Chapter 304 — Acceptance

Damian’s face went helpless. The puppy-dog eyes were out in full force now, weaponized maternal guilt aimed directly at him.

"Alright, alright. But what about Luna? Where is she?"

Lyandra dropped the act immediately, her voice returning to normal.

"She’ll wake up around afternoon... She’s been sleeping a lot lately."

Something about that statement made Damian’s instincts prickle with warning, but he couldn’t quite pin down why it bothered him.

"How long was I asleep?"

"More than five days straight."

Five days... That was long.

"...Do you happen to have any idea about my communication device?"

"Your council president sent it here by delivery. She said you gave it to her before the tournament."

Lyandra headed upstairs to get dressed, leaving Damian alone in the living room.

He pulled out his device and started scrolling through forums and news feeds, catching up on everything that had happened while he’d been unconscious.

The portal incident was everywhere. Every detail about what had happened inside had been released to the public instead of being classified like he’d expected.

His actions, the creatures, the deaths and the Nobles he’d killed for using commoners as shields... All of it was out there for the entire Federation to see and judge.

His Mafia communication channel had hundreds of unread messages. He opened it, typed a quick "I’m okay" and closed it again.

He didn’t want to think about any of it right now.

Lyandra came back down wearing an elegant dress that somehow managed to look both casual and expensive. She held a hat and dark sunglasses in her hands.

"You’re even more famous now. Wear these."

Damian took the disguise without arguing.

They got into the car and drove off toward the city center, leaving the estate behind.

****

[Several Hours Later - In the Car]

Damian slumped in the passenger seat, exhausted in ways that had nothing to do with his degraded Will stat.

Shopping with his mother had always been an endurance test. She had the energy of someone half her age and the determination of someone hunting their natural prey.

He’d tried on more outfits than he could count, stood in more dressing rooms than seemed physically possible and nodded along to questions about colors and cuts and styles that all looked identical to his untrained eye.

And through it all, Lyandra had been cheerful and energetic and absolutely merciless.

Now they sat in the car heading home, shopping bags filling their spatial rings and Damian felt like he’d just survived another hostile Portal!

Lyandra drove in silence for a while, but her eyes kept flicking toward him.

Watching the way his gaze would drift to the window, then snap back. The way his jaw would tighten for no apparent reason and the slight flinch when shadows moved wrong.

"So," she said finally, her voice casual. "Who was Nera?"

Damian’s head turned toward her, his expression carefully blank.

"How do you–"

"You kept muttering the name when Luna was holding you." Lyandra’s hands stayed steady on the wheel. "And just now, you looked at that empty seat like someone was sitting there."

Damian was quiet for a moment. Then he looked back out the window, his voice coming out distant.

"...Someone who made Alessio. Sort of like... the only motherly figure he ever had."

A small smile touched his lips, sad but genuine.

"She found him bleeding in an alley after a gang fight. Could have left him there to die like everyone else did. But she didn’t... She took him home, patched him up and gave him a place to stay."

He paused, the smile widening slightly at the memory that wasn’t quite his own.

"She taught him how to hold a fork properly, how to stand without looking like street trash, how to read, do math and present himself like he was worth something."

His voice carried a warmth that had been absent moments before.

"She ran a mafia family. Real one, not like the gangs he’d known. People who actually cared about each other and who had loyalty that went deeper than fear. She taught him what family could mean when it wasn’t just violence holding it together."

Lyandra listened without interrupting, her expression soft.

"She sounds like a good woman."

"She was." Damian’s smile faded. "She died. Alessio... he couldn’t save her."

The words came out flat and factual, but his hands had tightened in his lap.

"There was a drug cartel that made a move. He got a call saying she was in danger, that he needed to get there and save her. But by the time he arrived..."

His voice trailed off.

Lyandra waited, giving him space to continue or not.

"She was already dead," Damian said quietly. "Had been for a while before he got there. They’d... it wasn’t a clean death."

He stared out the window at passing streetlights.

"He killed them all afterward... The entire cartel. Made them suffer for what they did, but it didn’t change anything... She was still gone."

"And you’re hearing whispers related to her?"

