The Shissavi led us to Felzan’s Riftwalker Association. It was a large building carved into the trunk of a gigantic suncatcher, situated near the heart of the city. Several winding brides circled around its length. Up, down, around, I saw the RWA’s administrative agents mill around the massive structure like a hive of ants, each one sporting a look that added to the somber mood.

Up ahead, the Shissavi led us towards an elevator—a platform of marble carved with the same runes that allowed airships to float. He swiped a badge across the terminal and it rose, flying up and around the tree as if it had a mind of its own.

Normally, father would have been the type to marvel at it. But now, he looked nauseous. He sent the soldier a worried glance.

“How’s the situation on the front lines, protector? Why did we only receive word now?”

“Apologies, sir Kindlebright. Information from within the last ten days isn’t something I’m allowed to give. There are recording crystals waiting for you, however. From both the prince and miss Blight Witch that will no doubt answer some of the questions you might have.”

Kerban frowned, “There normally isn’t a need for this much secrecy. I’ve worked with riftwalkers before—they’re under the Coalition of Four, not just any house in Caereith. Saer Halcyn shouldn’t have the authority to keep word from Felzan like he’s been doing the past few weeks.”

“You’re correct, dockmaster. The current situation is controlled by people above the saer's command.”

Of the conversation so far, I didn’t understand much. But his last words caught my attention. Above. Higher than the authority of any house in Caereith.

The other worlds were responsible for the decision.

Kerban seemed to come to the same realization. He pursed his lips and put a hand on father’s shoulder, “And the other houses? Are they doing their part?”

“They’ve dispatched Shissavi to reinforce saer Halcyn’s forces, under a unanimous vote during the last Seasonal Court. Additionally, the RWA branches from other realms have likewise extended their support.”

I blinked, staring at the man. “The Novi are here?”

“Led by the White Sun himself, sir Ashran.”

The name silenced us all. If the founder of the Riftwalker’s Association himself was here in Caereith, it said much about the floodlands’s situation. Our floating elevator flew diagonally, ascending to just below the peak, then stopping at the lip of a platform leading inside of the tree.

The four of us stepped into a massive room full of communications tech; runic messengers, water divination globes, and a large number of illusory projections of distant RWA agents working with the ones present. In the divination globes, I recognized projections of the western front.

The fighting was intense.

Cannons blasted apart blighted. Airships covered the sky. Gazerstalks shot out terrifying beams of energy, Shissavi marched over the floodwaters in the tens of thousands, and riftwalkers tore into gruesome beasts with cold efficiency. I caught a brief glimpse of Elanah through the images, melting a legion of corrupted with the wave of a hand.

I relaxed, ever so slightly.

She wasn’t dead.

My eyes fell away from the projections as an agent approached us—a woman in management uniform, sporting a badge and a beret. She glanced over us once, before nodding towards me.

“Sir Ashran,” she said. “The messages addressed to you were requested to be viewed in a private room. Please follow me. Miss Kindlebright sent you a particularly large number of crystal records.”

Kerban stepped forward, “What about us? Mother should have left us messages too.”

“She did indeed, dockmaster Kindlebright. Please approach another attendant so that they may to lead you and your father to a separate viewing room.”

Father laid his hand on brother’s shoulder, “You heard her, son. Let’s go.”

“Alright. Will you return to join us after, sir Ashran?”

“Am I not allowed to view the recordings in front of them?” I asked, turning to the attendant, and she shook her head.

“Saer Halcyn has labeled the contents of your recording crystal as classified. No one but you may be the first to view it. What you do with what you hear afterwards, however, is up to you. Miss Kindlebright was very particular about that when she left the crystal in our couriers’ hands.”

“Alright. Lead the way. I’ll see you in a minute, Kerban. Rugsh.”

“Don’t mind us, sir Ashran. Take your time.”

I left them with a nod. The amarid woman in uniform quickly took me aside, leading me to a small room in the corner of the chamber locked behind an adamantine door. Arcane locks hummed with power all over its frame. They shut down with a swipe of the attendant’s badge, and the door slid open without a sound. Inside was a room with white plates all over the walls, complete with a small chair, table, and bed.

A recording crystal sat inactive over the table.

Pursing my lips, I stepped inside. The world turned quiet as the bustle of the room behind me disappeared. I raised an eyebrow and noticed the vast number of runes lining the walls. I had no idea what the vast majority of them did, but few were familiar—sound-dampening, anti-divination, and reinforcement runes in particular.

I gave the attendant a strange look, “Are you sure this is a listening room and not a prison cell?”

