I nodded without uttering a word. That seemed to satisfy him as he raised his hand, casting a cleaning spell on us both proceeded by checking me for any abnormalities. "Better cautious than regretful."
He then proceeded to set fire to all the severed limbs that had formed somewhat of a macabre boundary around us. As they burned, the light of the fire reminded me of the dream I had been having before I rose to this chaos.
A mother.
A very distant and foreign word to me, but it was a fundamental truth of the world. Everyone had a mother. If so, then where was mine? Why had I never met her? They were all questions that I had prodded Father in the past with.
I had asked to see her, but Father had denied me. He had no portraits of her, and no one within the palace knew who she was. To them, I was simply Domina Hermione, the child whom Father had carried into the palace one night nearly sixteen years ago. They knew never to question Aeternus.
It had been disheartening to know that I had a mother, yet nobody apart from Father knew her. I had cried, wailed, and even thrown tantrums demanding that Father commission a portrait of her. He could do anything; why, then, could he not let me have a mother?
That was when I saw it. The profound sadness on Father's face. It was a look of deep, injurious hurt that someone so young as I could never hope to understand. Even today, I comprehend only fragments of it.
'Your mother died bringing you into this world, Hermione. She did not want you to suffer knowing this truth. I chose to respect her wish, but seeing you so desperately desire her, I cannot bring myself to keep it from you. Even so, I still believe the more you know of her tragedy, the greater the loss you will feel. Someone as young as you should not be burdened with this. If you still wish to know, I will tell you.'
That had been the moment where sorrow and fear had entirely taken over. I could not bring myself to ask for more. Father's mournful face, coupled with the tragic circumstances of my own birth, held my tongue. The following days were no better. I cried myself to sleep every night thinking about the mother I never had. Father was right; this knowledge brought me no comfort, only despair.
Lily and Octavian did much to cheer me up, and somewhere along the way, I shelved that traumatic moment of my life deep within my mind. For seven years, I kept it buried. My siblings and Father were enough—more than enough—for me. They did not let me despair, and I was deeply thankful for it. I did not ask to know her. I reasoned that the more I got to know my mother the greater sorrow I would feel for her not being with me.
Yet now, she resurfaced.
Snap.
"Lost in your thoughts again, daughter?"
Father snapped his fingers, pulling me out of my sullen reverie. I stared up at his face—the vibrant green eyes, the cascading raven hair held back by magic to prevent it from unleashing chaos. There were the faint signs of stubble growing on his jaw, and I remembered that he had always been the same, unchanging man in this shifting world. It brought me immense comfort to know that he would always be there.
I smiled a little, shaking my head. "Forgive me, I was caught off guard. It will not happen again."
He seemed to consider my response before nodding to himself, raising a hand to gently brush my hair. "I know I have been a little too harsh on you ever since we started this journey, but I will protect you. Always."
"I know," I said softly.
He stood up, his posture straightening. "It still does not mean that you have permission to lay yourself defenceless just because you have me. We are in deep waters here. Keep your wits about you at all times."
I chuckled, and he looked back at me in surprise. "Why did you have to go and ruin a tender father-daughter moment by turning back into a general?"
"Because in this unknown place, we must shoulder multiple roles," he retorted, though a faint smile touched his lips. "Now sleep. I will watch over you. Considering the proximity of this ruined village, we may be closer to the city proper."
"I hope we find it soon. We do not even know how long it has been since we entered this mist," I said with a shiver of trepidation.
"Time is skewed in here. Even the Tempus spell seems to decay," he answered quietly.
I pulled my cloak tighter around myself. Soon, I was fast asleep.
For the first time in a long time I found myself wanting to revisit the dream I had been jolted from.
…
It was a long dreamless sleep.
I woke with a stiff back and a lingering chill in my bones. Father was already awake, methodically dismantling our small camp in silence. We did not linger. The deeper we pushed toward Chroyane, the more suffocating the atmosphere became, pressing against us like a physical weight.
The journey swiftly devolved into a gruelling gauntlet of guerilla warfare.