Page 23 of Returned to the Vissigroth (The Vissigroths of Leander #6)

It was disconcerting, standing here, not having any memories of having been here before, but sensing I had.

Looking at the river, sure I had seen it many times before like this, but also seeing it for the first time.

It made me feel… bereft. Not bitter, but hollow.

I imagined that this must be what it felt like after losing a limb.

Seeing it there, feeling it, but not being able to touch it, because it was gone.

I hugged myself. I was like a book filled with a story written in invisible ink. Knowing the story was there, but unable to read it.

Way down below, I could see Mallack standing with the other Leanders and a few humans engaged in an animated discussion.

Probably talking about the Zuten and the place they had discovered.

Thinking about the Zuten put my plight into a different light.

I was just one person who had forgotten about herself, but I had others to remind me of who I used to be.

The Zuten, however, had been an entire civilization, spanning the Fourteen Planets, or a good portion of it, just to have fallen into the oblivion of time.

Funny how things could be put in perspective if you looked at the bigger picture.

Something moved up the path, a male. I squinted, but it was getting darker and harder to see.

It wasn't Mallack; he was still talking to the others.

Curious, I kept my eye on the male and, as I came closer, I recognized Myccael.

When he was close enough, I walked over and embraced him, fully. The way I should have done earlier.

"I'm sorry."

He seemed confused; his hands moved up and down my arms as if unsure of what to do. He was so tall and wide, even without a memory of it, that it was hard to imagine him as a little boy.

"For everything," I said before my courage could leave me, "for not having been there for you when I should have, for not having been the mother you deserved, and for earlier.

Not hugging you the way a mother should have hugged her son.

I was surprised, and this…" I drifted off, not wanting to excuse my poor behavior with my lack of memory.

His arms moved around me, and he held me tight. "You have nothing to apologize for. You were an incredible mother to me, especially given the circumstances."

His words warmed me, but I was sure I didn't deserve them. "I will make up for it, if you allow me."

"You don't have anything to make up for… Mother," he looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. I liked him calling me that. "Not one thing. But I like the idea of getting to know you better."

"Me too," I smiled, and we let go, but our hands gravitated to each other, and something about us having our fingers entwined like this stirred something in the deep recesses of my brain. Not a memory, because I was sure the last time Myccael and I held hands like this, his had been a whole lot smaller than mine, whereas now, mine was swallowed up by his. It was more of a sensation. A warmth that sparked low in my chest and spread outward. Steadily, like a hearth catching fire after too many cold nights. It wasn’t recognition.

But it was something. A beginning, maybe.

A thread tying us together not through memory, but through something deeper.

We stood for a moment in silence before he spoke again, "I still can't believe that you're here. Alive."

A wry smile tugged at the corners of my lips, and I closed my eyes. What I was about to say I hadn't admitted to anyone, not to Mallack, not to myself, but the words came anyway, unspooling in a quiet, shaky breath. “I can’t believe it either.”

My voice trembled. I opened my eyes and let out a small laugh—thin and frayed and unsure.

“It’s the strangest thing. It’s like I fell asleep…

and when I woke up, the world had aged without me.

Twenty rotations.” I shook my head, blinking fast. “That’s what they tell me.

But I don’t remember going to sleep. I don’t remember dying.

I don’t even remember what it feels like to be me. ”

Tears welled unexpectedly, chasing the edge of the laughter that hadn’t quite faded yet.

I pressed a hand to my chest, as if trying to steady the storm inside it.

“Everyone keeps saying my name like I’m supposed to know what that means.

Daphne. Vissy Daphne. Querilly. Mother. Mate.

” My laugh cracked wide open. “But I feel like a blank slate in a story already halfway written.”

Myccael stepped closer, his hand still clasping mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. I felt the heat of him, the steadiness, and gratefully I took it. I needed it.

“I look in the mirror, and I see a face that doesn’t feel like mine,” I whispered.

“I listen to others tell me memories— their memories—and they sound beautiful, like pieces of music I’ve forgotten how to play.

And it’s terrifying. Because I want to remember.

I want to feel it all. But it’s like I’ve been cut loose from everything that made me… me.”

The tears spilled then. But so did the laughter, helpless and raw. “I mean, really, who comes back from the dead ? Who wakes up two decades later in a glass shrine, like some ancient relic, and gets told by a giant, golden-scaled man that she’s his mother?”

Myccael laughed too, though his eyes shone. “Only you.”

I let out a breath that turned into a hiccup, then a sob, then another hiccup. “I feel insane. I’m laughing and crying, and I don’t know what I’m doing?—”

“You’re doing exactly what you’re meant to do,” he said gently, pulling me into another hug, one that felt easier this time. Softer. “You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

“But who am I?” I whispered into his chest. “Who was I?”

“You were brave,” he said quietly. “You were kind. And fierce. Generous, warm, loving. You were my mother, and even if you never remember, I’ll still be proud to say it.”

Something broke open in me then. Not a memory. Just the weight of his words. And the truth behind them.

