Chapter 44 : Truth
Raven lingered in his room, his body still for a moment as he sat on the edge of his bed.
The weight of the past month pressed against his chest, the echoes of his haunting dream still flickering at the edges of his mind.
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his white hair, and forced himself to move. Lying down wouldn't help—he needed to face the day, to ground himself in the present. With a quiet resolve, he stood, stretched his aching muscles, and headed to the small bathroom adjacent to his room.
The cool water splashing against his face was a sharp relief, washing away the lingering fog of unease.
After tidying himself up, he stepped out into the apartment, his bare feet silent against the worn floorboards. The soft murmur of voices greeted him as he approached the dining area. His mother, Lyra, and Seraphine were already seated at the modest wooden table, its surface scarred from years of use.
The faint aroma of freshly baked bread and something savory—perhaps leftover spices from breakfast—hung in the air, a quiet comfort amidst the storm of changes swirling around them.
Lyra glanced up at him briefly, her expression unreadable, while Seraphine offered a small, warm smile that steadied his racing thoughts. His mother turned as he entered, her black eyes lighting up with a gentle warmth.
"Raven, come," she said, her voice soft but carrying that familiar soothing tone he'd clung to since childhood. She gestured to the empty chair beside her, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Sit with us."
Raven nodded, returning her smile as he settled into the chair. The simple act of sitting with them—his family, his anchor—eased some of the tension coiled in his shoulders. For a moment, he could almost pretend everything was normal, that the world hadn't shifted beneath their feet.
His mother's gaze lingered on him, her smile widening as she leaned forward slightly.
"I heard from Lyra that you and Seraphine are together now," she said, her tone light but laced with a quiet pride.
Seraphine's face flushed a deep crimson almost instantly, her golden eyes dropping to the table as she fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. The sudden embarrassment made her look younger, vulnerable in a way that tugged at Raven's heart. He couldn't help but grin, a rare lightness breaking through his usual guarded demeanor.
"Yes, Mother," he said, his voice steady but warm. "We've decided to be together. I liked her from the first time we met—something about her just… stuck with me. And the more time we spent together, the more I realized how much I care for her. A lot more."
Seraphine's blush deepened, her hands now twisting together in her lap. A soft chuckle escaped her lips, nervous but genuine, and she shot him a quick, flustered glance before looking away again.
"Raven…" she murmured, her voice barely audible, caught between exasperation and delight.
Lyra, seated across from them, arched an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a faint smirk.
"You're hopeless, you know that?" she teased, her tone dry but not unkind. "Both of you. It's almost painful to watch."
Raven shot her a playful glare, but before he could retort, their mother laughed—a soft, melodic sound that filled the room with warmth.
"Oh, Lyra, let them have their moment," she said, her eyes twinkling with amusement. She reached out and patted Seraphine's hand gently, a gesture that seemed to startle the girl out of her embarrassment. "I'm happy for you both. Truly."
Seraphine managed a shy smile, her voice quiet as she replied, "Thank you… Mother." The word felt strange on her tongue, tentative, but it carried a sincerity that made Raven's chest tighten.
A silence settled over the table then, soft but heavy. The kind of silence that carried unspoken questions and lingering emotions. Their mother's smile faded slightly, replaced by a worried expression as her gaze shifted between them. Her voice trembled when she finally spoke.
"Lyra already told me about the both of you," she said, her eyes glistening, "but I still don't know what happened to you all… and where you were for the past month." A tear slipped down her cheek. "I was so scared. I waited every day, hoping you'd come back…"
Raven took a deep breath, his face softening as he reached out and gently held her hand.
"Mother, don't worry," he said calmly. "As you can see, we're all here. We're safe." Then, without hesitation, he began explaining everything—where they had gone, the challenges they faced, the people they met. While keeping anything dangerous or frightening to himself, he painted a picture of their journey that would comfort her rather than alarm her. He was careful with his words, but honest in spirit, wanting her to feel included—yet protected.
When he finished, their mother looked at him, her eyes still shimmering with unshed tears.
"Are you all alright?" she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
The three of them—Raven, Lyra, and Seraphine—exchanged a glance, and then smiled gently, almost in unison.
"Yes, Mother," Raven said. "Don't worry. We're fine. We believe we got this opportunity, not a burden."
After breakfast, Raven excused himself from the dining table, his steps heavy as he returned to his room. The chatter of Lyra, Seraphine, and their mother faded behind him, replaced by the quiet creak of the apartment's old floorboards. He shut the door softly, leaning against it for a moment as his thoughts churned. The meal had been a brief respite, but now, alone again, the weight of his earlier fears resurfaced.
What I saw was real, he thought, his black eyes narrowing as he replayed the dream—Grim and Aurelia, broken and lifeless. It has to be tied to my Time's Eye. There's no other explanation. The ability still felt like a stranger to him, its power elusive and unmastered. But the more he dwelled on it, the more his mind spun in circles. With a frustrated sigh, he pushed the matter aside. He was too drained to unravel it now.
Crossing the small room, he collapsed onto his bed, the worn mattress groaning under his weight. Sleep claimed him almost instantly, a merciful escape from the storm within.
