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Chapter 44 - Mother
🕑 Added 2025-10-21 01:49:10 +0000 UTCShe looked like she’d stepped straight out of an ordinary morning. A woman in her early sixties, hair mostly chestnut but giving way to soft streaks of gray at the roots, kept in check by the kind of careful box-dye that said she still cared, just not obsessively. Fine lines framed her eyes and mouth, the kind that came from years of worrying and talking in equal measure. Her clothes were simple and coordinated in that practiced way that came from habit—slacks, a blouse, and a cardigan that matched without trying.
Vera’s mom could have fit in perfectly at a school fundraiser, a small-town council meeting, or a grocery store line at 9 a.m. on a Tuesday.
But not here.
Never here.
“Vera Elaine Morgans, what do you think you are doing pointing that thing at me?” the woman said sharply, her voice edged with incredulous disapproval and a strange maternal authority.
Vera glanced at Stillwake. She’d raised it without realizing.
“That’s no way to greet your mother,” the woman added, folding her arms. The motion was so familiar it almost hurt to watch.
Vera’s grip tightened on the halberd. “If you thought wearing her face would make me hesitate, you were wrong.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t. Just—don’t.”
The woman’s brows drew together, a look halfway between concern and irritation.
Vera watched her for several long seconds, silent. “So, you can speak now? What are you trying to do? What are you here for?”
“I’m here to speak with my daughter, but apparently she sees fit to threaten me with a…” She squinted at Stillwake. “What is that? A spear?”
“Don’t call me that,” Vera said.
“Don’t call you what?”
“Your daughter.”
The woman arched an eyebrow. “I’m not allowed to call my own daughter my daughter?”
“I’m not your daughter.”
That stopped her. For a moment, she just blinked, like she needed to process the words. Then she exhaled.
“Oh.”
The single word was said with such restrained disappointment, such an earnest ache, that Vera couldn’t stop her throat from tightening.
“I see…” The woman looked down at her arms, shaking her head slowly. “What an awful, awful thing to do to a person,” she murmured. Her eyes turned back up, and there it was—the same soft, understanding expression Vera had only seen rarely growing up. “Honey, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t call me that either.” Vera’s jaw set. “Stop pretending. Whatever this is, just say what you have to say before I end it.”
“Vera, I’m not pretending. And I am sorry.” Her voice wavered, but then she stopped, and she took a moment to calm herself. When she spoke again, her voice was more level. “I can see now how hard things have been for you. It breaks my heart that I couldn’t be there when you needed me. I’m sorry we left you.”
“You’re not.”
“Oh, but I am. However, more than anything, I'm overjoyed that you're alive. And frankly, I’m a little insulted that you’d doubt that, circumstances aside.”
The blunt sincerity on her face made it hard for Vera to simply call her a liar.
She knew this wasn't her mother, of course. Her mother was gone. Dead in another world entirely. The Graven Daughter might have been powerful, but could it really pull someone back from a different reality? Could it cross worlds? Reanimate a person whose body didn’t even exist here?
Vera didn’t believe it.
More likely, this was a form of manipulation. Or a test. Whichever it was, the idea that the Graven Daughter would use her mother’s likeness as bait made her skin crawl.
Part of her wanted to strike—end this farce and move on. But another part, colder and more logical, told her she couldn’t afford to waste the opportunity. If the entity was speaking through this thing, she might learn something she could use. Something that could help Serel.
And deeper still, buried under all that logic, a small treacherous spark wanted to believe it was her mother. Even if only a fragment. An echo wearing her shape.
Silence stretched between them.
“So,” Vera eventually said again. “What do you want?”
The woman smiled faintly. “I'm not even worthy of a hello?”
“Hello. Now what do you want?”
She huffed. “Always so blunt, Vera. I swear, I don’t know where you get it from.”
“From my mother.”
“I certainly didn’t raise you that way.”
“That’s what she would have said.”
“I very much imagine that she would.” The woman studied her for a long moment, then sighed. “You were always too guarded. I used to tell your father it was a good thing in today’s society, but seeing it now hurts. Although I do understand.” She was silent for another moment. “You’re not wrong to be suspicious. I’m not entirely real.”
