Chapter 925: Grief
In an instant—faster than most eyes could track—Mearie and Luminara stood from their chairs like synchronized automatons, their expressions blank only for a single second before warm, motherly alarm took over. They blurred across the room in a flash of shadow and silk, materializing beside the tanned warrioress with all the urgency of a battlefield medic and none of the chaos.
“Darling?” Mearie whispered, her voice soft enough to cradle a wounded heart. She conjured a silken handkerchief from pure white magic, infused with a calming aura, and dabbed gently at Serika’s cheek.
“Oh, my dumb brain!” Luminara cursed, pulling from her dimensional ring a bundle of sweet, cooling herbal leaves that glowed with restorative essence. “I should’ve known giving wine to a woman carrying grief the size of a mountain was a mistake! But I did it anyway, too self-centered to realize you were hurting!”
“That’s right… I’m guilty as well,” Mearie agreed wholeheartedly, wrapping a comfort cloak around Serika’s shoulders. “I gave you softness and distraction when I should’ve asked if you were okay. We didn’t see you properly.”
But Serika shook her head fiercely.
“N-no! Don’t say that!” she sobbed, voice ragged. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You were being incredibly kind to a stranger like me…
She trailed off.
The whole room fell still for a heartbeat.
Across the way, Quinlan and Feng both snapped out of their playful little games, their laughter dying on their lips. Guilt flickered through their expressions like candlelight in a storm.
Without a word, Feng turned on her heel and made for the ornate cabinet near the far wall. She rifled through it with quick, practiced fingers and pulled out a delicate crystal-glass teacup etched in swirling wave patterns, an heirloom from some noble vampire court.
She handed it to Quinlan, who accepted it solemnly. With a flick of his fingers, he drew moisture from the air and fire from his palm, boiling the water instantly. A quiet hiss filled the silence.
Then he passed it, steaming, to Luminara.
“Thank you, both…” She placed the glass on the low table and began working swiftly with her elven hands, crushing the glowing leaves between her palms, infusing the brew with calm, earthy notes and ancient magic that filled the air.
“Serika,” Mearie said softly, kneeling before the woman once called Fire Sovereign, “Quinlan showed us what happened. He shared it with us. Your sister’s actions, your father’s pain… your guilt.”
Luminara nodded, her voice gentle but certain. “There is nothing—absolutely nothing—you could have done better.”
“You made choices no one should have to make,” Mearie continued. “And you did so with courage, heart, and without time to think. You survived. That’s more than anyone had a right to expect of you.”
Then Luminara extended the warm brew toward her.
But Serika—still Serika, still prideful, still burdened—shook her head with a harsh motion.
“This is not some happiness drug, dear. You don’t have to worry about me doing such a cruel thing to you…” Luminara explained, her tone suddenly shifting into mother mode. Not stern, not scolding, just… inevitable. “You should feel your grief. But you don’t need to do it with a throat full of ash and a soul twisting in on itself.”
She reached out and gently closed Serika’s fingers around the glass.
“This isn’t a potion. It won’t fix you. But it will let you breathe.”
Serika stared at her for a long moment, then, grudgingly, lifted the tea to her lips.
It was warm. Bitter in the center, with soft floral notes that lingered after the heat passed her tongue. Her shoulders relaxed just slightly. Her chest still ached, but the ache no longer choked her.
“It’s a good brew… You primordials certainly know your way around your drinks…” she joked, looking away.
Behind her, Feng and Quinlan moved together. One hand each landed gently on Serika’s shoulders. Feng’s was comforting and fierce, like a little sister gripping her big sister’s arm during a storm. Quinlan’s was steady and quiet, like bedrock beneath crashing waves.
Together, they gave her something she hadn’t felt in a long time: the simple permission to fall apart without judgment.
And then—of course—the turbo-mommies went to work.
Mearie conjured a second, fluffier cloak and draped it over Serika’s lap, layering softness like armor. She then summoned a biscuit tray from her storage ring and began slicing tear-resistant cookies into heart shapes with alarming efficiency.
Luminara pressed a cool cloth to her forehead and whispered blessings in an ancient tongue, drawing warmth from Serika’s heart and breathing ease back in.
“We made a big mistake taking the kids here. This castle’s atmosphere is dreadful,” Mearie sniffed, casting a critical eye over the cold stonework, shadowy halls, and iron sconces that flickered with blue vampirefire. “Dark walls, no proper airflow, far too many brooding corners.”
“I’ve been thinking the same… We thought they’d find it cool, but it’s just a suffocating vampire abode,” Luminara admitted, her sigh heavy and wholly regretful. “I don’t even know what we were thinking… Our brains need some time to adjust to dealing with youngsters again after such a long absence, it seems…”
She turned her gaze toward Mearie, who met her glance with the unspoken fluency only immortal besties could share. A single flick of the eye. A faint nod. They understood one another instantly.
“Then it’s decided,” Mearie declared, her face turning solemn as she arrived at her decision.
Without further warning, she raised one elegant arm and summoned her spear from pure starlight. It snapped into being above her hand with a shimmer of reality-bending grace.
And as she stepped forward, the flowing feminine dress she wore clung just enough to reveal the raw strength beneath. Her plush hips and motherly softness were no disguise; they were a veil over the muscular, honed body of a peerless battlefield goddess. Her spine straightened, shoulder blades rolled, and her calves flexed like coiled power.
She twisted her wrist.
And hurled the spear.
*BOOOOOM!*
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