Months passed, and life in the Graves household continued as usual.Each morning, Carol walked Elian to school, then spent her day helping at the neighborhood café. In the afternoon, she picked him up, and if his friends invited him to play, she would watch from a distance until sunset. Then they'd return home, have dinner, and fall asleep.
Five quiet months went by like that—filled with laughter, routines, and a fragile peace that almost felt real.
One night, as Carol tucked him into bed, Elian broke the silence with a sleepy voice."Mom… I'm tired of this."
"Of what, sweetheart?" she asked, adjusting his blanket.
"Of being watched all the time," he said, sitting up. "I know you want to protect me, to keep me safe, but… it's too much. You take me to school even though it's just a few blocks away. You watch me while I play, even if you don't say anything… I get it, but I don't like it. All my friends say the same thing—it's weird that you still treat me like I'm five or six."
Carol stayed silent. It was the first time Elian had ever spoken to her like that—with a tone that carried both sadness and fatigue. She didn't know what to say.
"Elian, honey… I know it must be hard, but it's—"
"It's for my own good. I know," he interrupted. "I just wanted to tell you." He turned his back to her and curled up under the blanket. "That's all, Mom. Goodnight."
Carol stared at him for a long time, questions gnawing at her heart. Am I suffocating him? Am I doing the right thing? Will he hate me one day for this? She had imagined those questions before—but living them was another kind of pain.
The next morning, everything went on as usual. School. Café. Dinner. Laughter. Until night fell.
"Elian, sweetheart," said Carol as he brushed his teeth, "tonight… we're going back to the park. You've been 'locked up' long enough." She made air quotes and smiled.
"Really, Mom?" he asked, his face lighting up with disbelief and joy. "Really?! Yes! I get to go out again!" he shouted, nearly dancing with excitement.
Even though she would still keep a watchful eye on him, Elian missed that feeling of freedom—the cool night air, the silence, the stars… and the company of his mother.
That night, they went out. The sky was clear, the stars flickering faintly above the lamplight. Elian ran, laughed, played—and Carol, for the first time in years, allowed herself to smile without fear. Everything was perfect.
Until something changed.
Carol heard footsteps among the trees. Heavy. Coordinated. Not neighbors.
"Elian, stay close to me," she whispered, pushing him behind her.
A deep voice rose from the shadows:"Target confirmed. Awaiting authorization for neutralization."
Five men emerged from between the trees, all wearing military uniforms marked with the emblem of a crowned raven—the Order of the Black Mantle. The leader, with a headset in his ear, received a short command.
"Understood. Capture the target. Eliminate all witnesses," he said coldly.
The four soldiers lunged forward, separating mother and son.
"Elian!" screamed Carol as they pinned her to the ground.
"MOM!" cried the boy, struggling helplessly against the hands that held him.
The leader drew his pistol, aimed at Carol, and pulled the trigger five times.
Three shots to the chest. Two to the head. Precise. Mechanical.
Elian screamed."MOM!"
Carol fell still. Blood spread beneath her body. The child kicked and thrashed, crying in the arms of the soldier who restrained him. A black van pulled up nearby, doors open, engine rumbling.
Then—a stone flew from the darkness and struck one of the soldiers square in the head.
"Where the hell do you think you're going, you sons of bitches?" roared Carol.
She was standing. Breathing. The wounds still smoked, but were sealing before their stunned eyes. Her golden hair darkened to a deep black, and her gaze blazed with inhuman fury.
"She's a Novalyth!" shouted one of the men.
"Authorization for close combat. Permission to use Elyths," barked the leader.
He raised his hand, and two massive columns of earth erupted from the ground—one before her, one behind. They crossed in an instant, impaling her. The impact stopped her just long enough to inhale… and then she shattered the pillars with a scream.
She charged. Bullets, knives, stone—none of it mattered. She tore through them like a storm unbound. Every wound sealed instantly; every strike made her stronger. She was the same woman who had once survived the Calamyr and the wild lands beyond Lirium.
One by one, the men fell.
"MOM! OVER HERE!" shouted Elian, voice trembling.
"Elian!" she called back, turning toward him—
—and the leader, still standing, spoke calmly into his headset."Permission to deploy the Blacks."
Silence. Then a voice replied:"Permission granted."
He walked to the van, opened a black case, and pulled out a sniper rifle. Inside a smaller box were five bullets—each pure, lightless black. They didn't shine or reflect; they devoured light, like fragments of the void itself.
The leader loaded a single round, aimed, and fired.
The sound was flat. PUM.
Carol looked down, stunned, as the bullet pierced her chest. This time, the wound didn't close. Her regeneration stopped. Cold spread through her limbs.
For the first time in 259 years, Carol Graves was dying.
"Witness neutralized. Proceed with target extraction," the leader said into his comm.
Elian screamed, his voice raw with terror."MOM! GET UP! PLEASE, MOM, I WON'T ASK TO GO OUT ANYMORE! I WON'T COMPLAIN! I PROMISE I'LL BE GOOD—JUST GET UP, PLEASE!"
The leader didn't even look at him. He gestured for the soldier to release the boy from the earth, then threw him into the van like a lifeless doll. Elian's cries echoed long after the vehicle disappeared into the night.
On the ground, Carol could barely move her head. She lifted her eyes just enough to see her son being carried away, his small voice breaking the air. She felt herself die twice—once from the bullet, and once from that sound.
"I–I'm sorry, my… my little one…" she whispered.
Her hair turned golden again, its ends blackened by blood. Tears slid down her cheeks as her eyes closed for the last time.
Carol Graves died at 259 years old—defending her son, but unable to save him.