Vera’s eyes narrowed. “So you admit it.”
The woman’s arms lowered, her stance easing. “Don’t look at me like I’m some criminal. I feel real enough, I’ll have you know—and I’m still your mother, even if I’m not the same flesh and blood.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She gestured around them. “What was its name? The Graven Daughter? She seems to have created me from your memories. To talk to you.”
The admission landed with dull disappointment, even though it simply confirmed what Vera had suspected. After all, her actual mother standing here was just too good to be true.
The woman exhaled again, shaking her head. “As I said, what an awful thing to do. I never put much stock in souls or the afterlife, but to toy with someone’s existence like this? It’s wrong. On every moral level I can think of.”
“Mom—” The word slipped out before Vera caught it. She stopped, voice flattening. “…Margaret, we’re talking about a primeval, eldritch entity that watches people through stitched hands. I doubt ethics factor into its priorities.”
“Eldritch,” the woman repeated slowly, frowning. “Vera, what have I told you about using English when we talk?”
“What—” Vera blinked. “That is English.”
“Perhaps in your games, but in the real world, we use normal words.”
“We’re not in the real world right now. We’re in one of my games.”
The woman hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod. “I will give you that one, honey.” She cleared her throat, voice softening again. “And you can just call me Mom. No need to be so formal and distant just because you dyed your hair.”
“You know that’s not the problem here,” Vera said.
An awkward smile tugged at the woman’s mouth. “I do. I thought I could joke like your father. I was never quite as good at it as he was.”
“No. You weren’t.”
“Would it be too much to ask you to call me Mom anyway?”
Vera considered her for a while. “I would prefer not to.”
The woman’s smile lingered, sadness caught behind it. “Please.”
Vera wavered. The part of her that burned with anger and suspicion collided with the quieter, more human part—the one that wanted to believe that this version of her mother could still feel.
“…Alright.”
In the end, it was that sentiment that made her relent. Not in spite of it being an imitation of her mother, but because of it.
Because if she could really feel, it was just too cruel.
Now, her mother’s smile curved upward with relief, even if the sorrow didn’t disappear entirely. She nodded toward Stillwake. “Isn’t it about time you lowered that? Really, what were you going to do with it? Cut me down?”
Vera let the halberd fall to her side, though she kept her guard up. “I was considering it.”
“Good.”
She paused, staring. “Good?”
“You should prioritize your own safety. That’s what is most important now.”
Vera said nothing.
“Now,” her mother continued, tone shifting into an all-too-familiar cadence—the same one she used whenever a serious talk was about to begin. “We have some matters to discuss. I’d love to ask a thousand questions, but that isn’t the priority. Your situation takes precedence.”
Vera braced herself.
“First, I have a message to deliver. This isn’t from me, and I suspect it was open to some interpretation, but…” The woman paused, expression tightening slightly. “Vera, the Graven Daughter wants to understand why you’re here.”
Vera stared at her in disbelief. “…Are you serious?”
Her mother nodded. “Yes.”
“To get Serel,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because she was taken.”
“That was the price due.”
“What?” Vera’s voice dropped to a low edge. “What price?”
Her mother didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stepped closer, studying Vera’s face like she was trying to memorize it. “…I preferred your old looks, honey,” she said quietly. “There’s still some of your father in you, but not enough.”
“Don’t change the subject, Mom.”
The woman looked happy. “Indulging my delusional sentimentality. You always were a dear, even with all your thorns.”
She reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from Vera’s forehead before walking past her—through the cracked, broken space Vera had torn earlier. Beyond it was the empty view of lilacs and violets, with a small figure seated on a stone bench in the distance.
Vera followed. The air on the other side was heavier, dense with something that felt like betrayal turned tangible, laced with raw, aching history. Nothing here was truly solid, but the ground underfoot gave a similar sensation to pressed glass that gave slightly beneath her steps. Every movement left a shimmer that lingered before fading.
“I don’t understand the specifics,” her mother said as they walked through the violet haze, “but that girl is not an ordinary child. The Graven Daughter has a claim on her.”
