Morning light crept in, but Jeremy just felt cold, eyes aching from the long night. Andrew lay motionless beside him, facing the wall. Alicia’s bed—no, the empty bed now—was hauntingly still. He felt a pang at the sight and looked away, pulling his blanket up to his chin, trying to shut out the world. Just for a moment, he wanted everything to feel normal.

He heard his mother moving around downstairs, her footsteps slow and deliberate, each one echoing in the silence that had settled over their home like a thick fog. The house felt strangely hollow, even with her there. He missed her usual morning humming, her half-remembered melodies, even her teasing. The air just felt cold now.

Jeremy and Andrew lingered in their beds, neither of them speaking, neither wanting to disturb the peace. Part of him hoped that if they stayed quiet enough, maybe, just maybe, Alicia would wake up, laughing like it was all a joke.

Finally, the illusion was shattered by a soft knock on the door. “Boys,” came his mother’s voice, missing its usual warmth. “It’s time to come down. People will be arriving soon.”

Jeremy shifted but didn’t respond, only staring blankly ahead, the enormity of the day pressing down on him. Next to him, Andrew turned over, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow, but he didn’t cry. Not again. He simply nodded to Jeremy, a silent understanding passing between them.

Together, they pulled themselves up, the motion feeling strange and foreign, like their limbs belonged to someone else. They changed into the black clothing their mother had set out on each of their beds, folding their pajamas with the same care they might give to something precious. Leaving their beds unmade felt wrong.

Downstairs, their mother waited in the small, tidy dining room, her own clothes a dark gray, simple and unadorned. She didn’t meet their eyes, her gaze instead fixed on the table in front of her, where she had laid out a series of framed photographs, each one displaying some small moment from Alicia’s life. One was of her and Andrew laughing by the riverbank, their clothes soaked from a summer’s swim. Another showed all three of them, much younger, grinning as they gazed up at their mother, faces full of pride.

Their mother’s hands hovered over the photos, but she didn’t touch them, almost as if she was afraid they might vanish, just as she had made Alicia disappear. She looked up at them as they approached, her face drawn, the weariness clinging to her features.

“I’ve sent a message to your father, but he might not be able to read it until tonight,” she murmured, her voice low, almost reverent, as though anything louder would disturb the memories in the air. “He knows that today was your awakening, and he’ll understand the situation. We’ll begin the funeral with or without him.”

Jeremy nodded, the motion feeling strange, heavy. He wasn’t sure what he was nodding to, just going through the motions.

They went outside to the plains behind their house, the same place where Alicia had disappeared just a few hours ago, where a large crowd seemed to have gathered. Everyone in town came to join in mourning.

The adults wore expressions that wavered between understanding and fear. Everyone had heard of it happening—an alien replacing a child. Everyone thought they could kill their own child if it came to that. Yet, deep down, they had always hoped that it would never happen to them, that it would forever be just a problem to be discussed in the news. Seeing it so close made them question—had their own child been replaced? But for Jeremy, for the family, only one thought filled their minds—Was Alicia really replaced? Jeremy did not know which answer he preferred, and he wished he could stop thinking about it.

Their mother stood in front of the crows, her posture stiff as stone, holding a single candle in her hands, the flame flickering against the breeze.

“Alicia…” Her voice cracked, and she blinked against the sudden dampness in her eyes. “Alicia was my daughter. I raised her, watched her grow, and loved her.” She looked down at the candle, her grip tightening. “Whatever she was in the end, I refuse to believe that she was not, in some small way, mine. She gave us laughter, joy, and life, and it is in those memories that we will remember her.”

She paused, as if gathering her thoughts, and glanced toward the boys, her eyes lingering on them with a kind of fierce, protective pride. “We may not understand everything. We may never understand everything. But today, we honor the girl we knew—the one who was as real to us as any memory, as any person could ever be.”

A murmur went through the crowd, faint and hesitant. No one wanted to voice their doubts.

