"My lady?" Caldrin asked, watching her.
Vera barely heard him. She stood frozen for several seconds, then turned on her heel and walked away.
She left the Ember Gallery without a word, winding through the estate's corridors. She entered the Oathbound Garden, then into the Dreadwake Alcove. Caldrin followed at a respectful distance—silent now, which was probably for the best. She doubted she could've responded even if he'd tried.
Her mind was working in overdrive.
She climbed a short flight of stairs, crimson carpet trailing down the center like a bloodline, and emerged on the second floor. Her quarters were to the right.
So she turned that way.
As she walked the length of the hall, her eyes drifted to each door she passed, though her feet already knew the way. She reached the final door—her own—and stopped. Then turned to the one beside it, her expression complicated.
There was nothing to distinguish it from the others, but…
She stepped closer. Her hand reached for the bronze handle. It was cool to the touch, and she hesitated there, just for a moment.
Caldrin's footsteps stopped behind her.
A weight settled in her gut like stone.
Slowly, she pressed the handle down and eased the door open. She half-wished it would creak—something to break the unnatural silence—but it swung inward without a sound.
The room beyond was wide, dimly lit by a few dormant sconces and the dull light bleeding through drawn curtains. A closed balcony door offered a limited view of the estate's rear: a dramatic backdrop of forested slopes and the looming curve of a mountain ridge framing Sablewatch's Hollow like a sentinel. The sconces flickered gently to life, casting warm gold across the room's contents.
In one corner stood a large carved toy horse, ornate and old-fashioned. Across from it, a bookshelf filled with worn storybooks and decorative trinkets. A small writing desk, child-sized, sat beneath an empty frame on the wall. At the center of the room was a canopied bed draped in gauzy silver, with a heavy trunk at its foot and a chaotic tangle of pillows and blankets on top.
Vera's eyes locked on the bed.
On the small figure partially buried within it.
A cluster of pillows and plushies concealed most of the child's form, but a tiny foot peeked out. Her stomach dropped, and something stirred in her chest. A tight, fluttering pressure she couldn't quite name.
The sconces' light seemed to coax a response.
The form shifted.
Vera's breath caught as a small, pale arm slipped from the tangle of bedding, and a thin, almost-whining murmur drifted through the quiet.
"At the risk of sounding obvious," Caldrin said behind her, "it would appear that we have, at the very least, located Miss Serel."
Vera shot him a quick look, halfway to telling him not now—but stopped herself. She turned back to the bed.
She took a few careful steps forward. One after the other.
The figure shifted again.
A few tousled strands of silver hair spilled out from beneath the blankets. There was a tiny groan, followed by the sound of determined wriggling as small limbs kicked at the covers.
Vera froze again.
She swallowed hard.
"Mmm… Mommy?"
The voice was soft. Sleep-heavy. Fragile.
It hit her like a gut punch.
A small head popped out from the blankets, blinking drowsily. Amid the messy argent hair and still-soft features, a pair of silvery-crimson eyes peered up at her. A smile bloomed across the child's face—lazy, lopsided, and impossibly genuine.
Vera wondered if this was what it felt like for one's knees to wobble. She'd never experienced it before. She always thought that was an exaggeration.
She couldn't tell if it was from the sudden flood of panic or the overwhelming wave of cuteness.
"Mommy!!!" the little girl squealed. She kicked off the last of the blankets and rolled to the edge of the bed. Her bare feet hit the floor with a soft pat. She was wearing a pastel-blue nightdress embroidered with faded constellations, and she ran forward before Vera had time to do anything but blink—
—and then Serel was hugging her.
Tiny arms wrapped tightly around Vera's waist. A warm cheek pressed into her stomach. The girl giggled, nuzzling her like a cat that had just claimed a sunbeam.
Vera's arms hovered in the air, hands flexing uselessly. They moved to pat the girl's head on instinct, before stalling.
She didn't know whether to be gentle, firm, terrified, or just lie down on the floor and dissolve.
Honestly, that last option sounded preferable.
"Did you have a good sleep, Miss Serel?" Caldrin asked mildly from behind.
The girl turned, still hugging Vera, and gave him a bright smile and an enthusiastic nod. "Mmm! Hi Caldrin!"
"And greetings to you as well, young miss," he replied, offering a shallow bow. "I see you haven't aged a day—which is, I suppose, something of a relief. Though I do dread the number of honey-dusted raspberry tarts I shall now be compelled to produce to satisfy that indefatigable appetite of yours. I had rather hoped you'd grown out of it."