“Claim? What kind of claim?” Vera asked.
“She’s marked. She has been since the beginning.” Her mother glanced over. “Do you know what domains the Graven Daughter governs?”
Vera frowned. “Betrayal. Bleeding inheritance.”
“And childbirth,” the woman added.
Vera looked at her, then forward, to the bench. The haze shifted with their footsteps, as if the world itself was watching them approach.
“…Are you saying the Graven Daughter was involved in Serel’s birth?”
“I don’t know. But she is owed a due,” her mother said. “That means she must have done something.”
Vera’s focus stayed on the small figure on the bench—the shape of a child.
What was the real story behind Serel’s existence? It had always been odd—her being there at all. Vera had written her into Ashen Legacy almost as an afterthought, a half-formed tie to Elaria Valecrest that was never fully explained. There were gaps. Caldrin apparently had real history in this world, but with Serel it had been far more uncertain where she came from. Whether Vera and Elaria were both meant to be blood-related to her. Whether Serel even existed independently in this world or was only a holdover from the game.
Vera didn’t understand what the Graven Daughter had to do with any of that. She was sure she’d never mentioned her when writing Serel’s backstory. But by now, she’d seen enough of how Ashen Legacy had bled into this reality to get a sense for how things translated. Maybe whatever force had pulled her into this world had used the closest equivalent it could find for the various game features. Maybe, when it came to Serel, that meant the Graven Daughter was drawn in as the nearest vessel for creation.
If so, it was possible that ‘Veralyth Mournvale’ had some sort of pact with the Forgotten Throne that Vera simply wasn’t aware of.
But it didn’t matter.
“I’m still taking her away from here,” Vera said.
She had already come prepared to fight a god if she had to.
Her mother looked at her but didn’t say anything. Her gaze turned forward, watching the bench that grew closer.
“Did you know I almost carried you past term?” she suddenly said after a time, sounding almost wistful. “Those last two weeks were hell. Your father and I were worried sick. We barely slept. Every night I’d lie there wondering if something was wrong, if you were in distress, if I’d done something to cause it. The doctors kept saying, ‘Any day now,’ but you wouldn’t come. And I’d read all those things about overdue babies—complications, stillbirths, emergency deliveries—and I started thinking maybe my body just wasn’t doing what it was supposed to.” Her voice lowered. “It made me feel broken. Like after nine months of carrying you, preparing myself for those responsibilities, I was already failing before I even properly began.”
Vera turned to her. “What?”
Her mother met her eyes.
Vera frowned. “…You can’t know if that’s true.”
She didn’t remember ever being told that. So how could this version of the woman possibly know?
A flicker of confusion crossed her mother’s features. “Oh. No, I suppose I can’t.” Her forehead furrowed. “Then is that memory just a figment of my imagination?” She fell silent for several moments before finally shaking her head. “I don’t like this. Not one bit. That Graven Daughter is truly wretched, isn’t she?”
It hurt Vera, seeing that expression on the face she hadn’t seen for three years. “Mom—”
“But—” the woman cut her off, placing a hand over her heart. “No, I think that story is true. Maybe I told you once when you were small, or you overheard it and forgot. That would be very much like you.”
Vera kept watching her, but didn’t argue.
She didn’t know if that was the case. She didn’t know if it was even a possibility.
“Regardless,” her mother continued, “what do you think I meant by sharing that story?”
“I don’t know.”
“That it’s very hard to prepare for what comes with being a parent—even with nine months’ warning.”
“…And?”
“Do you think you’re prepared for that?”
Vera’s eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t matter if I am.”
This time, it was her mother’s turn to stare at her. “Honey, that might be one of the most irresponsible things I’ve ever heard you say. Take a moment and reconsider.”
“I don’t need to,” Vera said flatly. “What does the Graven Daughter want? For me to just hand Serel over?”
“Yes,” the woman answered.
“And you… what? Agree with that?”
“No. But I do care about your happiness.”
“Then you can tell the Graven Daughter I’m not leaving without her.”
