I held a five-petaled yellow flower between my fingers. I'd picked it up in church earlier, a distracted gesture, almost mechanical.
Only now did I understand everything. Those flowers weren't decorations, they were for my parents' funeral. That's why Sipar had stayed silent; that's why he kept looking away. He didn't want to tell me I was clutching the goodbye I wasn't ready to give.
I went out to the garden through the kitchen. Night wrapped around me immediately, while the silver moon hung in the sky, high and cold. The flower's sweet scent mixed with the smell of my mother's plants, a fragrance of herbs and earth I knew by heart and that now seemed to almost suffocate me.
Mom, I miss you.
The wind had died down and the garden was still, a stretch of silent shadows in the moon's pale light. That scent was all that remained of her in the folds of night.
Did you watch the moon too while tending these plants, before... before the other night?
The outlines of the yellow petals blurred. I couldn't believe my eyes still had tears after everything that had happened, but they kept falling without end. The flowers weren't decorations. They were the weight of a reality crushing in my chest.
I let a tear fall and I didn't try to stop it.
"I'm sorry," I whispered into the darkness. "I'm so sorry."
I searched for something to hold onto, anything that wasn't painful. My free hand slipped into my pocket. My fingers touched something cold, hard, sharp.
I pulled it out.
The fang.
Jagged edges, big as my thumb, still dirty with dried blood. Vrogat's fang, the only thing I could do with my magic was break his teeth, not even both of them. I'd picked it up in the mud, among the remains of my house.
I didn't know why. Maybe instinct, maybe so I wouldn't forget the monster.
I turned it between my fingers. Sharp, lethal, disgusting.
"I hate you!"
My stomach contracted. Acid rose in my throat, hot and burning. My chest tightened until every breath was work.
Vrogat. Ronak. And whoever had sent them to butcher my life.
"But this—" I held it up against the moonlight, bone gleaming with a sickly white, a sliver of death stolen from the enemy. "—this will remind me who I am. What you did to me."
Promise came out like a sacred vow, a contract signed with blood still staining that bone.
"And when I'm strong enough... I'll find you. All of you. Not for justice. I don't care about justice. Just to kill you and erase you."
There was no forgiveness in my words. No peace. It was vengeance, cold and patient, beginning to crystallize where before there'd only been pain. I put the fang back in my pocket. A small weight. An enormous oath. I accepted it anyway.
Rage kept pulsing. I wanted to scream, to smash the wood of that new bed, to make the whole world feel what I was feeling.
A sound behind me.
Light steps behind me. I spun around, heart lurching. Then felt foolish for it.
I spun around, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand and I shoved the tooth in my pocket with a lightning motion, hiding it like it was a sin.
"Emma?"
She stood on the kitchen threshold, a one-armed rag doll clutched in her fingers. Her eyes gleamed in the moonlight, fixed on me. Still as her doll, without moving a muscle.
Is she even breathing? I wondered.
She seemed made of the same cold stone as the threshold. Then, slowly, she came out. Her bare feet on damp grass made no sound, not at all. It was as silent as a ghost.
She stopped beside me and kept staring at my face.
For a long time.
Her gaze bored into my mind with those crimson-colored eyes that seemed to see everything: my sadness, the yellow flower, and maybe even the hatred I'd sworn.
Rage still pulsed, hot, insistent. Someone had to pay. Anyone.
It's your fault. They were looking for you. If they had found you they…
It was for her that Vrogat had been sent. It was for her that my house had been emptied and almost destroyed.
I met her gaze with all the intensity of my anger, clenching my teeth until my jaw ached. I wanted her to see the monster being born inside me.
But Emma didn't pull back. Her shoulders lowered slowly, as if the weight of my gaze was crushing her bones. The edges of her eyes softened, losing that supernatural fixedness.
Something in her stare told me the truth before I could think it. Her, too. They'd been looking for her, too. The monster I'd imagined was another child curled up in the dark, exactly like me.
A transparent drop formed at the side of those red eyes, taking the same hue. It slid slowly, tracing a shining trail on her pale and smooth skin.
"Emma. Why—"
I couldn't finish. Her arms wrapped around my neck with desperate force. The warm cloth doll bounced against my shoulders, still clutched in her small hand. Her short warm breath against my skin. The accelerated beat of her little heart against mine.
In that instant, fury vanished, leaving only a cold void.
Are you a victim too?
She wasn't the demon I'd imagined. She wasn't the cause of my ruin. She was just another survivor curled up in the dark, same as me.
Emma's hand gripped tighter, as if she sensed where I was going with my thoughts.
Her hands trembled. I held her back, burying my face in her shoulder. In that silent garden, under the silver moon, we were no longer enemies. We were two survivors trying not to fall apart.
"Arek?"
My name broke the silence. I looked up as a thin boy emerged from the kitchen's shadow, wearing a dark tunic making him seem part of the night itself. He still wore the elegant garment, stiff and dark, that Sister Cora had put on him for the funeral.
He looked almost like a ghost summoned from the earth.
My mouth struggled to open, as if muscles had forgotten how to articulate sounds. After a moment of hesitation, I managed to ask: "Haven't you changed yet?"
"Cora is busy in church with Tyeron. I can't take off," he replied with his hesitant words, pulling clumsily at the tight collar. He appeared imprisoned by that outfit.
Emma slowly pulled away from the embrace, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. She turned her eyes toward him and, without saying a word, took Sipar's hand. She pointed first at herself, then at him, with a silent gesture indicating she would help him.
"Yes, thank you. But I wanted to tell Arek something. That's why me came out."
His eyes widened slightly, catching the silver light of the stars.
