Amy jolted back into the void as if yanked by a god’s hand. Milo stood before her.

“You…you orphaned Aurora.”

Milo’s laughed. “Severed,” he corrected. “Children severed from their parents either wither…or learn to flourish. Besides, Cerceras would have reached her through Christopher’s bond. Yes, I forced his hand. Would you rather she’d been erased quietly, Amy?”

Her lips pressed shut. She didn’t agree with his philosophy, but he was right about one thing. If nothing had changed, Aurora would have died. Amy then remembered the radiant, murderous goddess who he had flung aside. The one who killed her real father. “And…Samantha?”

She woke shivering, ice crawling from her fingers to her shoulders. The dawn forest pressed close, air too sharp in her lungs. She pressed her frozen palms to her face, willing the spreading ice to stop. All she remembered was his smile fading at her name.
***
Aurora stood at the treeline, ever watching.

Amy’s chest twisted. Aurora had been abandoned when she needed her father most.

Then she realized the dense forest of pine trees. “I know this place,” Amy whispered, eyes widening. “This is Blade.”

Her mother finally turned, mouth tight, and let out a brittle laugh. “Blade? No, this isn’t Blade anymore. I destroyed it. It’s Amoria. Built on ruin and broken trust. You’d do well being cautious of who you trust. Especially me.”

The words hollowed Amy’s chest. “I’m not scared of you. You’re my mother,” she whispered, “so stop talking to me like I’m your enemy.”

Aurora’s eyes narrowed. “Hasn’t it crossed your mind? Maybe I am your enemy.”

Amy shook her head. “You protected me from Libbet.”

Aurora scoffed. “And what good your friends turned out to be. Careful, brat. You’re not the best at choosing people, Amy.”

“Stop talking to me like I don’t even matter to you!”

Aurora’s jaw tightened. The muscles in her throat working as if she were swallowing back something dangerous. Her lips parted half a breath, but nothing came out. She stood rigidly, her face hardened like ice.

“Maybe you don’t.”

The words were like a slap. But then she thought of Kristo and what he would have told her. He would have assured her that she mattered.

He wasn’t here now. She swallowed again. The only thing she could do was remember him. If Milo could cut her mother away, if Christopher could vanish, if Kristo could be torn from her side, then there was only one person who could stay.

Amy drew in a shaky breath, forcing herself to stand straighter. “I’ll matter anyway,” she said, voice low and steady. “To myself. To Kristo, even if he’s gone. To anyone who still chooses me. And I’ll keep hoping I matter to you, Mom… even if you don’t want me to.”

Aurora flinched, mouth open in surprise. She muttered, turning away. “Foolish kid. You don’t know me.”

A rustle stirred the underbrush. Aurora’s head snapped toward the trees. Her voice was flat, practiced.

“Someone’s coming.”

The forest fell silent again as Amy stood frozen, her chest hollow from Aurora’s words. Her mother’s rejection still echoed sharp, like the frost biting her skin.

Branches cracked under deliberate steps as a lean man emerged from the treeline, grey hair, his expression calm. He looked at Aurora first.

“You always did lose yourself in arguments, my dear. With strangers, you cut clean. With family…” His chuckle was soft. “You’re unsteady.”

Aurora dropped her arm. “Thomas,” she sighed, her hands dropping to her side. “Not now.” She waved him off like smoke. “Besides, family’s nothing but a burden. A liability. That’s why I cut ties with any.”

Amy blinked. “Who are you?” her voice quivered.

Aurora shrugged. “Once an adviser. Now a ghost who won’t stop talking. Likely to die soon, but too stubborn to manage it.”

Thomas’s smile was patient, unreadable. “Oh no, child. I can’t go yet. The world is splitting again, and whenever it does, it drags me back to you.” His gaze flicked toward Amy.

“I’m retired, Thomas,” Aurora sighed. “I don’t want to hear anything from you.”

Thomas laughed. “Oh, but it isn’t me who must help you. It is Karl who must speak to you.”

