The young boy's arms were numb, the only indication he was still dragging his mother was the scraping sound of the wooden plank against the ground. The world around him blurred, and when he finally collapsed to his knees, he wasn't aware of his exhaustion until he took a deep breath, realizing he had stopped. He glanced around, momentarily resting. He couldn't afford this pause. She needed help.

Just a little more.

Just a little more.

Just a little more.

He chanted the phrase in his head, but this time, his muscles refused to obey. Then he heard the sound of people, the rhythmic beat of horse hooves accompanying their voices. Them again. He lacked the strength to pull his mother off the road, to hide from those who looked down on them. It was the same, time and time again. Fine, he could handle another beating, but he couldn't let them hurt his mother. He pushed his tired limbs, crawling between the group of people and his mother.

As they arrived, men in shiny outfits yelled something at him. But of course, he couldn't understand them, much less move. They approached, and he held a hand out to protect her. Yet something different happened this time. A man left the carriage and walked up to the boy. The boy glared at him, annoyed that they were wasting time. He needed them to get this over with, he needed to get her help.

The man from the carriage spoke to the metal men, and they approached, finally. It would hurt for a bit, but he could handle it. They grabbed him, but when he saw them approach his mother, he struggled. Uselessly. The knights easily held him down as another pulled his mother into their arms. He cried, kicked, and screamed, but it was useless. And yet, a part of him, some terrible part, was relieved. Perhaps it was this thought that ended his struggle. To accept it. To be glad that perhaps now he would be free.

That's why it hurt all the more when he found himself seated by one of the metal men as his mother lay on the carriage floor. The man who left the carriage sat next to a woman in a beautiful dress. The carriage rumbled, and they spoke to him, but everything was going dark.

When he came to, he was lying on what felt like a soft cloud. He rose, pushing the sheets off as he looked at his hands, still trembling with exhaustion. They were covered in thin fabric, feeling odd against the many scars he had amassed on his journey. The sensation was strange—wet but without the usual ache. He quickly shook his head. He didn't have time for this; he needed to find out where he was and what they had done with his mother. He fell out of the bed, hitting the wooden floor hard, and crawled to the door. Reaching up, he grabbed the cold metal handle and used it to pull himself up, opening the door.

Using the wall to steady himself, he found himself in a labyrinth of doors. It was rather lavish, but he needed to escape. He had lived in a similar place with his mother until that man cast her aside. Finally, on his third door, he found her. She was resting in a bed, looking no worse for wear. She wasn't as bandaged as he was; then again, her scars were not physically present.

With gasps of breath, he made his way over to her and collapsed by her side. He reached up and held her hand. He tried to speak, to tell her he was there, but it was such a strain. The effort took more out of him, and soon enough, he was resting peacefully by her side.

Again, he awoke on a bed. But this time, he was by her side. “We decided to move you next to each other so you would not injure yourself again,” a voice called to him from the room. He saw a man with a black beard and grey eyes. The boy stared at him, trembling slightly. The man explained that he was gravely injured and had pushed himself past the point of exhaustion.

The boy half paid attention, keeping an eye on his mother and waiting for the man to leave. When another man walked over to her, he tried to stop him. “Relax,” the man said, gently pushing him back down in the bed. “I’m only looking over her. It's a bit odd, but she is exhausted as well. Yet, I can't find the reason. Do you think you can tell me about it?” He stared at the man, hesitant. “Perhaps just a little,” the man added, but the young boy couldn't bring himself to speak to the stranger. He could only cautiously watch over his mother.

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Days turned into weeks, and soon the boy was called by the duke. Before the man, a simple question was posed. “Are you human?” The boy shuddered, betraying his answer. The duke rose from his seat and walked over to the boy, taking a knee and looking him in the eye. “Please understand, it is not out of animosity that I ask this. However, for the sake of your mother, we must know.” The boy hesitated. He wanted his mother to get better, to be well, but she had always told him never to reveal the truth to outsiders.

Sensing his hesitation, the duke put a hand on the boy. “I promise on my honor that I will not allow harm to come to you or your mother, regardless of your answer, even if it is revealed that you are an Un’daethe.” The boy saw truth in the duke's eyes. After a moment more of hesitation, he betrayed his mother's teachings. The duke squeezed his shoulder. “Alright, that's good. We can see what we can do for her now.” He nodded to a man in the corner, someone the boy hadn't noticed when he entered the room but recognized as the man with the black beard and grey eyes.

Hope filled his heart, and to repay the duke, he asked if he could do anything. Thus, he became a young servant for the family. Yet, a month later, the duke apologized to him. “Unfortunately, we do not know enough about your species to understand what's wrong with her,” he revealed. “The doctor is doing everything he can, but…” The boy’s heart sank. “I would remain by her side for the next couple of days,” the duke encouraged. “It… doesn’t look good.”

Then one day, his mother seemed to come out of her fog. She looked at him and smiled. “Sefton,” she called his name with the warmth and love he hadn’t heard in a long time. It was a miracle. She was fully lucid and aware. They talked for hours, and his mother wished him well. “Don't blame your father,” she finally said. “It's perfectly natural after all.”

“How can you say that!” he wanted to argue, but he had just gotten her back. So he dropped it. “Sorry,” he said.

“Don't be. Remember, my child, always feel free to love, but… don't feel bad…” His mother looked at him oddly before shaking her head. They fell asleep in the same bed that night, and in the morning, he was the only one to awaken.

He stayed by her side for days before he was able to let them take her. Her funeral was held thanks to the duke’s generosity, and the service was nice. He remembered everything as nice: the presentation, the attitude of the servants, even the treatment he received. It was all nice. Everything was fine, but his mother was gone. So why was everything… better?

One day, the duke called him to the office once again and offered him a few options. He could continue working there or be sent to the orphanage. Either way, they would finally give him his payment for all the work he had done. They had kept it from him to monitor the young woman's condition, ensuring what she ate and the like. Mostly, they kept it so he wouldn't be tricked into buying a miracle cure that would do more harm than good.

Finally, he realized that he had been working not for her treatment but for himself. “Why?” he asked the duke. “Why help my mother and me? Surely there are more important things for a duke to do than look after a few strays on the road.”

The duke looked at him for a moment. “Because I saw the look in your eye when you blocked my carriage,” he answered. “I saw a boy, desperate and far past the point of exhaustion, ready to do anything to protect the woman behind him. I saw the markings of a great man.”

So, the boy became an official servant of the house and received education and training fit for a high-ranking noble.

Then, once again, the duke apologized to him in his office. “Mambas are born with half a heart,” he explained. “When they marry, it seems they share each other’s beat and form a single heart. However… the male can live on if they take on another bride, one who is younger.” The young man already knew this. It was why his father cast her out, why he cursed him and fled to save her.

“But recently, Joanah discovered that a grind of crystal stone used with copperhead snake venom and willow bark could create a solution that could have stabilized her. It's nothing permanent, but if taken weekly… I'm sorry we found out too late.”

“No… Thank you for continuing to figure out what happened. I am grateful. To be honest… I just started to get over her loss, and this news… this news actually helps.” It revealed his father for what he really was, a snake.

His kind had long been deemed beings of evil, traitors, and cunning deceivers. It’s why no one could know what they were. But now he knew those hatreds were well-earned. He would never be like his father. He finally understood what his mother meant when she asked him not to blame him, to be free to love. He apologized to her, but he couldn't do any of it. He would live out the remainder of his life in honorable service to the man before him. A true man and someone he could look up to, as a father and a mentor.