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There were no Demons lurking just outside the ward, but Emerie was sure her scent would bring them eventually. At least, she assumed so, even though she could smell an odd, but really sweet smell coming from Lindiwe.

“My children don’t trust me,” the woman started, her tone solemn and holding a note of... pain. “It has been difficult all these years to watch them grow without me, to watch as I give them their skulls and horns, only for them to forget who I am and all I have done for them.”

Lindiwe lowered her face, staring down at where she picked at the edges of her long nails. Her dejected voice continued, her posture weakening by the second.

“Merikh has been the hardest. I have made many mistakes as a mother, but there is only so much I can do. It does not excuse it, I know, but much is out of my control, and I am learning along the way with them. I wish to protect them, but I’m unsure of how to do that when they do not trust me. How can I protect them when they will not even allow me to get near?”

Why is she telling me this?

“Ingram seems to trust you,” Emerie offered, nibbling at the corner of her lips.

“Ingram and Aleron were different. They were the most playful of my children, and it was easier to insert myself into their existence as they bounced off each other’s joy.” She lifted her face enough to glance at Emerie next to her. “It is one of the reasons why Aleron’s death has weighed heavily on me. I tried to save him, but it was impossible. I had to retreat before I was killed.”

“But can’t you come back to life?” Emerie asked. “If you cared about them so much, why run away when they needed you the most?”

Lindiwe reached into her cloak and around herself. When her hand came back around, she was holding a baby Duskwalker across her forearm. They clung on for a moment before she placed them into her lap and comfortingly covered their back with her palm.

This one had a tiny skull, but Emerie couldn’t make out what kind in the darkness. Still, they looked small, and still so fragile.

“Oh,” Emerie rasped. “I see. You couldn’t because you didn’t want to leave your baby by themself.”

“Exactly. I carry two, and have been since Orpheus and Reia bonded. This one has a skull, whereas the other does not. I... have been keeping them small on purpose after I realised Jabez was making moves and had truly started to target all Mavka. I decided it was easier to protect them if they stayed attached to me.”

“But it means you can’t truly help the grown ones when in a fight.”

“Yes, this is the problem I face. I can only do so much, and I can only be in one place at a time. I had to make a choice between Aleron and Ingram that night. I could not get to Aleron, not without possibly dying or having one of these two harmed in my attempts. I saved the son I could, while I was forced to watch the other die before my very eyes.”

She lowered her head to face the little Duskwalker on her lap. Her eyes didn’t well with tears, but Emerie thought she could hear them in her voice.

“It’s not fair for a mother to outlive her children. It is not how it is supposed to be. Then the others blame me for my failure, although I could do nothing to prevent it. Aleron is not the first to die, but my serpent child was the one who taught me that destroying their skulls ishowI will see them all perish if I do not protect them.”

Emerie clasped her hands and looked out into the forest, wishing it didn’t look even more dreary than it did a few minutes ago.

“Why are you telling me all this?” She whispered the question, unsure of why Lindiwe was pushing this burden onto her.

Emerie’s heart ached for the woman, unable to imagine all the sorrow, grief, and suffering she’d gone through. It was obvious she cared about her children very deeply, more than they seemed to realise.

Even though she was a Phantom, she was still human. Just one that could possibly be centuries old.

“I want to give this to you,” Lindiwe said, offering the sun stone.

Emerie glanced down at it, while jerking back. “Why? Wouldn’t it be better for you to keep it, or to give it to one of the others? I’m not a Phantom, and to be honest, I don’t think I’m going to live very long in this fight.”

“Because, Emerie, you are the only one who can use it.”

She forced it into Emerie’s hand, and she stared down at it. The golden-yellow glow faintly pulsated within the blue stone.

“What do you mean, I am the only one who can use it? I don’t have any magic.”

“This stone is... volatile. When I gave it to Weldir, he activated it, and I was instantly in pain. It was like my Phantom spirit was trying to separate from my human body. He deactivated it when he felt my soul rippling, like it was trying to break apart.”

Emerie’s lips parted, and she gawked at the tiny stone in her palm. It was barely bigger than the fingernail of her thumb.

“The rest of the souls in Tenebris were unaffected, only mine. I remember this sound, and it was like a ringing I felt all the way through me. Even Weldir was affected, but it was his Elven heritage that kept him from withering.”

“I would say we should give it to Ingram, but I don’t think he’ll be in the right frame of mind to be useful,” Emerie tried to laugh out.

Lindiwe’s sharp, tight features sliced at her humour.