldness he had never expected. He moved closer, grabbed her by the shoulders, and forcefully pushed her against the wall before rushing out and calling loudly to the guards. 

"The platform is ready, get her out, it’s time for her execution." 

In a vast courtyard in the palace, under the scorching sun, a crowd gathered to witness the execution. The courtyard was surrounded by guards, while soldiers were lined up on either side to maintain order. In the center of the courtyard stood the execution platform, specially built to carry out the sentence against the mother who had betrayed her family. 

Isolda was shackled in chains, being forcefully led to the platform, but she showed no signs of fear or remorse. Her head was held high, her defiant eyes searching among the crowd as if looking for something. Her steps were firm, but the weight of the chains and the reality of what was to come were evident to all. 

Cassius stood far from the platform, his eyes fixed on her face, a mix of pain and anger rising in his chest. Beside him stood their young son, with all the innocence and confusion in his small features. The child wore dark clothing, expressing sorrow and dignity, and his small hands clung to his father's garment, seeking safety in his presence, unaware of what was truly happening. Only Evering had come with Démic; Judith and the others had been barred by Cassius, who did not want the sight to haunt their minds. But his little Dém had to see this; he had to become stronger. He blamed himself for not paying more attention to his child, for not noticing how pale the boy sometimes appeared. Blame was useless now; what was done was done. 

She climbed onto the platform and was positioned in front of the gallows, as the guard secured her feet and placed the rope around her neck. At the last moment, she turned and looked into her son’s eyes. She saw the innocence in his face that she had once mocked, but now, for a brief moment, regret appeared in her expression. 

The child tried to move forward, but his father quickly held him back, placing his hand on his shoulder to prevent him from approaching. "Mama?" the child said in a trembling voice, his eyes filling with tears, unable to comprehend what was happening. He looked at her as if hoping for a miracle to prevent what was to come. 

The countdown began, and the order was given. In an instant, the trapdoor opened beneath her, and her body fell with force. The ensuing sound was jarring—the rope tightening and the silent thud of disappointment and shattered illusions. 

The father held his son tightly to his chest, shielding him from the brutal scene, but the silence that engulfed the place was enough to pierce everyone's hearts. The child cried, a muffled scream choked in his chest, while the father patted his back, trying to comfort him, but the words were stuck in his throat, offering no solace to erase this moment from the child’s memory. 

In his memory, the mother remained suspended, in a final scene reflecting all the illusions she had woven and all the lies she had spun. As the father and his children left the courtyard, leaving behind the hanging corpse of the past, they were unable to escape the weight that would forever haunt them throughout their lives.

"Mama?"

Yohan noticed that Démic, who had been sleeping since Kyleus brought him to the palace, was mumbling:

"Démic, my little one, did you wake up?"

He had not woken up; he was only suffering from a terrible nightmare. He found himself standing in the same courtyard where his mother was executed. Everything felt terrifyingly real: the scorching heat of the sun, the murmurs of the crowd, and the bitter taste that seeped into his mouth as he approached the execution platform.

He saw himself there, a small child standing next to his father. The crowd was cheering, and his eyes could only see his mother being led in chains towards the platform. He tried to scream, to call out to her, but his voice was choked, only a muffled echo emerged, as if an invisible hand was pressing on his throat. 

When his mother was placed before the gallows, she turned to give him one last look. That look, filled with a mix of defiance and regret, never left him. In the nightmare, her eyes seemed to penetrate his soul, inflicting an indescribable pain. He felt the weight of that gaze on his heart, as if it was touching wounds that would never heal. 

At the moment she fell, he heard the sound that always haunted him, the rope tightening with a resonating hum in his mind. In the nightmare, everything was slow, each second felt like an eternity. Every time he tried to look away, he found himself forced to face the truth: his mother’s lifeless body swaying.

Then suddenly, everything collapsed around him. The crowd vanished, and the courtyard turned into a vortex of darkness, but he remained there, trapped in the moment, unable to escape. The rope that had wrapped around her neck extended towards him, wrapping around his legs and dragging him toward the same fate.

He suddenly woke up, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath, his eyes wide open. His heart raced violently in his chest, and his hands trembled as if he had just escaped from an unrelenting trap. He looked around, trying to catch his breath, reminding himself that he had grown up and that his mother had been gone for a long time, but the pain in his heart was still present. He felt as if his hand was being held.

In the dim light of the room, Démic sat on the bed, unaware of his surroundings, unable to even see his uncle sitting beside him. He was trembling from the effects of the nightmare, as if the dream he had lived was more than just an illusion, but real enough to make him feel the rope tightening around his heart.

Uncle Yohan, feeling concerned for his nephew, approached him quietly and sat beside him on the edge of the bed. With a calm face and eyes full of tenderness, he placed his hand on Démic’s shoulder and gently pressed it to bring him back to the present.

"I know what you went through wasn’t easy, and the memories are painful, but you are not alone. I am here, and I will always be by your side," Yohan said in a warm voice, reflecting all the love and care he felt for his nephew. He turned to him, his eyes red and his face weary, as if the words he had just heard were the lifeline he needed to escape the whirlpool of memories.

Without hesitation, the uncle extended his arms and drew the young man into his embrace, holding him tightly as if trying to ease the weight of the world. The young man buried his face in his uncle’s chest, and tears began to flow silently, spilling onto the uncle’s shoulders. The hug was a refuge of safety, a sanctuary from the pain and merciless memories.

In the dim light of the room, Démic sat on the bed, feeling disconnected from his surroundings and unable to see his uncle sitting beside him. He was trembling from the nightmare, as if the dream he had experienced was more than just an illusion, but real enough to make him feel the noose tightening around his heart.

Uncle Johan approached quietly and sat beside him on the edge of the bed. With a calm face and eyes filled with tenderness, he placed his hand on Démic's shoulder and gently pressed it to bring him back to the present. "I know what you’ve been through isn’t easy, and the memories are painful, but you’re not alone. I’m here, and I’ll always be by your side," he said softly, patting his back in a steady rhythm. He felt the depth of the pain gripping his nephew’s heart and wanted to make him feel that he wasn’t facing this torment alone.

Slowly, Démic’s breathing began to steady, and his trembling subsided. He felt warmth and safety in his uncle’s embrace, as if the world around him had calmed. The uncle held him close, not moving, embracing his nephew as if he were a small child, reminding him that there was always someone who loved and supported him.

After a few moments, Démic pulled back slightly, wiped his tears quickly, and looked at his uncle with a faint smile, as if his uncle’s hug had restored some of the calm he had lost. "Uncle... I’ve missed you so much. It’s good to see you again," Démic said with a shaky voice, his features starting to regain some tranquility.

The uncle patted his shoulder again and then stood up to let him rest. "My little one, I can’t describe how happy I am to have you back, my dear. Always remember, we are your family, and we’re here to get through this together. It’s still early, so keep resting now; I’ll stay here and won’t leave until morning. Your siblings are eager to see you, and you should look your best tomorrow."

Démic smiled at his uncle and tried to sleep again, but this time he felt some peace, as if someone was carrying some of the burden of pain he had been carrying for a long time. Forgetting everything, he dreamt of meeting his siblings early in the morning.