Serel giggled and shook her head. "I want all the tarts!"
"I believe gluttony and greed are considered vices, and yet you embody both with such relentless commitment at such a tender age. Truly, you are a prodigy of indulgence beyond redemption."
"Thanks!"
"You are very welcome." Caldrin cast a sidelong glance at Vera. "Now, young miss, I believe your attention should return to your mother. For reasons I cannot fully articulate, she appears rather… overwhelmed to see you."
A flicker of confusion crossed Serel's face. She turned back to Vera, head tilting. Then her smile returned. "Mommy, you're being weird!"
Vera found she couldn't argue with that.
She also couldn't breathe.
Every part of this situation was sending her brain into repeated panic loops.
For someone who experienced attacks of intense pain on a regular basis, she thought she'd forgotten what panic felt like.
Apparently she just hadn't tried the right sort of stimulation.
Carefully—because she couldn't bring herself not to be careful—she took Serel's arms and unwrapped them from her waist. Then she stepped back, needing space. Air. Anything, really.
She looked at the little girl again. Really looked.
This was the second NPC Vera had created for her estate. A girl, six years old. Silver-crimson eyes. Long, silver-gray hair. A face crafted with deliberate care and a dash of whimsy.
Serel Mournvale.
Daughter of Veralyth Mournvale.
She'd made her as a novelty. A flavor piece. A personal side quest in a world full of stats and mechanics. It hadn't meant anything real—not a reflection of some hidden desire. Not a secret longing. Just an idea that fit the character. A narrative embellishment. It wasn't as if it mattered in the game.
But now… that idea had become flesh.
This child was real. Standing there, looking up at her with luminous, unblinking eyes that were beautiful in a way Vera couldn't explain and couldn't bear to hold for too long.
Veralyth Mournvale was a mother.
And now Vera was Veralyth Mournvale.
Which meant that, whether she wanted it or not, this child was her responsibility.
And she was so, so not ready for that.
At twenty-seven, she could say with full confidence that she had never—not once—seriously considered having kids. Not even before the accident. It wasn't just the chronic pain that made her balk at the idea. It was everything else, too. The pressure. The obligation. The certainty she would screw it up.
It wasn't something she wanted.
It wasn't a role someone like her was suited for.
It wasn't something she could do.
Which made now… difficult.
She stood frozen, heart hammering in her chest, while instincts she didn't recognize screamed through her—telling her to protect this girl, to hold her, to keep her safe from anything that might ever threaten her.
They felt primal. Automatic. And absolutely terrifying.
She questioned if those feelings were even hers.
They couldn't be, right?
They had to be Veralyth's. The real Veralyth's. Not this fake version Vera was now inhabiting.
Which raised an even worse question:
Was she possessing Veralyth?
Was she some kind of body snatcher?
Had she—literally—stolen this little girl's mother?
That was a genuinely horrifying thought.
"Mommy?" Serel asked again, her voice laced with a little more uncertainty now.
Vera looked down at that small face—those wide, waiting eyes.
She recognized it. More than she wanted to admit. And not just from the game's character models.
There were pieces of herself in that face.
Veralyth had been modeled after Vera as closely as the game's character creator allowed. Slightly more refined, slightly more symmetrical. Longer silver hair instead of her own hazel. A little taller. A little more elegant.
But still her. Close enough that the resemblance showed.
And in Serel… that resemblance continued.
And that was scary, too. Because it made the connection feel even more real.
Now, a flicker of genuine concern crossed Serel's face. "…Mommy?"
Realizing that she had to say something, Vera blinked hard, glanced back at Caldrin, then returned her gaze to the girl.
"…Sorry," she said, voice a little tight. "I'm just… a bit out of sorts. Happens to the best of us, you know."
"It does?" Serel tilted her head again—in that dangerously cute way that made Vera want to pass out.
"That is indeed what they say, young miss," Caldrin chimed in, far too casually. "Though perhaps not always in these particular circumstances."
Vera shot him a look.
To his credit, he seemed to take the hint—his lips pressed together, hands still folded behind his back. Though she caught a faint glint of curiosity in his eyes as he watched her.
She instantly regretted making him clever. Even if she barely remembered doing it.
Turning back to Serel, Vera cleared her throat and took a cautious step forward. She leaned down slightly—then had to bend further than expected. The extra height was more noticeable now. She crouched awkwardly to meet the girl's eyes.