“We take the distribution of information very seriously, sir Ashran.”

“No kidding. When can I come out? That door doesn’t exactly have a knob.”

“There is a sigil on the table, sir. Once you press it, we will be notified of your request to exit the room. Should you require food and drink, there is another sigil by the bedside. Meals will be teleported in on request.”

“Teleportation like it’s nothing. I really am in the future,” I muttered, shaking my head as I headed for the table.

The attendant closed the door behind me. It locked with a brief flash of light, the runes going active with an almost perceptible hum. I frowned. The room was sealed tight, and not just physically. There was no smell, no sound, and the temperature was perfectly adjusted. If I weren’t sure of my own innocence, I would’ve cursed myself for walking into a prison cell already.

Still, I was sure I could force my way out if it came to it. I would have to rely on Traveler’s weave, but I doubt he would refuse to let me use it if it meant escape. I would’ve much preferred if that was a last resort, however.

I stepped up to the table and tapped my foot against its shadow.

My vision flashed with several locations within ten meters. A hallway, a bridge, several listening rooms, and the main chamber outside. I smirked.

Some of the most advanced runework the Riftwalker’s Association was capable of, and all it took to get out of it was a pair of shoddy boots. It seemed my boots worked differently from normal means of displacement. Assuming the room was warded against teleportation, of course. I made a mental note to ask later.

I glanced at my shadow, “Do immortals have ways of preventing me from shadow-walking with my boots, Traveler?”

No reply.

Huh. I hadn’t seen Traveler since we got off the ship to Felzan. Did he finally die? It was strange of him to not show up and run his mouth after so long. Something that would’ve been very welcome right now.

There was no escaping my situation, however. I turned my eyes to the recording crystal on the table and sighed.

A message from Elanah. I didn’t want to watch it, not really. A part of me was still mad at her—and perhaps a little afraid of seeing her again, of hearing her old, dry voice. But that part of me lost to curiosity.

It was a close match.

I sat myself down on the chair and reached forward. I took the crystal into my hand, leaning my chin on my palm, while toying with it between my fingers. It was the size of an apple. Made of multifaceted crystal, it glinted under the listening room’s white light. The gem itself was socketed into a metal base that was full of runic letters.

Below the runic circuitry, I stared at the glowing text written in Common.

Storage Capacity: 89% – 2H-42M-18S

…It seemed Elanah had a lot to say.

I was ready, for whatever it was. I was ready to listen to nearly three hours of apologies, scolding, anger, or even begging. Not that Elanah would ever do something like that. No, I was sure the crystal was full of alchemy work, like always. Perhaps she wanted my input on her revisions to the formula. Or perhaps the blight had adapted to our bioweapon, and she was once again in need of a second opinion.

Maybe it was even a message meant to ask for my return to the front lines. For me to go there and develop more weapons with her, to finish off the Crimson Tide. Maybe it wasn’t so much as a request, but an order.

That was nothing new to her. I was used to that.

In the same vein, she would have to get used to my rejections as well. I’d already put my foot down. I was done. I wanted nothing to do with her—I just wanted her home, spending time with the family that actually gave a damn about her. Feeling my frustration rise again, I clenched my fist and tapped the sigil at the front of the crystal. It lit up. A projection came to life.

Elanah, staring at me. A recording.

I was ready to curse at her. To shut off the crystal in boredom, anger, or simple spite. I knew one wrong word was all it would take for me to close the recording and storm away.

But Elanah started speaking, and I paused.

“Happy sixteenth birthday, son. I’m sorry that I…”

It was a birthday greeting. One twenty-three years overdue. I frowned at the recording, watching her speak, looking on as she forced a smile and tried to mend a bridge she’d already burnt. It was a pathetic attempt at reconnection.

I stared at the time left. Nine minutes.

Rolling my eyes, I skipped ahead to the next recording.

This one was for my seventeenth winter. The year I lost my Name. Sighing, I skipped it again. The next message was much the same. So I skipped. I skipped, and I skipped, and I skipped.

“Happy twenty-fifth birthday, son. I don’t know where you were, or what you were doing during this time, but I hope you haven’t forgotten to practice your alchemy…”

Another message. I reached for the sigil to skip, but stopped as I noticed Elanah wince through the recording. Frowning, looked at her closely. Tired eyes. Sallow, sunken face. Little, black veins running along her skin, like a web of cracks creeping towards her jaw. Elixir poisoning.

She was in pain. She should have been resting. Wordlessly, I skipped the message and watched the next.

“Happy twenty-ninth…”

Her voice trembled at the start of it.

