Chapter 10

  The Sins of the Mother

  Lucien and Evelyn are alone in the once-crowded meeting room. Evelyn is staring at the people below. Lucien is helping himself to the leftover snacks.

  He chuckles softly, “So, he finally got to you, didn’t he? I saw it – just the tiniest crack in your perfect armor.”

  Evelyn stands still as a statue, eyes glued to the window.

  “Usually that’s when you respond,” Lucien says dryly.

  “Maintaining order, in a world built on chaos… is a… heavy burden.

  Lucien stops and looks at her.

  “His…will is strong, and despite my best efforts, despite everything he’s been through…” Her voice drops slightly, “He endures.”

  Lucien studies her still, trying to decipher between the lines.

  “I see something in him that I’ve seen before. In that umbra.” Her voice, cracked and distant.

  A Cheshire-like grin spreads across his face. “Ah. There it is. The sin behind the sermon. You don’t want him gone because he disrupts order, you want him gone because you’re afraid.”

  She snaps her head towards him, lightning and rage in her eyes.

  “I do not fear a mortal. I fear the damage he can bring to others.”

  Lucien glares at her. “Tell yourself whatever lies you like. But I see straight through you. You don’t fear someone else standing against your will. You fear that in the end, he might open people’s eyes. That he’ll show them that you don’t have as much control as they think, that your fate – just like those ants down there – is tied to something you don’t even comprehend.”

  “I’ve had problem children before.” She stares at him accusingly “I won’t make the mistake again.”

  She turns to the glass panel and spots what she’s been looking for.

  “I’m sorry, Scott. I truly am. Your mother would have been proud of the man you have become. But, you shine too brightly for a world like this, and I’ve been burned too many times.”

  With a press of her finger, the glass panel snaps out of its socket with a loud crack and begins its descent below.

  Lucien steps up beside her and watches it fall.

  “How crude, even for my standards.” He takes a sip of coffee.

  They both stand in silence, anticipating the impact.

  But it never comes.

  A flicker of a shadow – then a figure appears seemingly from nowhere, shoves Scott out of the way at the last possible second.

  Then looks up.

  His piercing eyes burning into them.

  Lucien smirks.

  “Well. Looks like your second-born is bearing his fangs.”

  Evelyn says nothing, her gaze locked in a cold, unmoving glare.

  A moment later, they both vanish.

  Somewhere in the cosmos, beyond the gods and galaxies…

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  He floats lost in time. Stars burn in the distance—nebulae swirling, galaxies turning slowly. Then he hears her voice.

  “Scotty, I love you, I always have. Please forgive me.”

  Mom?

  The phantom voice continues

  “Don’t ever let anyone take your light. It’s yours and no one can take that from you.”

  He starts trying to swim through space, pulled toward the voice. Far off in the distance, a single star begins to flare – growing brighter…and brighter…

  Then—gone.

  The light vanishes, swallowed by darkness.

  “SCOTT!”

  Her voice rips through him—he clamps his hands over his ears.

  A split-second later, a blinding flash consumes everything. Scott turns away, shielding his eyes.

  A familiar voice booms around him. Cold, stern, powerful

  “You were never meant to exist. I’m sorry.”

  He opens his eyes, and he sees the blast wave coming. Fast.

  It washes the universe away, like an ocean erasing lines in the sand.

  He tries to move. Swim. Run. Fly.

  Nothing.

  He can’t turn.

  He can only watch as the light races toward him, ready to burn him out like the rest.

  He screams. Tries to wake up. Fight. Move.

  Still, nothing.

  Then—

  The sound of wind.

  A tempest.

  The light vanishes.

  Darkness falls like a curtain.

  What?

  And then, he hears a male voice — steady, familiar, comforting:

  “You were handed a box of matches and told, ‘This is all there is.’

  You lit one and saw the edge of a lie.

  You lit another, and saw your reflection didn’t match your voice.

  Another, and found armor built from old wounds.

  Another, and the door behind you opened to a funeral, not a feast.

  But now?

  You carry a torch.

  And though you don’t yet see the road ahead, know this:

  You’re the one holding the light.

  And you’ll burn anyone who chooses to try to put you out.”

  He shoots up from bed, drenched in sweat, his breathing heavy. Tears in his eyes, his throat hoarse like he’s been yelling all night.

  He checks his phone, 4:04 A.M.

  Scott walks to his bathroom and splashes water on his face. He keeps his head down, watching the water swirl down the sink. He lifts his head and meets his own eyes in the mirror. He studies them — bloodshot, hollow, haunted.

  Then, without warning, he screams.

  A primal, shattering sound, years kept in the dark.

  He slams his fists into the glass. He claws at the edges, trying to rip the mirror from the wall.

  He wants it gone. The image. The lie. The pain.

  But the mirror stays — battered, cracked, but still, unbroken.

  His reflection fractures across the surface as he sinks to the floor, sobbing.

  The voice echoes in his mind — defiant, unshaken:

  “You carry a torch…

  And though you don’t yet see the road ahead…

  You’re the one holding the light.”