"What's taking so long?"
It had been forty-five minutes since Cecilia and her cohort had entered the focal point of the plane, yet there was still no sign of them.
Outwardly, Nayla kept her expression calm, but inside, unease gnawed at her. If anything happened to Cecilia, the mistress would not take it lightly. She knew too well how the mistress adored her lastborn.
She glanced at the rest of the entourage. They were seated in meditation, calmly cultivating. The air here was thick with fire essence— rich, nourishing, perfect for tempering their Avatars. For them, this trip was a rare opportunity to grow stronger.
But Nayla couldn't afford such luxury. Her duty was to protect Cecilia. And if harm befell the young mistress under her watch…
It would not only be her neck on the line.
The mistress's fury would fall upon everyone tied to this expedition— not just them, but their families as well.
A pair of eyes opened among the cultivators.
The young woman who had once caught Levi back then when he nearly slipped off to his death, she studied Nayla quietly.
The resemblance was undeniable— the sharp jawline, the steady gaze, even the faint mole beneath her left eye. Levi had guessed it before, but now the truth was obvious— she was Nayla's daughter.
And judging from the way her gaze lingered on her mother's clenched fists, she had noticed Nayla's unease too.
The girl rose to her feet, brushing a few embers of fire essence from her robes, and walked over.
"Mother". She said softly, low enough that the others couldn't hear. "You've been tense this whole time. What's wrong?"
Nayla's lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, she considered telling her— but no. That would only add weight to her daughter's shoulders. She forced her tone into something strict, though her voice betrayed a gentleness she couldn't quite hide.
"Nothing that concerns you. Go back to your cultivation". Nayla said. "This opportunity won't come again."
The girl's brows furrowed. "But—"
"Go." Nayla's gaze held firm, though the edges of her words softened. "I'll handle it."
But her daughter didn't move.
Instead, she stood there, rooted in place, her gaze locked onto Nayla's with a quiet stubbornness that words could not shake. The firelight shimmered against her eyes, unblinking, steady.
"Sophia". Nayla said at last, her voice firmer, invoking her daughter's name like a command.
Still, Sophia didn't relent. Her gaze said it all.
'I am not going anywhere until you tell me what's bothering you'.
Nayla felt the weight of that gaze settle in her chest. For a fleeting moment, she saw another pair of eyes, a different fire reflected in them— her husband's. He had always been the same— quiet, immovable, carrying his conviction not in words but in the way he stood his ground.
Nayla's throat tightened. Sophia had inherited that same unyielding streak, and for once, Nayla found herself at a loss for how to silence it.
Years ago, Nayla wasn't the hardened protector she is now. She was young, in love, and inseparable from her husband, Kael. The two of them had risen through the ranks together, both trusted enough to be given a dangerous joint mission by the mistress herself.
The task had been simple in theory— infiltrate enemy territory, retrieve a sealed relic, and destroy anyone who stood in their way. It was the kind of mission where success would mean advancement, but failure… meant death.
At first, everything went smoothly. They worked in perfect sync, blades flashing, their Avatars covering one another like two halves of a whole. But as they neared the relic's resting place, the trap sprung.
Kael was struck down by a curse meant for intruders. His Avatar withered before her eyes, and his body faltered, the mark of death already spreading across his skin. She rushed to his side, trying to save him— but he grabbed her wrist, his voice hoarse.
"Take the relic… finish the mission."
The order was merciless— if they returned without the relic, not only would they die, but their families would be punished for their failure. Nayla thought of Sophia, still an infant waiting for them at home.
The choice broke her.
If she saved Kael, even if they manage to escape alive, they couldn't go back to that clan without the relic and Sophia would grow up as the disgraced daughter of traitors.
If she abandoned him, she could complete the mission, protect their daughter, and uphold the clan's trust.
Kael saw her hesitation and smiled faintly, as though he already knew.
"Live for her, Nayla. Let me be the one to fall."
And so, with trembling hands, she left him there. She stole one last look— her husband lying among fire and ruin, smiling for her and their child— before she turned her back and carried out the mission alone.
She succeeded. She returned alive. Sophia was spared. But the cost was carved into her soul forever.
Since then, Nayla carried herself with strictness and unyielding discipline, telling herself it was the only way to shield Sophia. Yet every time she looked at her daughter's eyes— Kael's eyes— her heart ached with the memory of that choice.
So when she told Lyra—
"The choice between love and family… I've stood on this bridge before, Lyra. And I made mine".
She wasn't just giving counsel. She was bleeding an old wound in words, reminding herself of the man she left behind, and the weight she still bore.
.
.
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[A comment would be very much appreciated]