"…Serel, do you remember the last thing I told you?" she asked carefully.
Serel blinked, her little brows furrowing in a tiny frown. The rest of her expression scrunched up as well, like she was digging through foggy memories with all the force her brain could muster.
After a few seconds, she shook her head. "I don't."
Vera's eyebrows rose. She… didn't?
"Then what's the last thing you do remember me saying?"
Another shake of the head. "I dunno." Then Serel's face lit up once more, and she smiled at her. "I'm just happy to be with you!"
She moved forward and hugged Vera again, burying her face in her shoulder with a laugh. Vera was hit with a faceful of soft hair and a scent that was oddly warm and familiar—like worn cotton and vanilla soap.
She didn't know what to make of it.
She'd been hoping to learn if the original Veralyth had left Serel a message. A goodbye. A warning. Something.
But Serel didn't remember anything Veralyth had said?
Wasn't that… strange?
Still wrapped in the hug, Vera gently rested her hands on the girl's arms, turning them both slowly so she could see Caldrin, shooting him a sharper look.
"Caldrin," she said, "do you remember the last thing I told you?"
He stood perfectly straight and gave a thoughtful tilt of the head. "I'm afraid not, my lady."
His brows drew together—slightly.
"Which is rather curious, considering I pride myself on having a memory of excellent—and, if I may say, exceptionally irritating—precision. I can recall the names of every beast you've vanquished, the timestamps of your more… exuberant exploits, and the architectural flaws in this estate's third western corridor down to the millimeter. And yet…" He frowned. "When I attempt to recall the precise words of our many conversations, I can't seem to do so."
He paused, studying her more carefully.
"Strange, is it not?"
Vera frowned, too. It was strange.
Especially for a Wane-born like him. Like her. They were supposed to be humans with long-dead godline heritage and—according to lore—slightly improved mental faculties who were generally more suited for caster roles.
If anyone should've remembered what Veralyth might've said… it was him.
The fact that he didn't…
What was she supposed to make of that?
Was there even an 'original' Veralyth Mournvale?
Was it possible that Vera hadn't overwritten anyone—that she had just dropped into this world in Veralyth's body, but without anyone else ever truly having inhabited it?
That everything—her estate, her character, the NPCs—had just been instanced into being? Preloaded like a prefab dungeon, complete with attached scripts?
That idea was also terrifying.
But not as terrifying as the alternative.
Not as terrifying as possibly having replaced someone who had been real.
She stared at Caldrin a moment longer. He met her gaze.
They'd need to talk more about this. But not in front of Serel.
"Mommy," came the small voice from her arms.
Her attention snapped back to the girl.
"Yeah? What is it?"
"Where's Mama?"
Every other thought screeched to a halt.
Vera blinked, mentally rewinding the tape. "…Say that again?"
Serel pulled back slightly, looking up at her. "Where's Mama?"
Vera's stomach dropped again. It filled with lead. Her pulse surged.
She crouched lower, hands on Serel's shoulders, voice edged with something stiffer. "Serel… can you tell me your… mama's name?"
The girl looked confused. "But you know Mama."
"I… forgot, okay?"
Serel giggled. "But you know."
Vera breathed out through her nose. "I do, I do. But let's pretend I forgot. Just humor me. What's Mama's name?"
"'Humor'…?" Serel echoed, squinting up at her like she was trying to figure out if this was a test. Then she gave a firm nod. "Mama's name is Elaria."
Vera's heart dropped to join her stomach. Something twisted hard inside her.
"…Elaria Valecrest?" she asked, as if hoping for a different answer.
Serel nodded brightly. "Mmhmm!"
Vera raised a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose.
It had been a joke.
A throwaway detail.
A flight of fancy she only half-remembered typing.
So why had it stuck around here?
"Mommy? Are you okay?"
Serel's concerned voice rose as Vera reeled internally, face scrunching under the weight of dawning horror.
She cringed at what a single, whimsical decision had become.
When she created Serel, she'd spent maybe half an hour—two, tops—putting together the girl's backstory. She didn't mean anything by it. She swore. It was just a fun little addition. Some extra spice. Something to make her estate just a tad more alive without adding too much.
She'd thought, Why not give Veralyth a daughter?
So she did.
And when she'd considered whether to mention a father, she'd—on a whim—tossed in one of her favorite lore characters. Something cheeky. A nod to the world, to the story, to her own taste.
