The sky didn't darken when she arrived.
It shimmered.
Just slightly—like sunlight passing through still water. The air grew heavier, not with pressure, but with expectation. Birds ceased their morning calls. Trees tilted imperceptibly away from the windless weight of her presence.
Velra Virelen, High Matron of the Mythborne Lineage, stood at the edge of the Weavemind Sanctuary.
Not with troops.
Not with priests.
Alone.
Wrapped in a cloak threaded with divinity. Hair like silvered flame. Eyes that once saw a continent's sins in a glance.
But today, her eyes searched for only one thing.
"Lyssa."
---
Kael met her at the gate.
He had no weapons.
No aura.
Just clarity in his gaze and ink on his hands—he'd been building again. Always building.
Velra didn't speak right away.
She studied him the way an astronomer studies a black star—curious, wary, resentful of the gravity he shouldn't have.
"You are the boy who broke the Hollow," she said.
Kael nodded once. "I'm the boy who showed it the truth."
"Truth doesn't stop a god's erasure."
"Not yet."
She frowned. "You think you're clever."
"I think I'm right."
"And what makes you so certain?"
Kael's answer was quiet.
"She stayed."
He stepped aside.
And Lyssa stepped forward, half-armored, still pale from the Hollow's wound, but very much alive.
"Hello, Mother."
---
The silence between them cracked like thin glass.
Velra's lips parted, but no words came.
The last time she saw her daughter, Lyssa had been a weapon. Her pride. A living embodiment of divine perfection. Myth-tier, touched by Breathfire, born to be both blade and crown.
Now, Lyssa stood among outcasts.
She wore no sigils.
No mantle.
And yet she glowed—not with borrowed power, but with conviction.
"You left your path," Velra finally said.
"No," Lyssa replied. "I chose mine."
"You betrayed your name."
"No. I gave it up, because it was never mine."
Velra's voice turned colder.
"And this boy… this genius without sanction… what is he to you?"
Lyssa looked at Kael.
Then back at her mother.
And said, clearly:
> "He's the only one I'd follow without a command."
---
Velra's power flared—just slightly.
A divine reflex. Automatic. Her breath glowed golden; the air tightened.
Kael didn't flinch.
"I'm not here to fight," she said at last.
"But if the Seven ask—"
"They already sent the Hollow," Kael cut in. "They won't try twice the same way."
Velra's gaze narrowed.
"So you know they're watching."
"I've always known. I just finally spoke loudly enough for them to listen."
She looked around—at the Weave-spires humming with logic and harmony. At the Learners rebuilding structures meant to liberate, not indoctrinate.
"This place... this isn't rebellion," she murmured. "This is heresy."
"No," Kael said. "This is proof."
"Of what?"
"That the gods aren't omniscient."
---
Later, they stood beneath the star-dome.
Kael offered her no food. No tea. No comfort.
Just a question.
"Why did you really come?"
Velra hesitated.
Then said softly, "Because the last time I heard Lyssa laugh… she was five."
Kael nodded slowly.
And—for the first time—he spoke gently.
"She laughed two days ago. After surviving the Hollow. Because she wasn't alone."
Velra lowered her gaze.
And for a moment, the fire dimmed.
"Take care of her," she whispered.
Kael nodded. "I already do."
Then the High Matron turned—
And walked away.
Not defeated.
Not converted.
But changed.
Just slightly.
A fracture in her certainty.
And the gods watched.
And worried.