Page 22 of Returned to the Vissigroth (The Vissigroths of Leander #6)

“ S he said the magrail must be stopped,” Mallack told Myccael, his voice low and steady behind me.

But I wasn’t listening anymore. Not really.

The words floated somewhere above my head, muffled by the roar inside my own heart.

Because Myccael was staring at me. Still staring.

Like the world had just cracked in two, and I had stepped out of the break.

He took a single, uncertain step forward.

Then another. And suddenly, without warning, he closed the space between us and folded me into a crushing embrace.

“Mother,” he breathed.

My body froze. His arms were warm. Strong.

Familiar in the way a place might feel familiar in a dream, close but unreachable.

He smelled like sun-warmed metal and something faintly sweet, like the air after a storm.

His scales were golden, glimmering over his deep aqua skin like light caught in molten stone.

He was tall and broad and strikingly handsome, far more so than I’d expected, more warrior than son, really. But I felt… nothing.

Not fear.

Not comfort.

Not even recognition.

Just silence.

I lifted my arms slowly, uncertain what to do with them. I was supposed to return the embrace. Wasn’t I? This was my child. This was the boy I thought I had carried.

And yet…

There was no warmth swelling in my chest. No rush of memories.

No maternal flood of joy or grief or anything at all.

There was just the terrible, aching void where those things should have been.

I pressed my hands lightly against his back, more for balance than affection.

He noticed and leaned back, staring questioningly at me.

There was pain edged into his features. So much pain.

Different from the pain I had seen on Mallack's face, but no less deep.

"You still can't embrace me, can you?"

"That's enough," Mallack interrupted. "She doesn't remember. She doesn't remember anything, not even me."

I swallowed.

Myccael stared at me, "You don't remember?"

The question cut deeper than I expected. “I don’t,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t flinch. Not visibly. But I saw it in the way his shoulders drew back, the flicker of pain that passed over his features before he masked it with a tight smile. “It’s alright,” he said. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”

But it wasn’t alright. Not for him. Not for me.

Because the shame of not knowing the male I had thought my son was like a stone inside my ribs, pressing harder with every breath. Why didn’t I feel anything? Even if he wasn't mine, Mallack said I had loved the boy.

Mallack shifted beside me, as if he felt the shift in the air too. I glanced at him, at the male whose presence had wrapped itself around me like silk and fire these last days, and guilt surged hot and wild through my blood. I’d clung to him. Reached for him. Wanted him.

And now here I was, face-to-face with my son. Unmoved.

“I believe you,” Myccael said, softer now. “Whatever brought you back, it’s not over. The magrail… whatever we’ve unearthed beneath it… it’s connected. I can feel it too.”

I nodded, numb. “I think… that’s why I’m here.”

He reached for my hand. I let him take it. His grip was gentle, reverent even, but the jolt I braced for—the overwhelming certainty of who we were to each other—never came.

He wasn’t a stranger.

But he wasn’t my son either.

And that realization made me want to cry.

But I didn’t.

Because crying meant feeling. And whatever Grandyr had given back to me… he hadn’t given me that.

Mallack stepped closer, silent and grounding. I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. Because if I did, I was afraid I’d fall into him all over again. I didn’t know what that made me. A mother who didn’t recognize her son. A mate who couldn't remember her querilly.

“Alright,” Myccael straightened, his face hardened, as if he had put on a mask. I couldn't help but admire him. He was a born leader. Power emanated from him, power that said he knew exactly who he was and what needed to be done. "Show me what you found."

Tovahr and Zavahr stepped forward to escort him toward the inner chamber, where the excavation site shimmered under unnatural lights.

Myccael didn’t look back. Not at me. Not at Mallack.

As if whatever fragile thread had tethered us had been snipped the moment I failed to meet his embrace with more than politeness.

The chill of that rejection hit harder than I expected. I stood there, feeling suddenly brittle, as if my bones were made of glass and one more look of disappointment might crack me wide open.

Mallack lingered beside me, unmoving. His silence wrapped around me like a second skin.

But I felt the weight of his gaze, sharp and heavy, as if he expected me to vanish any moment.

