Chapter 4

Evander once told me he wanted to sail across the sea like the warriors in the old wolf tales, the ones who rode wind and tide beneath the blessing of the Moon Goddess. He said he would wear his “pirate socks,” as if that alone would make him brave enough to cross the horizon.

Viktor only laughed when he heard it. Said the sea winds were too cruel for a sickly pup, that Evander would be thrown from the ropes before he ever touched the water. He denied him then, without hesitation, as if the dream itself was something dangerous.

And yet now, Elric was being taken out to the sky ropes and sea winds, lifted above the waves under Viktor’s approval, while Evander had not even been given a single birthday under our roof.

I remained where I was, standing in the cold stillness of the hall, until I heard the iron gate of the estate groan open. Footsteps followed, steady and unhurried, and the servants moved at once, bowing as they led the guests in as though they were royalty returning to their rightful throne.

Viktor’s parents.

I stood near the corridor as they entered. Neither of them smiled.

His mother’s gaze swept over me once, sharp and dismissive, before her lips curled slightly in disgust.

“Where is your frail little boy?” she asked, her voice as cutting as winter wind. “Is he already dead, or still clinging to breath?”

My lips parted, but no sound came before his father spoke over me.

“Enough of that,” he said impatiently. “Tell me about Elric. We hear Nyra may be carrying again. Is it true?”

I stood very still, as though movement itself might betray the fracture forming inside my chest.

His mother continued without pause, her tone almost pleased.

“She is a blessing to Viktor,” she said. “She carries herself properly. No hysteria, no weakness. Always composed. Unlike some women who bring only unrest into a household.”

My gaze lowered to the floor, where the polished stone reflected nothing of me.

Then his father spoke again, colder still.

“Go and tell the kitchen to prepare tea. And inform Viktor that we expect him for the ancestral gathering next week. You will attend as well. If your sick child still lives, bring him if you must.”

My fingers curled tightly into my sleeves beneath the fabric of my dress, nails pressing into my palms until it stung.

Still, I answered.

“Of course.”

I went to the kitchen and relayed their order for jasmine steeped in the old northern way. I prepared the tray myself, arranging it carefully as though perfection might silence the weight pressing against my ribs.

When I returned, I carried it with steady hands.

My expression remained composed, almost gentle, like polished bone. But inside, something within me was screaming without sound.

As I set the cups down, my hand trembled.

One cup slipped.

It struck the stone floor and shattered, porcelain scattering like broken bone across the hall.

His mother inhaled sharply, then turned her glare on me.

“You have always been clumsy,” she said coldly. “Even now you cannot manage something as simple as serving tea. Truly, you remain a disappointment.”

My eyes fell to the broken shards for a long moment. Then I straightened slowly.

“Forgive me,” I said.

I was not asking forgiveness for the cup.

I was asking it for the girl I used to be—the one who once knelt for their approval, who believed love could be earned through obedience, who thought belonging was something she could build with her own hands.

That girl was gone now.

Just like my son.

**

They did not remain long after that.

Viktor’s parents rose together, their expressions tight with quiet disdain, as though even breathing the same air as me had become inconvenient.

His mother placed her cup down with deliberate care.

“This is bitter,” she murmured. “Even something as simple as tea… you manage to ruin it. Bitter, just like your existence.”

At the doorway, she adjusted her gloves slowly, each movement precise, unhurried. When she spoke again, her voice carried the same calm cruelty.

“I will tell Viktor how you are unraveling. Perhaps this time he will finally see what I have always seen. You are not suited for this house. You never were. You were only ever a mistake he refused to correct.”

I met her gaze then, but said nothing.

I did not nod.

I did not protest.

I only stood there, fingers still resting against the edge of the table, holding on as though strength alone might keep me from breaking apart completely.

Then she turned away.

No farewell was given. None was expected.

The door opened. Closed. The sound of hooves followed as the carriage departed down the stone path, fading into distance until only silence remained again within the estate.

I exhaled slowly, then turned to the maid.

“Do not prepare lunch,” I said quietly. “They have left.”

She bowed and withdrew without question.

I climbed the stairs alone. Each step felt heavier than the last, as though the house itself resisted my return. Halfway up, I heard voices from below—soft, careless whispers drifting through the kitchen.

“She didn’t even cry when they left.”

“I heard the boy—Evander—has already been laid to rest. I saw the moonstone urn in her chamber.”

“Such a pity. Lord Viktor speaks only of Elric now.”

“He sends gifts to Nyra as well. Flowers from the northern groves. Yet he has never once visited the child’s resting place.”

“Even if he knows, he would not go. Evander was always weak. He never had a chance.”

“She was once the lady of this house. Now she is only surviving.”

I continued walking.

I did not stop them.

I did not correct them.

I did not defend what no one wished to believe.

Perhaps none of it mattered anymore.

When I reached my chamber, I closed the door behind me.

Silence returned at once, heavy and complete.

Then the mindlink stirred.

Viktor.

His presence brushed against my thoughts briefly, as if testing whether I would answer.

I did not speak.

The link faded.

I stood there for a long moment before changing my clothes.

I chose the soft blue dress Evander loved—the one embroidered with pale cloud patterns like the sky he once pointed at through the window. He used to say it made me look like the mothers in the old tales, the kind who stayed, the kind who never left their children behind.

I took up the moonstone urn.

It was small in my arms.

Too small.

As if everything that had once been my son could be reduced to silence and weight.

I left the estate without informing a single soul.

I went to the Ocean Shrine, where salt wind met sacred stone and offerings were made to the Moon Goddess for safe voyages and returning souls. Evander had always spoken of it as if it were a place he might one day reach himself, as though the sea could carry him somewhere kinder.

He used to beg me every year.

“Just once, Mother. I want to see the sea spirits. I promise I’ll behave.”

But Viktor always refused. Said the winds were too harsh, the tides too unpredictable, the world too dangerous for a fragile pup.

So we never came.

Until now.

I purchased a single offering token, though I set it for two souls. One for me. One for him.

We watched the sea together in silence as the tide rolled in beneath the cliffs. I placed a small candle near the stone railing, shielding it with my palm as the wind tried to snuff it out.

I spoke to him as though he could still hear me.

I told him I was proud of him. I told him I loved him. I told him I was sorry in ways language had never been enough to hold.

Once, I even laughed softly, though the sound startled me as if it belonged to another lifetime.

People nearby glanced at me, perhaps thinking I had lost my mind, speaking to an urn as though it could answer.

I did not care.

This day belonged only to Evander.

I lifted my gaze to the sky, where the sun broke through drifting clouds and cast pale light over the water.

“Happy birthday, my child,” I whispered.

My voice trembled, but I did not let it break completely.

The tears came anyway, quiet and unstoppable, and I wiped them away before they could blind me.

Not today.

Today, he was still mine.