That name had been Elaria Valecrest.
And everyone who had ever played Ashen Legacy knew exactly who that was.
Elaria Valecrest was the face of the franchise. The game's closest equivalent to a poster girl. An iconic NPC who'd appeared in every expansion, always tied to the biggest, most lore-heavy storylines. One of the most powerful NPCs in the world, and an in-universe legend.
She was beloved. Respected. A community favorite.
Vera knew plenty of people who had written Elaria into their own character lore. It was harmless—just background fluff. Players did it all the time. Mentioning connections to major NPCs, even though it never actually affected the actual game.
It didn't matter.
It was just flavor text.
So how the hell had her flavor somehow been enough to create a child with one of the most important characters in the game?
She shook her head slowly.
No. Maybe it wasn't that deep. Maybe this was just local to Serel—just her remembering what Vera had written, nothing more. If the estate and its inhabitants had been instanced into existence based on Vera's game data, then of course Serel would remember things that way. Even if Elaria existed out there, that didn't necessarily mean Vera had forced her into literal parenthood. It might be a little tragic for Serel to have illusions about one parent… but at least Vera wouldn't have to deal with the moral disaster the alternative implied.
"I feel I should inform you," Caldrin said with a timing that made the hairs on Vera's neck rise, "that Lady Valecrest has attempted to enter the estate on two occasions while you were gone."
Vera flinched. Slowly, she turned to him. "…Why?"
"She did not say. But I do believe her intent was to speak with you."
"…Did she seem angry?"
The man was silent for a beat. "…That would be a generous way of putting it."
Vera felt the blood drain from her face.
She was so, so screwed.
Not even a full day into being Veralyth, and she'd already managed to accidentally spawn a kid, involve a major lore character in an unapproved co-parenting arrangement, and somehow make that woman furious enough to come knocking—twice.
An impressive record, if she ignored the fact that it made her want to scream.
The fact that Serel's other 'parent' was a woman wasn't the problem. Vera had written Elaria's name specifically for a reason. She'd never been uncomfortable with who she was. Her sexuality wasn't the issue.
The question of how, exactly, two women had supposedly produced a child in this world was… valid. A little terrifying, also. But still not the part that made Vera want to crawl under a table and disappear forever.
No.
The real problem was simply that any of it had stuck.
A throwaway detail—two sentences of flavor text typed at 2 AM—had somehow turned into a living, breathing daughter and a very real, very powerful ex(?) who might want answers.
Or maybe even revenge.
Vera wondered what was even worse. Elaria somehow knowing what had happened, or her simply accepting this reality as normal, like Serel seemed to do.
Frankly, the latter felt far more disturbing.
Because if there was one thing Vera hated above all else, it was loss of agency. And there were only a few more nightmarish violations of it than this.
Her spiraling thoughts were cut short by Serel's voice.
"Mommy, did you and Mama fight?"
Vera looked down. The girl's eyes were wide with concern, head leaning to the side just slightly.
For several seconds, Vera didn't speak.
Then she forced the most stable smile she could manage.
"It's… complicated," she said. "You don't have to worry about it, okay? I'll, uh… handle it."
Quickly, she turned, scanning the room until her eyes landed on the bookshelf against the far wall. She pointed.
"You know how to read, don't you?"
Serel was supposed to be part Wane-born. That probably meant she'd started reading early, right? Or… was that normal at this age?
Vera honestly had no idea. She'd never thought about these things before. She barely remembered that part of her own childhood.
Thankfully, Serel nodded. "Mmm, I can read."
"Good, good." Vera nodded to herself as well, trying to sound reassuring. "Then why don't you pick a book for a bit? Me and Caldrin need to have a grown-up conversation."
The girl studied her with quiet suspicion, then finally let go and trundled over to the shelf. She picked out a book with a navy-and-gold cover, climbed back onto the bed, and dangled her legs over the side as she opened it. Before starting, she glanced back at Vera one more time, as if checking for something.
Then she turned the first page.
Vera watched her for a second, surprised that it had worked. She thought kids were supposed to be clingy, loud, and obstinate.
Maybe some were just easier than others?
A flicker of warmth stirred in her chest at the sight of Serel's tiny brow furrowing in focus.
She pushed it down almost immediately.
Then she stood up, turning to Caldrin with a more serious expression.
"I think we need to talk."
Caldrin inclined his head. "I agree, my lady."