As if this were all a dream that he dared not believe in.

I didn’t want to meet his eyes. Because if I did, I’d crumble. And I couldn’t afford to crumble now.

I wasn’t listening as they filled Myccael in on what they assumed to be Zuten technology. I was still reeling. Myccael had called me Mother, and I hadn’t felt it. Hadn’t been it. Was it because I’d lost the memories? Or because I’d lost the feeling behind them?

I should’ve been proud of him. I should’ve been overwhelmed with love and pain and joy at seeing the boy I once held grown into a king. But all I’d felt was… admiration. Cold and clean. Like watching someone else’s son win a war.

It made me want to scream. To sob. To throw something. To feel something.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Mallack’s voice cut softly through the haze. “You’re not broken.”

I turned, startled. His gaze was on the others, but his words were for me.

“I see you folding in on yourself,” he said quietly. “I see the way you’re blaming yourself. But listen to me, Daphne. You’re not broken. You’re just… still finding your pieces.”

His words struck deep, unexpected, and raw.

“I don’t even know if I have pieces,” I whispered. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“You’re mine,” he said without hesitation. “That’s who you are.”

My throat closed. I looked away. Myccael was standing with Zavahr now, peering down into a cracked box on the wall. He looked so composed. So sharp. And so impossibly distant.

“He doesn’t want me anymore,” I murmured, mostly to myself. “Not after what just happened.”

“He’s afraid,” Mallack said simply. “I made mistakes with him.

I led him to believe he was unwanted… " pain returned to his sharp features, and an urge grew in me to touch him, to cradle his face in my palm and take all the hurt from him to assure him I was here for him too.

"…we've been mending our relationship, but it's not easy. And now you're back and…"

"Rejected him." I closed my eyes and cursed myself.

"Ney," Mallack protested, but we both knew it was the truth.

"I'll talk to him. Later," I promised, to myself and him.

Later came sooner than I had anticipated.

We went back to the surface, had some dinner, and after, I decided to climb the large overhang that overlooked the river Pyme to stretch my legs.

Mallack offered to come, but I could see that Kavryn and Tovahr wanted to talk to him, so I declined his offer.

The spot I was aiming for was inside the well-protected camp, and Mallack grudgingly agreed.

"Stay within sight," he gruffly ordered.

His deep tone ran down my back like honey and stirred up a storm of frill flies—dragonflies—in my stomach. Something about this male drew me to him like a magnet.

"I promise," I smiled up at him and noticed his features relax.

With that, I lifted my cumbersome skirt and began to walk up the steep incline.

Hundreds of feet before me had trodden and worn a path into the soil, making it easier to navigate.

By the time I reached the crest, my legs were aching, and my breathing came out labored.

But I felt good. Exhilarated. Even more so when I stepped to the overhang and took in my surroundings.

Night was approaching, but the last rays of the Ruunum sun brought enough light that I could see for thousands of paces.

The Pyme River glittered below, winding its way through the land like a trail of molten silver kissed by the sun. On the other side, the forest spread wide and deep, its canopy a tapestry of dusky blues and violets, made even richer by the golden-pink light bleeding across the horizon.

Birds danced in the air, tiny black silhouettes carving lazy paths through the fading light.

The lower ones skimmed the treetops. The higher ones soared like whispers against the sky.

I watched one large winged creature wheel far above the others, and something primal stirred in me—recognition, maybe.

Or longing. Longing to be as free and agile, unburdened by worries and loss that I had no memories of.

The mountains loomed beyond, dark and immovable, their jagged crowns veiled in clouds that shimmered like silk caught in firelight.

The sun had sunk low, casting long shadows that reached like fingers across the valley floor.

Everything below looked ancient. Still. As if the world was holding its breath.

There was something about the shape of the river.

The scent of pine and shadow in the air.

The call of a bird I couldn’t name. It all felt familiar in a way that scraped against the inside of my mind.

Had I stood here before? Zyn. Most assuredly.

I didn't remember, but I’d been mated to a vissigroth for many rotations.

I was certain he had brought me to this place before, and I knew that when he had, I would have climbed up here, just like I did today.