Chapter 38: Are you her real son?

Rena stepped forward, her boots crunching against the cold ground.

She stood before Jaenor, silent, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. Her lips parted, but no words came—only the soft tremble of breath between them.

She had always believed—childishly, foolishly—that one day he’d be hers. That they’d grow up, marry, and raise children in the same village where they once played. But deep down, she knew her dreams had always clashed with her ambition. And now the road was calling her elsewhere.

To power. To destiny. Away from him.

Jaenor reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His hand lingered on her cheek, warm against her cold skin.

“It’s all right,” he said, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “You always wanted to go to the Coven. To become a witch. I guess… it was written.”

Rena threw her arms around him, clinging to the boy she once thought would be her future. “You’ll always be in my heart, Jaenor,” she whispered.

He held her close, his hand running gently down her back. “I know,” he murmured. “I know.”

He knew he loved her, but he hadn’t been faithful to her, and he thought he didn’t have the right to hold her back from achieving what she wants.

It was as simple as that. Though seeing her leave would pain him, but, it is what it is.

Jaenor was a sensible young man, and he didn’t want to come off as a clingy man, telling her to stay.

Baren was talking to his wife, who was still in a daze. It was too much for her, everything that happened.

Taeryn was checking on his mother and talked to her.

–

The villagers scrambled to prepare and pack their belongings.

Valara was taking the villagers away from the village until this was sorted. The sun had come down strong for the past few weeks, so there wasn’t much snow around the village.

Morgana stood apart from the others. Her blue eyes watched Jaenor as he sat beside his mother, both of them still mourning Garrick’s death.

The way Rosa clung to the boy, and the way that subtle red haze shimmered around him… it was unmistakable. She had a complex expression on her face and couldn’t take her eyes off Jaenor. She had been observing him from earlier, and the red haze streamed around his form, like it was clinging to him.

She looked at him, wholly, at his long black hair, which resembled her own. In this world not many had the distinct midnight black hair and his six-foot form, and no matter how much she pondered, she couldn’t help but feel familiar.

Darian stepped beside her, the snow crunching softly beneath his boots. His black armor clinked faintly as he lowered his voice. “Did you feel it too?”

Morgana didn’t take her eyes off Jaenor. “Yes,” she whispered.

“How could I not? That hum… that pulse of The Origin. Faint, but real.”

Darian exhaled slowly, awed. “It’s my first time seeing a male… using The Origin. I thought it was impossible. You do know the last one to wield it.”

A beat passed.

Morgana’s voice turned grim. “Yes, I know.”

He hesitated, watching her closely. “Do you think he’s… your—”

“I intend to find out.”

Deep down she knew; definitely he had to be. And thinking back to her brother and her family made her remember a lot of painful memories that she had tried to bury deep within herself.

Without waiting, Morgana strode toward them—her cloak billowing behind her like a storm cloud. Jaenor, now seated on a mossy stone holding his mother, Garrick’s face had turned pale. Jaenor covered him with a rug.

The older woman looked tired and distant, her eyes still red from tears and worry. Jaenor had his arm around her shoulders, comforting her like a son who had grown up far too fast.

Morgana stopped a few feet away. “I need to speak to you. Privately.”

Jaenor frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“I just need answers,” she said, then glanced at Rosa.

“From both of you.”

“What answers? Don’t you already have those three? What more do you need?”

Morgana sighed; her insides were screaming, but she composed herself. His voice sounded like him, and seeing Jaenor up close, her anticipation grew.

“It is important, please.”

Jaenor looked at her for a moment and then got up. He could tell it was something serious judging by her expression.

Jaenor helped his mother to her feet and followed Morgana to the edge of the woods, where the trees stood like silent guardians and no one dared listen in. Snow dusted the roots and branches above them, muting the world in soft silence.

“What is it you want?” Jaenor asked. His voice was rough from crying and shouting.

Morgana studied his face for a long moment. “I saw what you did back there. The red power that surrounded you. That’s not normal strength.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jaenor lied.

“Yes, you do.” Morgana’s voice was kind but firm. “Tell me, boy—are you Rosa’s real son?”

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