“Are you willing to anger one of those ‘eldritch’ deities for that girl?”
“Yes.”
“Then think about it carefully, Vera.”
Vera stopped. Her mother did as well, facing her with a calm expression.
“If you’re anything like my mom, you couldn’t seriously be telling me to abandon a child.”
The woman crossed her arms. “I am telling you to look at this rationally. You’re saying you’ll risk your life—and everything tied to it—for a girl you’ve known less than a week. You don’t even know if she is in danger.”
“Is she?” Vera asked.
Her mother shook her head. “She isn’t.”
“How can I trust that?”
“For now, you’ll have to trust me.”
They held each other’s gaze for several seconds. Then Vera turned and started walking again. The ground was somehow steeper now, and the ambient hues dimmed to a deeper violet. The bench ahead was near enough now that she could make out the faint shimmer of Serel’s silver-gray hair.
“Even if Serel was safe,” Vera said, “I don’t believe for a second that she would be better off here. And I might not have known her for long, but Veralyth Mournvale did—and I’m carrying her feelings.”
Her mother’s voice came softly from behind. “And those take precedence over your own?”
Vera’s mouth thinned to a line. “I’ve decided that they do now.”
“I don’t think you believe that.”
She ignored the comment, focusing on the figure ahead. Neither of them spoke for a while. Vera panicked slightly when she saw that Serel was completely motionless on the bench, not reacting to their approach, but her mood eased somewhat when she recognized the faint rising and falling of the girl’s chest.
When they drew closer, Vera was the one to finally break the silence between her and the woman now trailing behind her. “I don’t understand why you would be speaking on the Graven Daughter’s behalf if you hate what she did to you so much.”
“I told you already,” her mother replied. “I don’t think you’re seeing your situation clearly. And I think this is a price I’m willing to pay to see my daughter from beyond the grave. Besides, if I weren’t here, it would’ve been your father instead, and I don’t trust him for a second to keep you grounded. He’d tell you exactly what you want to hear, let you believe you were justified, then pat you on the shoulder and send you off to make an even bigger mess. Consequences never meant much to him if it meant keeping you happy.”
“Maybe that’s why I only ever fought with you and not him.”
“Oh, almost definitely. But don’t say that like it proves a point. I seem to recall me being proven right more often than not in our arguments.”
Vera didn’t respond, and the conversation tapered off again. Her gaze fell to Serel’s hands, folded neatly in her lap, her expression sweet—peaceful, like she was simply asleep.
“She’s very cute,” her mother said eventually, tone light, almost casual. “That surprised me. You always had such a contrarian streak when it came to cute things growing up.”
“She’s special,” Vera replied.
“Of course she is. She’d have to be, wouldn’t she?” There was something heavier buried in the familiarity of her tone. “Seeing her like this, I can’t help but wonder—what exactly are you planning to do once you have her?”
Vera’s steps slowed. “What do you mean?”
“After you take her away. What then? What’s your plan for raising her?”
“I’ll protect her. I’ll get help. I’ll learn.”
“Marvelous. Do you feel confident you can do that?”
Vera frowned. “What are you trying to imply?”
Her mother gave a mild shrug, stepping alongside her. “I’m asking questions you don’t seem eager to answer.”
Vera glanced at her, then looked away. “I’ll take care of her. That’s enough.”
“For a guardian, yes.”
That made Vera stop completely. She turned to face the echo of her mother. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Her mother’s gaze met hers. “Vera, I’ve seen what’s in your head. The care you have for that girl. I know those feelings. I felt them when I raised you. Do you truly think I’d like to take that away from you?” She took a slow breath. “But you keep calling yourself by these different labels. Her protector. Her guardian. The one responsible. Every title but one.”
Vera’s eyes widened.
Her mother stepped closer, her voice quiet, steady, and mercilessly kind. “Tell me, honey. When are you going to call yourself her mother?”
Comments
Shatteredneon
Tyfc damn this is getting so good
Stone
I'm 93% sure of that
Alek M
I wonder if the graven daughter is doing all this as a way to test Vera - with the ultimate goal being Vera claiming Serel as her daughter.