“…thirty-fourth…”

Her eyes were puffy.

“Happy—”

I skipped again. I mashed the skip sigil with my thumb, skipping her stupid greetings as ice filled my chest. I skipped until the very end, to her final message. I expected the same words as before. A birthday greeting, following by some mundane status update of what she was doing at that time. But I didn’t get that.

No. The last recording started in silence.

She stared ahead, as if I were the one in front of her when she recorded, and not just some crystal on a tabletop. Her back was hunched and her posture was small. Her eyes were red, her hands trembled, and she stared in silence, struggling, thinking of what to say.

Elanah opened her mouth to speak.

A sob was what came out.

I watched her in silence. She wiped her face with a hand, but more tears came after the first. Elanah broke down for three minutes, trying to speak. Her crying made her words sound like babble. Whatever she was trying to say, I didn’t try to understand.

No, I just sat there, watching Elanah cry.

The recording ended after another minute. The crystal turned dark, and the projection faded away. I sat there, tired, my eyes on the inactive recording crystal. By now, the anger I felt was gone. Every single bit. It wasn’t that I forgave her, or that I pitied her because she cried, or that I accepted the unspoken apology she’d spoken in her birthday greetings.

It was just that I didn’t recognize her.

I hated the mother I knew. The mother who left us. The one who was unapologetic, uncaring, and full of ambition. But the woman in the recording? That wasn’t mother. It was a tired old woman who wanted nothing more than to go home and reconcile with her son. Elanah. And while I would never forgive her, she was someone I couldn’t hate.

Because Elanah wasn’t my mother.

Not anymore.

Rugsh watched the divination globes from afar.

They flashed with live projections of the front lines, while a circle of wizards sat around each globe of floating water to maintain their spells. Of the five globes in the chamber, one was fully focused on his wife.

Elanah.

Rugsh watched the love of his life fight to save their world. She slaughtered blighted, ingested elixirs potent enough to kill giants, and regenerated from blows that no mortal had any right to survive. Kerban watched with him even as he talked to the riftwalkers, his eyes following his mother’s every move. He could feel the itch in the boy’s heart. The desire to pack his things and head straight for the front lines, where he would fight by Elanah’s side.

But Kerban was no fighter. He wouldn’t be allowed to come even if he wanted to. The riftwalkers had been very clear about that. Rugsh and Kerban were not allowed to leave the city, on the orders of the Mirror Prince himself, and no doubt Elanah as well.

And so they watched her fight.

She sent poisoned needles into a swarm. Corrupted birds fell by the thousands. She swept her arms to the side and commanded a wave of black malice, melting all that stood in her path. She tore her way through her foes even as a gazerstalk blasted her, charring one side of her body black.

It was at times like now that Rugsh cursed himself for not stopping her. For being too weak to tell his wife that the world could do without her. That she didn’t need to sacrifice herself for the sake of many.

That she could be selfish, just like he’d been when he’d tied her down with marriage.

Rugsh felt the bones in his hand creak as he clenched his fists tight. Tight enough that they trembled over his knee, the tips of his stone fingers scraping against his palm. He watched his Lanah’s every move without blinking, as if something terrible would happen to her if he so much as looked away.

To watch her suffer was all he could do.

And Rugsh hated himself for that.

As he sat watching, someone walked up beside him. Someone tall and pale and new; someone cursed to never wear the same face.

Ashran sat beside him in silence, and they watched his wife fight an endless fight.

After a moment, the man beside him spoke.

“My mother was awkward, terrible with relationships, and she had a temper like a summer wildfire. She used to come and go, returning like a storm and leaving like the wind,” Ashran said, his voice soft. “I hated her.”

Rugsh released a breath, “It would break any mother’s heart to hear that, son. I hope you never told her. No matter how terrible of a mother she may have been.”

Ashran didn’t reply. Another moment passed.

“…Would you be happy if Elanah came home, Rugsh?”

“What man wouldn’t be happy to see his wife safe? I would do anything to have her with me instead of… out there, fighting. Fighting and hurting.”

“Even if you know she would eventually leave again?”

“If she came home today, I would never let her go again.”

He felt Ashran rise from his seat.

“I see. Goodbye, Rugsh.”

“What do you…”

Rugsh turned his head towards the strange man, but found no one there. Instead, resting on the seat next to him, was an instrument. It was old and worn, cracked halfway down from the mouthpiece. It took Rugsh less than a second to recognize the instrument as something he made.

Rugsh shot up from his seat, his heart suddenly constricting, hurting, tearing, and he grabbed the bansuri and he looked—

But Ashran was already gone.