Andrew and Jeremy stood together, side by side, each holding a candle of their own. Jeremy stared at the flickering flame, feeling his heart twist painfully, torn between wanting to believe in the sister he had known and the knowledge that she might have been gone long before yesterday’s sunrise.

When the time came, each person approached to say a final farewell, leaving behind a small token or a wordless prayer. Jeremy watched as one by one, each family friend and neighbor placed flowers, ribbons, or other small mementos beside the candle their mother held. The offerings created a quiet, solemn ring around the flickering flame, each one a testament to the girl they thought they had known.

As he stood outside, surrounded by the quiet gathering, Jeremy thought back to how he’d felt just this morning, so sure that the Status would mean something great, something worth celebrating. But now, standing here… he couldn’t understand that excitement. The System hadn’t brought them power. Only confusion. Only questions he’d never wanted to ask.

As the last mourner left, the silence returned, deep and all-consuming, broken only by the faint sigh of the wind.

When it was finally over, their mother turned to them, her eyes, once vibrant with emotion, now showed nothing but exhaustion. She knelt before them, her face softening as she looked into their eyes.

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“Your father will be here tonight,” she said quietly, her voice a mixture of reassurance and sorrow. “He’ll help you understand all of this, as best he can. And… and I will be here for you until then.”

Jeremy wanted to reach out, to hold onto her and make the feeling of loss go away, but he felt too small, too broken to do anything but nod.

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The day seemed to stretch on, the minutes marked only by the distant sounds of the town—a dog barking, the faint echo of children playing somewhere far off, just like the three of them would be doing if today were any other day. The boys moved through the hours in a daze, helping where they could. They returned the candle, the flowers, and the few scattered chairs back to the house. All the while, their mother’s face remained set in stone, though it seemed to crack when she thought neither of them was looking.

When the sun finally dipped low on the horizon, the familiar, loud roar of the village teleporter broke the stillness. Startled, they rushed outside to the porch. Teleports were rare here, almost never unscheduled.

Their mother was already there, having appeared the instant the sound reached their ears. They stood by their mother, watching the road. Soon they saw their father appear, fast enough that they noticed he was merely a speck on the horizon one moment, and they were lifted up and wrapped in a tight hug the next.

He was still in his armor, smudged with fresh blood. They knew he hadn’t wasted a second to get back home. He set them down, and looked at them, face creased with fresh anguish. He took them in, his gaze lingering, before meeting his wife’s eyes. Slowly, he approached her, embracing her.

Their mother, always the one they could rely upon, the one they thought unshakable, broke down in his arms. She clung to him, sobbing, the weight of the day crumbling her strength.

They stood that way for a long time, and though not a word was shared, the day’s tension slowly drifted away. He whispered, “I’m so sorry, Helena,” and held her close before letting her go. Then he turned to them, his face raw with grief, and the family went inside together.

They sat around the table of their living room, memories scattered everywhere like echoes. A photo of Alicia laughing, her arms stretched wide as she climbed a tree, her favorite chair by the fireplace where she’d often dozed off, the faint dent on the door frame from when she’d goaded Andrew into demonstrating his “expert swordplay” for their mother, Jeremy couldn’t help but look at the room over and over again.

“We tried to prepare you for the day when we’d go back to the battlefield,” their father started, his gaze shifting from Jeremy to Andrew. “But we never imagined you’d face something like this first.”

Andrew nodded, his face pale and solemn, while Jeremy kept his gaze down, afraid of what would happen if he met his father’s eyes.

His father reached over, tilting his chin up so their eyes met. “You and Andrew,” he said, his voice gentle, “You’ve been so strong today.”

At this, Jeremy broke. The tears he’d held back all day poured over, blurring his father’s face. “Dad… was it really her?” He barely got the words out, his voice a tiny whisper.