The others, too, retreated to their rooms after breakfast, the apartment falling into a hush as the day stretched into evening. Hours later, their mother stirred from her own rest, her frail form moving quietly through the dim hallway. She entered the kitchen, her white hair catching the faint glow of the setting sun filtering through the window. With practiced ease, she began preparing dinner—chopping vegetables, setting a pot to simmer—her movements slow but steady, a quiet ritual to anchor herself amidst the chaos of her children's return.
The front door of Luxe Haven Apartment 102 creaked open, shattering the stillness. Grim stepped inside, his presence filling the space like a shadow cast by a storm cloud. His long white hair, now flowing past his shoulders, shimmered faintly in the low light, and his black eyes gleamed with an otherworldly sharpness. He was no longer just her son—he carried an ancient, almost alien aura, as if the dungeon had carved him into something beyond human. Sensing his mother in the kitchen, he strode toward her, his heavy boots silent against the floor.
She turned at the sound of his approach, her hands pausing mid-motion as she caught sight of him. For a moment, neither spoke. Her black eyes searched his face, worry etched into every line of her expression. She hadn't had a chance to talk to him earlier—not when he'd arrived with Aurelia, nor when he'd left so abruptly. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken questions, until her resolve broke. Dropping the knife onto the counter, she crossed the small distance between them and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly.
Grim stiffened briefly, caught off guard by the sudden embrace, but he didn't pull away. His mother clung to him, her frail hands gripping the fabric of his black tracksuit as if afraid he might vanish again. He raised a hand and patted her head gently, an awkward gesture that carried a trace of his old self beneath the cold exterior.
"Come," she murmured, her voice trembling but firm. She released him, wiping her hands on her apron, and led him to her room. The small space was sparse—a narrow bed with a faded quilt, a single wooden chair, a cracked mirror on the wall. She sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing the fabric beneath her, while Grim grabbed the chair and pulled it closer. He sat, his towering frame making the furniture seem fragile, his piercing gaze fixed on her.
She studied him for a moment, taking in the changes—the sharpness of his features, the eerie beauty of his transformed presence.
"Can you tell me what happened?" she asked softly, her tone laced with concern. "You arrived today, and then you just left. Now you're back. Where were you?"
Grim's voice was cold, steady, cutting through the air like a blade.
"You don't have to worry about anything, Mother. I was just busy."
Her eyes softened, but there was a flicker of something else—gratitude, perhaps, or relief.
"Thank you," she said, her voice quieter now. "For taking care of your siblings. And for Seraphine and Aurelia, too."
He stared at her, his expression unreadable, his black eyes glinting like polished obsidian. She held his gaze, undeterred, and continued,
"I know you must have questions—why I care so much about Seraphine and Aurelia. I think it's time I told you the story."
Grim's face didn't shift, but there was a knowing glint in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment that he already understood more than she realized. Still, he remained quiet, letting her speak.
"They're my friend's children," she began, her voice steady despite the weight of memory. "My best friend from college. We were inseparable back then—two young women dreaming of the future. We both fell in love around the same time, in our final year. I met your father, and she met her husband. We married within months of each other, both love matches." Her lips curved into a faint, wistful smile, but as she mentioned Grim's father, the air in the room grew colder, darker. Grim's eyes narrowed, a murderous glint flashing within them, and the shift was so palpable that she faltered, her words dying on her tongue.
He broke the silence, his voice low and edged with ice.
"Why do you care so much about Father? He's already dead. You should forget him."
Her expression crumpled, sadness pooling in her eyes.
"I loved him," she said softly, her voice trembling. "I still love him. I can't forget him, Grim."
The veins in Grim's neck bulged, his fists clenching against the arms of the chair as rage simmered beneath his calm facade.
"Mother," he said, his tone sharp and biting, "you don't know anything about Father. He never let you see the truth. All you know is what he wanted you to know."
He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor, and towered over her.
"You don't have to continue," he said, his voice colder now. "I already know what connection you have with Seraphine and Aurelia. And Aurelia is my wife now, so you don't need to worry about them." He paused, his gaze piercing through her, then softened his tone—low and deliberate, almost gentle. "But suppose… if Father had a bastard child, would you accept them?"
His mother's face remained gentle, though her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
"If your father had another child," she said, her voice steady despite the ache behind it, "I think you should be the first to decide. They'd be your sibling, sharing your blood. As for me… I knew he had extramarital affairs. I found out years ago, and at first, it broke my heart. But I couldn't confront him. I just watched, silently, and he never let me down—not in the ways that mattered. He never let me shed a tear over it, not openly. I waited for him to bring it up, to talk to me about it, but he left too soon." Tears rolled down her cheeks now, silent and unbidden. "I wanted to discuss it with him, but he's gone."
Grim said nothing for a long moment, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable. Then he stepped closer, his voice softening further, though it carried a firm edge.
"Mother, you should rest. Don't worry about dinner—I'll order something from outside. Forget about this. I don't like seeing you cry, so take your time and come out when you're ready." He paused, then added, "I'll be going to the next apartment."
Without another word, he turned and left the room, his long white hair trailing behind him like a ghostly banner. The door clicked shut, leaving his mother alone with her tears and the weight of a past she couldn't escape.