She stood there with a bag of freshly baked bread in her arms. Not much had changed about her—she still had the same long ash-blonde hair and celestial-like skin that almost sparkled in the sunlight. Despite being mortal now, her immortal essence seemed to persist, giving her an ageless appearance. However, one thing was different: her eyes looked more tired than before; she could collapse at any moment.

"Let me help you with that, ma'am!" I exclaimed, quickly getting to my feet and rushing over to take the bag from her arms.

"Thank you, son. You are very kind," she replied.

"Who is this Valerian you spoke of?" I asked, but instead of an answer, I received only a blank stare.

Could she possibly remember me? No, the fey queen had told me everyone would forget about me once I left, and speaking to Iris had confirmed that.

"There is no Valerian, Mother. You need to let him go—he doesn't exist; he never did," Iris spoke softly.

"Then how do you explain this letter? It's a letter I wrote to him, to my son! He is real, I know it! He will come back to us, and then we will be a family again..." Mother took out a letter from her pocket and waved it as proof of her sanity.

"Let's head inside; it's cold," Iris said, guiding Mother into my former home. I followed closely behind.

The hallway remained unchanged; the color of the walls and the furniture arrangement were exactly as I remembered.

I placed the bag of fresh bread in the kitchen and decided to explore the house further. Near the kitchen, next to a window, was a dining table with four chairs and four sets of plates. Did someone else live with Mother and Iris? Perhaps one of them married, or maybe Mother adopted another child. I wouldn’t be surprised; she has always been the kindest soul I’ve ever known.

The living room was surprisingly tidy. Cushions were neatly arranged around the coffee table, and the wooden frame of the couch gleamed as if it were brand new. The room seemed untouched by daily life, more like a painting than a space for living—a beautiful yet cold illusion of warmth.

Down the corridor were three doors. On the left was my mother’s room, and on the right was my sister’s. Both were shut. The door to my former room stood wide open at the end of the corridor. I peeked inside and found everything exactly as I had left it seven years ago.

"I keep the door open so when Valerian returns, he will feel welcome," Mother's voice came from behind.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sneak around. I'll leave now," I apologized and started to walk away. But she stopped me, gently placing her hands on my cheeks and looking deep into my eyes.

"You have such beautiful eyes, just like a man I once knew. Is that you, son? Are you Valerian?" she asked with a shaky voice and teary eyes.

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"No," I lied with a soft smile, as my heart shattered.

With those words, she backed off, her warm eyes turning cold again.

"Please, stay for dinner. It's been a while since we had a guest," she said, excusing herself and quickly heading to the kitchen.

The first question that came to mind when I saw my mother was: who is she now? She was the shell of the woman I once knew. Her once bright soul was now a dying flame, flickering in the night sky. Her mind constantly walked on the edge of sanity and insanity, and I feared I was the cause of her deterioration. I didn't know what the right thing to do was.

"Milas?" Iris called out. "Milas?" she repeated, this time grabbing my shoulder and pulling me back to reality, reminding me of the false name I had given.

"Yes?"

"Dinner is ready."

I followed Iris to the dining table, where Mother was already seated. There were four place settings, each with a serving of food. The seats by the window and directly opposite were empty. Instinctively, I sat in my old spot by the window.

"That seat is taken!" Mother shouted, louder and angrier than I'd ever heard her. Then, she whispered sorrowfully, "That seat is Valerian's..."

"I apologize..." I said quietly and moved to Silas's former seat.

Dinner was silent, the quiet was deafening as my thoughts raced. Glancing at my mother, I could see she wasn't fully present. Her body was here, but her mind was somewhere far away. I wanted to help her, but I didn't know how.

As we finished dinner, Iris went to wash the plates, and Mother retreated silently to her room. I was torn between leaving Emberfield once and for all and staying a little while longer to help my mother, but I feared I would only make things worse.

"I'm sorry for everything, Iris. I never should have stayed," I said, helping her with the dishes.

"No, it's not your fault. I thought some interaction with the outside world would be good for her; I guess I was wrong."

"How long has she been like this?"

"She changed seven years ago. At first, she was cheerful as always, but then she found a letter in her handwriting addressed to her son, Valerian. She claims the whole world forgot he ever existed to protect us. If this is his idea of protection, then I doubt he ever loved us. My mother lost her mind, and I'm the only one trying to pick up the shattered fragments and make her whole again," she spoke angrily through teary eyes.

"Do you believe her story?" I asked.

"I don't know what to believe anymore. I fear if this continues, my sanity will leave me just as it left my mother. I don't know how to help her..." She wept like a child, and the sight of her made me hate myself more than I ever had.

"Do you mind if I talk to her alone? I may be able to help her, or I might make everything worse. It's up to you."

"Why are you..." She began the sentence, then seemed to realize something and replied, "Please."

With soft footsteps, I walked to her room and found her lying on her side, hugging a pillow as her silent weeping filled the space. I took a chair and sat next to her. Her eyes stared at me, but she didn't see me; she looked right through me as if I wasn't even there.

"Why do you still hold onto the past? Your son left you as if you were nothing, and you still hold onto his memory?" I said in a hushed tone that held a hint of bitterness.

She got up and slapped me across the face.

"You don't know what you're talking about! He would never leave, he would never..." She choked on her tears as her next words couldn't escape her lips.

"But he did leave and didn't think twice about it."

"He left to save us, to save the world!" she defended me tirelessly.

"He doesn't care for the world; he'd rather let it burn than be the one to save it. You have this ideal picture of who your son was, but you're blinded to who he truly is: a villain."

"So what if he is? He is my son! No one is born evil, and if he's prepared to let the world burn, then the world must have been cruel to him, and I have no love for it!"

"Mother, why are you doing this to yourself?" I took hold of her hand and placed it near my beating heart.

"Son?" she cried.