Memories did not come as images this time.
They came as feelings so powerful they stole the strength from her legs — tiny fingers gripping hers, soft laughter echoing through sunlit halls, the unbearable pride of watching them grow into formidable, brilliant adults.
And the quiet, piercing fear every mother carried:
Will I outlive them?
A tear slipped free before she could stop it, trailing down her cheek and falling soundlessly onto the cold stone floor.
They had lived long lives.
She could feel it — not as knowledge, but as certainty embedded deep within her soul.
They had not died young. They had not been taken violently. They had not suffered the fate she had feared most.
They had grown old. Ruled. Loved. Continued the bloodline.
The realization loosened something inside her chest that she hadn't known was clenched for centuries.
A fragile, aching comfort spread through her — thin as glass, but real.