“I want to be her again,” I said.

“You are.”

And somehow… for the first time since I woke in that shrine, I believed it might be true.

He gave me time to collect myself, and I was grateful for it. After a while, when the tears had dried, I chuckled, "I'm a fine mess."

He shrugged, "Who cares. You're here. I didn't expect to ever see you again, but here you are. It's a gift."

A gift . I'd seen myself as many things, since I woke, a burden, a liability, a stranger, but not as a gift . Although, to be honest, Mallack probably saw me that way too. Mallack . Just thinking his name made me all giddy inside.

"Mallack said Grandyr raised you," Myccael continued.

"I don't know," I seemed to say those three little words a lot lately. "All I know is that I woke up with the urge to see you, to tell you to stop the magrail."

He nodded. "I should have known that the gods wouldn't like it."

I tilted my head and waited for him to explain. "There is a reason why my predecessors never allowed spacecrafts or anything mechanical to land near Bantahar. The priests tried to tell me, but I…" he rubbed his neck like a young male who made a mistake, "thought I knew better and didn't listen."

I could see why he wanted it built. It made so much more sense to bring in supplies and wares to Bantahar and the surrounding cities via magrail than by nicta caravan. It was so much more efficient, especially given the Leander’s technology.

I placed my hand on his chest; it was naked like all vissigroths. I felt the scales through my palm, rough and warm. He put his hand on top of mine, "These scales were all I ever wanted."

"You didn't have them as a kid." It was a guess, not a memory.

He shook his head. "Mallack always said it was because…" his face twisted in an apology to me, "because you were a human. But it was just an excuse, because the gods hadn't chosen me to be his successor."

"Ney," I looked up and locked eyes with him, "you were chosen to be a susserayn, our susserayn."

He smirked wryly, "Zyn, and the first big decision I made turns out to be such a mistake it wakes the dead."

I laughed. Loud and clear, so hard, tears ran down my face, again. He chuckled too. Within seconds, we were holding each other, laughing harder than his words deserved, but it felt good. So good. And freeing.

"You're lucky if I'm the only one dead who was awakened," I managed to retort, wiping the tears off my face.

"I'm lucky you're here." He replied seriously.

I pointed at the rail down below in the shadows; it looked like a dead snake from here. "So you're going to stop it?"

"I don't think Grandyr can be much clearer in his command." Myccael shook his head.

For a moment, I held my breath. Waited for a big boom , me falling dramatically to the ground, or the ground to open, swallowing me.

A lightning strike, something. Anything.

But nothing happened. Eventually, I had to take a breath and realized I was still here, and so was Myccael, who didn't even seem to realize that this moment could have gone a lot differently.

"What's that?" My eyes caught a movement by the base of the mountain, on the other side of us.

Myccael's entire demeanor changed. He rose to his full height, his shoulders moved back, and he was all warrior in an instant, pushing me behind him.

It was an automatic gesture. One born of many rotations of being a warrior; facing danger evoked the urge to protect.

Pride swelled inside my chest for the male he had become.

I might not remember him as a kid, or me raising him, but this male was someone to be proud of.

"Eulachs," he hissed.

"What are they doing?" I peeked around his shoulder. He stepped forward, not to block me, but to see better.

The Crowin moon cast only the faintest silver sheen across the slope, not nearly enough to paint details, but just enough to catch movement.

I narrowed my eyes. Shadows rippled at the base of the mountain, unnervingly silent.

At first, I thought they were just tricks of the dim light, but then one of them stood tall, too tall, its long limbs unfolding in a jerky, animalistic way that no Leander or human moved.

“They just came out of the rock,” I whispered. Unable to believe my eyes that told me these creatures had just climbed out of the mountain itself.

Not many, maybe six or seven. They moved like they were born from the stone, crouching low, then rising, some using their long arms to balance like apes, their posture half-hunched and oddly fluid.

Even from this distance, I could feel the chill of wrongness.

They were humanoid… but not. Their silhouettes were too wiry, their movements too erratic.

Glints of jagged weaponry caught the moonlight, crude spears, machete-like blades.

They didn’t need refinement. The violence was in their bodies, not just their tools.

They were carrying something. A crate or capsule of some kind, long and heavy-looking.

“What is that?” I asked, but Myccael didn’t answer.

More figures emerged from the forest edge across from them. These were different. Less hunched. Less monstrous, at least on the outside, inside they were just as rotten: Renegades.

Their body language was cagey, anxious. We were too far to see their faces, but I didn’t need to. They stood the way desperate people stand, half-starved, half-crazed, and on the verge of doing something irreversible.

“They’re trading,” I murmured. “A deal.”

Myccael exhaled slowly through his nose. “Snyg. That’s not just a crate of stolen wares.”

“Ney,” I agreed, heart hammering. It was impossible to see what it was, but my gut told me it wasn't something the Eulachs had made. I didn’t know how I knew it. I just did. The way they handled it, the way they positioned themselves, like they expected something to go wrong.