Aurora’s eyebrow raised. Amy’s breath hitched. Karl. Rough hands in the dark hold. His voice snapping with rage.

“I don’t want to see him,” her ice thickened around her skin protectively.

Thomas only gave her a soft, sympathetic look.
***
Later, his cottage smelled of smoke and tea. Amy thought of leaving, but had nowhere else to go.

The tea steamed between them. Aurora drank greedily, as if thirst could drown horrid pain and memories. Amy only held her cup, suspicious of its content. She looked at her mother incredulously She talks about survival but drinks without thinking.

“I won’t see him again,” Amy’s voice hardened. “He kidnapped me.” Her eyes flicked to Aurora, pleading for defense, but her mother only reached for more tea.

Thomas set his cup down. “You must. The one who cut you is the only one who knows how deep it went. Karl carries that knowledge in the way his hands still twitch when he grips a blade.”

Aurora snorted. “Still speaking in riddles, old friend?” She smacked her lips.

Amy curled into herself, hugging her knees.

“And you still drink what I pour,” he switched his gaze to Amy. “What gnaws at you, child?” he asked gently.

“I just want to go home.”

Thomas shook his head. “The continent you came from is no safer.”

The fire cracked. Amy looked up sharply, wondering what that meant.

Thomas poured more from his kettle, steam still curling between them. “Monsters come in many shapes. Some steal you away. Some leave you behind.” His eyes slid to Aurora. “I heard what happened to Christopher.”

Aurora froze. Her lips pressed together before she lifted the cup again, hiding in its rim.

Thomas’s voice softened. “He chose the mask of a villain so you could live. He was cruel on the surface, but sacrifice hid underneath. That was his love.”

The cup trembled in Aurora’s hand. She turned away, chin high but rigid. But Amy saw the quiver beneath the mask.

“You knew?” Aurora asked.

“You don’t have to pretend, mom. I saw how much it hurt. You can say it. You can hate him. Or love him. Or both.” Amy’s fingers trembled as she reached toward her mother.

Aurora glared at Thomas, her face twisting. “You knew…?” She pressed harder, about the scream.

Amy saw the change in Aurora’s posture, coiled to attack.

“Mom…” Amy’s fingers brushed her arm. Aurora’s hand twitched around her cup, hot water dripping down her wrist and elbow. Her pupils dilated, swallowing the color of her eyes.

Amy’s shadows stirred, crawling in her veins like icy water. Aurora clutched her chest, and let out a gasp.

Every sound in the cottage dulled—the fire’s crackle, even the warmth of the room. And then the throbbing in Amy’s head started.

Not now. Please!

Ice exploded from her fingers to her cheek like hostile daggers. She tried to yank it back, but her body wasn’t hers anymore.

And the shadows leapt free.

Aurora staggered, clutching her head tighter.

“Stop. Take me instead. No!” Amy cried, jerking away as if she could reel the shadows back inside her. But it was too late.

The memories slammed through her—

Laughter, sharp and cruel, drowning out her mother’s cries. Shadows pressed in, faceless and many, until Aurora’s mind went blank. Years of hiding in fear. And then Milo, kicking down the door, hand outstretched, ruin gleaming in his promise.

Her breath hitched once more as she stepped back. A second vision, years later in a forest. This time Christopher, Milo, and Kristo all stood together.

“No…” Aurora muttered.

For a heartbeat her mother’s eyes cleared, as if she fought it back. Amy almost believed she had. But then the shadows surged again, stronger, and Aurora collapsed.

“Mom!”

Thomas caught her before she hit the ground. His voice was calm and steady. “Amy,” he warned. “Dreams have her. She’ll live. You should rest, child.”

Thomas wasn’t even surprised at what happened! Amy’s hands shook. Her vision swam. She stared at her icy hands.

“I didn’t mean…”

The sunlight dimmed, bleeding the walls orange. Frost climbed her neck. She clutched her frostbitten wrist, as if anchoring herself to her own body. She shut her eyes tight, praying not to hear Cerceras’s whisper rising in the dark.

Milo, Kristo, anyone. Help stop this. Please.