"My parents also dead recently. You know. And Emma too..." He sighed, a deep breath that made his shoulders tremble, then continued: "You also... this tragedy."
He brought a fist, the one not holding Emma's hand, to his chest, right over his heart.
"But I am not alone. Emma is not alone. And you not alone either."
He took a step forward, closing the distance between us. In that instant, his eyes hardened, finding clarity. Emma watched him as if he were the only fixed point in a world that was collapsing.
He tapped the same fist against my heart. A dull, real blow, shaking me deep into my ribcage.
"I, you and Emma share bad thing, but can share good thing too."
His hand lowered and his fingers intertwined with mine. Emma had moved closer, completing our small circle. She also grabbed my other hand, the fang between our palms, her skin cold but her grip was steel. We were a circle. An island in the middle of an ocean of darkness.
"Brothers."
Emma's hand yanked at his arm, hard and sudden. I saw her eyes flash toward Sipar, sharp and unmistakable.
Sipar blinked, then his face softened. "Brothers and sister."
Emma nodded firmly, a sharp movement of her head that admitted no argument.
Brothers and sister?
Their eyes stared at me motionless; it was like watching the two moons in the same night. Red and Silver together. Fire and cold light.
Words were strange. Too big. I kept them anyway.
"Brothers and sister!" Sipar repeated, and this time it wasn't a question, it was an oath.
"Brothers and sister!" I answered decisively.
The thought arrived quiet but devastating. Not chance. Not bad luck. Choice. They had chosen me.
Mom and Dad had died protecting me. Not by chance. Not by bad luck. Choice.
Dad had thrown himself in front of the fireball, to save me. He'd chosen: him or me. He'd chosen me. Mom had taken the dagger and attacked something much bigger, much stronger than her. She knew she wouldn't win. But she did it anyway. For me.
Even before. Even when I'd lost control in the kitchen and magic had almost burned the house down. When I'd screamed "I hate you" with all the rage I had in me. They hadn't stopped. They hadn't said: "You're too dangerous." They hadn't said: "We don't want you anymore." Only: "You're our son."
And in their last words... Dad: "Don't be afraid of your light. Use it." Mom: "You're perfect as you are. Never change."
Even dying, they'd told me the same thing: we accept you. Completely. All of you. Even the parts that scare. Even the ones you don't understand. Everything.
I... I hadn't been able to. I'd been afraid of magic, of myself, of being "too much" or "wrong." But not them. Never. And now that they were gone, they'd left me the only thing that mattered: the certainty that I was loved. Not for what I did. Because "I" was myself
Emma and Sipar's hands squeezed simultaneously. A small movement, but it seemed immense to me. They too were accepting me, without knowing me, without knowing if I was dangerous or broken inside. You're here. You're with us. That's enough.
Like Mom and Dad had done.
Maybe this was what I had to do. Not overcome the pain—how could I?—and not to forget the vengeance that would come, someday. But do what they had done. To accept. These children. This life. Myself. Even the difficult parts. Even the scary ones. Everything.
Because my parents had taught me that. And if they had chosen to love me until their last breath... I could choose to live.
The flower, now on the ground, forgotten, trembled in the night breeze. Sipar stood up and picked something from the ground: a leaf from my mother's plants. He held it out to me. It was still wet with dew, soft between my fingers. "To remember. Not to forget."
I took it. The familiar smell hit me straight in the chest. Emma pointed to her doll. A missing arm. Broken. But still here, still held tight. We carry our losses with us, but we move forward anyway.
I understood. I picked up the flower and threw it into the air. It flew from my fingers, yellow petals dancing in the silver air, spinning on themselves beyond the garden wall, toward the night. The leaf remained in my palm. Small. A small memory that wouldn't rot.
"Let's go inside," Sipar said, his voice gentle. "Cold here out." I nodded. I stood up. My legs still trembled a bit, but they held. Emma walked beside me, Sipar on the other side. Together.
Mom's plants were dark shadows against the apple tree, leaves trembling in the night breeze. I recognized the shapes: basil, sage, that one with purple flowers she called "lavender." How many times had I seen her kneel over plants just like these at home, hands dirty with earth, humming that nameless song?
I reached out, brushing the leaves and making the dew drop.
"Goodbye, Mom. I'll take care of your plants. I promise you."
My voice trembled, but the promise was solid. Emma placed a hand on my shoulder, her fingers were light, barely a touch.
We entered, passed the kitchen and we climbed the stairs to the bedroom. The wood of the steps didn't creak. Solid and new. The absence of those familiar sounds was still strange, alien. But I could get used to it. Perhaps one day.
Reaching the room, I stopped in front of my bed. My fingers found the carving almost on their own: the tower inside the circle. Dad's signature, in plain sight, where everybody could see his proud work.
"Goodbye, Dad." I closed my eyes, pressing my palm against the smooth wood. "Someday I'll do something you'll be proud of."
And someday I'll avenge your death. I promise!
The broken fang weighed in my pocket, an icy promise against my leg. But for now... I lay down.
Emma was changing for the night. Sipar was already ready and let himself fall onto the mattress. "Goodnight, Arek."
"Goodnight."
I placed the fragrant leaf on the nightstand in front of my bed.
I changed without thinking; it took a moment, and I lay down too tired to brush my teeth.
I closed my eyes and darkness came, but it wasn't empty. There were the plants, the bed, Emma and Sipar. And in my pocket of the tunic left on the floor, cold, the promise.
For the first time, no nightmares came. Only peace. Tomorrow would be different. I would start becoming strong. Not just to get revenge. But to live. Like they would have wanted.