"Yeah."

"You feel... guilty about not saving her?"

Damian’s jaw clenched.

"...Yes. But mostly..." He stopped, struggling with how to put it into words. "Mostly it’s about not knowing what her last thoughts were."

His voice became quieter.

"Was she thinking about him? That he wasn’t there to save her? Or did she... not blame him for being too slow?"

His hands unclenched, then clenched again.

"Not knowing kills me from the inside. If it was hate, I could accept that. I could understand it. But I don’t know... And I’ll never know. And that’s–"

"She wouldn’t."

Lyandra’s voice cut through his spiral, firm and certain.

Damian looked at her.

"You don’t know that... You didn’t know her."

"I don’t need to know her." Lyandra turned onto a quieter road. "I’m a mother. And mothers don’t blame their children for things beyond their control."

"She wasn’t actually his mother–"

"Doesn’t matter." Lyandra’s voice was gentle but absolute. "You said she found him bleeding and broken, took him in, taught him everything and gave him a family when he had nothing."

She glanced at him.

"That’s a mother, Damian. Blood doesn’t make you a parent... Caring does. And no mother, no real mother, spends her last moments hating the child she chose to save."

"You... can’t know what she thought."

"No. But I know what I would think." Lyandra’s voice cracked slightly. "When you love someone, your last thoughts aren’t about yourself, they’re about the people you’re leaving behind... If something happened to me, if I was dying and you weren’t there to stop it, you know what my last thought would be?"

Damian said nothing.

"I’d be hoping you were somewhere safe, somewhere far away from whatever killed me. I’d be so grateful you weren’t there to die alongside me."

She pulled into their neighborhood.

"And I’d be proud. So incredibly proud of the person you’d become. That’s what mothers think about. Not blame or anger... Just love and hope that their children survive even when they don’t."

Damian’s throat felt tight. He looked away, blinking hard.

"...You’re just saying that."

"I’m saying it because it’s true." Lyandra’s voice was soft. "Your guilt isn’t about what she actually thought. It’s about what you think you deserve to hear... And traumatized people always think they deserve blame."

She pulled into their driveway and parked but didn’t get out yet.

"The memories are going to keep coming from time to time in your life, even when your mind is stable. The whispers, the hallucinations, all of it... You can’t run from them."

"I’m not–"

"You are."

Lyandra turned to look at him directly.

"You need acceptance... Accept that some questions won’t ever have answers, accept that uncertainty is part of living with loss and... accept the memories completely. They’re part of you now, part of Alessio and part of everything you’ve survived. Running from memories just gives them power. Accepting them takes that power away."

"...How?"

"You don’t need to rush it." Lyandra’s voice became warmer. "Life is very interesting that way. It gives you everything at the right time. Whether it’s acceptance, answers, peace... whatever you desperately need. It comes when you’re ready for it, not before."

She smiled, something genuine and maternal.

"Just like I wanted kids for so long. Tried everything, went to every healer, spent years thinking it would never happen. And then one day, it did. At exactly the right time. When I was actually ready to be a mother instead of just wanting to be one."

She reached out and ruffled his hair, the gesture affectionate and grounding.

"So don’t force yourself to heal faster than your mind can handle. Don’t try to rush past the grief or the guilt or the questions. They’ll settle eventually. And when they do, you’ll know what Nera’s last thoughts really were."

"How?"

"Because you’ll finally be able to forgive yourself enough to hear the truth instead of the punishment you think you deserve."

Lyandra opened her door and got out, leaving Damian sitting there with her words echoing in his head.

He looked down at his hands, thinking about Nera’s smile in his hallucinations, the way it had twisted from pride to hatred, the way his broken mind couldn’t decide which version was real...

’Maybe neither is real. Maybe both are just what I’m projecting onto her because I can’t... let her go.’

He got out of the car and followed his mother inside.

The smell of cooking food reached him immediately, familiar and comforting and achingly normal.

Whatever darkness was coming, whatever memories were still waiting to surface, whatever guilt was still eating at him from the inside...

Right now, he was home. With people who loved him a with a mother who understood grief without him having to explain it.

And maybe that was enough.