A flicker of pain crossed his father’s face as he took a steadying breath. “Son,” he began, his voice thick with the weight of his own uncertainty, “we may never know. But the memories of her, her laughter, her kindness—those were real. No one can ever take that away from you, from us.”

Jeremy nodded, as though the words were some small shield against the darkness.

Their father straightened, his gaze moving to his wife, who gave him a slight nod. A blur passed, a conversation too fast to be heard by them. Their mother looked down, and their father’s voice took on a new, solid resolve.

“I’ll stay here for the rest of the week to get you boys ready,” he said, his voice more resolute now, the comforting tone of a father and the hardened steel of a soldier woven together. “Your mother… well, she’ll be going back sooner than we’d hoped. But until school starts, I’ll be here to help you both train.”

The boys looked up, shocked.

The words hung heavy in the air, until at last, she looked up to meet their eyes. Her face was pale, the exhaustion from the day clearly seen. Her hands shook slightly.

“It’s true,” she began hesitantly, as if not trusting her own voice. “I… I will be leaving.”

Andrew’s face twisted in confusion, and Jeremy forgot to breathe. He watched as his mother struggled, her hands turning white as she clasped her hands tightly.

“I thought I could stay, at least for a while longer. Just a few more days until you leave for school. But I can’t. I can’t.” She swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue. “It’s… I can’t stay here, in this place where I killed…” Her voice wavered, words lost.

Their father reached out, placing a hand on hers, giving her a gentle squeeze. She turned to him, her face filled with anguish, as though begging for his forgiveness.

“I know,” she pleaded, her gaze flickering between her husband and her sons. “I know I should stay for all of you. But everywhere I look… I see her. I keep seeing her smile, hearing her laugh.” Her voice caught again. “I keep thinking… maybe I should have stopped. Maybe I shouldn’t have killed her.” She bit her lips, trying to chase back the words. Everyone knew the sentence looming over anyone who dared consort with aliens; execution of the entire family.

The boys sat frozen, the weight of her struggle pressing down on them, suffocating. Jeremy felt his heart break as he watched her, torn between wanting to reach out, and his own sense of betrayal.

“But Mom,” Andrew said softly, his voice trembling. “What about us?”

His mother turned to him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She reached across the table, grasping his hand, then Jeremy’s, her fingers cool but firm. “I know my dear. I’m selfish. I’m horrible. I know I’m leaving you when… when you need me the most.” Her voice grew louder, but she pushed on, almost desperately. “But right now, I don’t know how to be here without…”

She trailed off, unable to say the name, and looked to their father for help. He nodded, taking on the burden that was passed unspoken.

“Your mother needs time, boys,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “She’s always been strong. But sometimes…” He hesitated, glancing at her, “sometimes even the strongest need time.”

The words cut into Jeremy. Hurt. He wanted to tell her… but what? He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, anything, to make her stay, to make her understand how much he needed her. But as he looked at her and saw the hollowness in her eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to voice the words. He wanted to reach for her hand, to hold on and never let go, but the silence held him back.

At last, their mother drew in a shaky breath, her gaze lingering on each of them, as if trying to memorize their faces.

“You’ll be safe with your father,” she said, her voice certain. “He’ll teach you, train you, and… well, he’ll be here.” She offered a faint, trembling smile. “I will come join you at your freshman tournament. This, I promise.”

She turned, moving towards the doorway. She paused, light from outside casting her in a silhouette. For a moment, Jeremy saw her hesitate, as though she might change her mind. But she took a deep breath, her shoulders straightening, and she stepped through the door, instantly disappearing from their sights. A moment later, a roar in the distance was heard.

Their father sat with them long after she’d gone, his face unreadable. The silence stretched between them, no one sure of what to say.

Finally, he looked up, his gaze steady as he met their eyes. “I know this is hard, boys,” he said softly. “I promise you’re not alone. I am here for you. We’ll get through this, one day at a time.”

They nodded, his promise giving them something to hold onto.