Ren blinked once, falling into the illusion. His body felt suspended in something thick like tar. Even his thoughts moved more slowly, warped like the voices were filtered through glass.
The creak of wooden floorboards.
The dripping of overused candles.
The bedroom door opened.
A woman stepped through, haloed by the faint glow of the hallway light behind her. She wore that faded gray cardigan, her hair tied back into a bun, her posture slouched with exhaustion.
She crossed the room and knelt beside the bed.
Her hand touched his forehead.
"Oh, sweetheart...you're still burning up?" Her hand brushed the hair from his face—rhythmic and comforting. "Shhh...you're okay now."
"This isn't real," Ren told himself, screaming it within his head. "It's fake...A mimic."
But the weight of her palm was so comforting.
The cadence of her voice was exactly right—the way the words blurred into each other, as she was always too tired to separate them. Even the scent in the room: melted wax and old laundry detergent.
"She's gone..."
He tried to move.
First, his fingers—tucked beneath the blanket—but they wouldn't respond.
Then, he tried to turn his head, just a fraction, away from her touch.
Nothing.
"I know it's wrong."
"I know it's fake."
"But I...I-I can't move."
"I don't want to move."
"You've been so strong." His mother spoke, rubbing his temple with her thumb.
"Move..."
"Move...
"Move, you useless coward!"
"Don't you dare let this be the last thing you see! Don't you dare fall asleep in her arms! You know exactly what this is! You know who did this!"
But his body wouldn't listen.
"Shhh..." His mother pressed a kiss to his forehead. "You're safe now. The monsters won't come anymore. It's okay to rest. You've done enough on your own."
"No..."
"No, I haven't."
"I'm not done. I haven't killed her yet. I haven't buried that monster. I haven't—"
The candles flickered, the room getting dimmer by the second.
"Get up."
"Get the hell up."
"She's watching."
"She wants to see you break."
"You won't."
"You can't."
The blanket was still too heavy. But this time, his hand twitched.
Just once.
A single movement beneath the blanket.
But her lips brushed his forehead again, and she began to hum that same soft tune.
Ren's chest seized, a whimper catching in his throat. His eyes began to well up.
But then—
With everything in him—
He snapped his head away from her touch.
His mother's hand hovered midair, frozen in place. She blinked once, as if something behind her gaze was watching instead of feeling.
And the paralysis shattered beneath a surge of instinct.
He threw the blanket off and lunged forward, driving into her chest with both arms.
The bed cracked behind him as he took her down hard, the illusion warping around their bodies. They slammed into the wooden floor, her head snapping back from the impact.
Ren straddled her, fists trembling at his sides. His breath came in ragged gasps.
His body shook—burned by grief and shame.
"I'm sorry." He whispered.
Then he raised his fist—and brought it down.
Her head snapped to the side with the blow.
Another punch.
And another, blood splattering up his forearm.
Crack
A split along the bedroom wall emerged.
"Her blood's already on my hands," He told himself. "This has to be done. It has to end here."
"You're not alone anymore." His mother still looked up at him with love. "I'm right here."
She reached up, thumb brushing his cheek the way she used to during his worst fevers.
"You've grown up so much..."
"Stop! Stop saying those things..." Ren pleaded, bringing his fists down in a flurry.
Every blow was meant to bury the illusion.
His fists trembled above her.
"This isn't her."
"It's not her."
"It's not..."
His vision blurred—not from the illusion—but from the tears building in his own eyes. His tears hit her face, falling steadily, soaking her skin. Ren's fist cracked into her temple, and her head whipped to the side. Still, she turned back, smiling through the blood.
"You've done enough. You don't have to carry it all anymore…"
He pressed his forearm across her throat, but she didn't resist.
Her hand gripped his wrist gently, not to push him off—but to hold him.
"It's not her. It's not...I shouldn't feel like this."
"I forgive you, sweetheart." She continued in her motherly tone. "I always will..."
Ren raised both fists—and screamed as he brought them down one last time—
Squelch
The body beneath him stopped moving.
His breath came out broken, sulking in the moment.
Then, he looked down and froze.
His mother's face was no longer whole. The skin had collapsed beneath the force of his fists.
The walls of the bedroom began to crack further, webbing to the floor and the roof.
Ren staggered back, his arms limp at his sides.
"It wasn't her."
"It wasn't..."
And with the sound of a mirror shattering—
The illusion broke.
His body's agony came back when he returned—the blistered flesh on his right side, and the shattered bone on his left.
He felt the pressure coming from above, looking up to see the wyvern.
It was already mid-dive, five eyes locked on target, and mouth gaping wide.
As it passed overhead, jaws snapping shut—he rolled forward—directly under its claw.
As he slid to his feet, something deep within his ruined body surged.
Regeneration
Blistered skin began to tighten. Cracked bone aligned back into place.
He clenched his jaw, fighting through the pain.
The moment he regained full control of his arms, he was off towards Nocstella.
Ren reached out and snatched the dagger off the floor midway, still slick with wyvern blood.
She stood where she had watched everything.
With that same delicate smile.
With arms resting behind her back.
As he came within range, dagger low and killer's intent burning behind his eyes—
She took a single step back.
Her hand rose—just two fingers lifted—and she spoke in an almost bored tone.
"Iris…tear the heavens if you must."