The day unfolded in hushed preparations for the ceremonial blessings of the newborn prince. Yet beneath the surface of the palace's grandeur, a fragile quiet clung to the halls—a quiet woven with sorrow too heavy for words.
When Nemesis awoke that morning, his small frame curled beneath the silken sheets, silent tears stained his cheeks. He refused to wail, yet the ache of his absent father weighed visibly upon him. Even Hades, still too young to understand the complexity of longing, grew restless and irritable in the nursery, his fussing mistaken by the attendants as a child's simple yearning for his father's embrace.
Luciana bore the burden of their sorrow in silence. She closed her eyes as she nursed both Ra'el and Hades, her mind adrift in quiet prayers—pleas for their aching hearts to ease, for the uncertainty to relent.
It was then Augusta entered, her expression grim. "Your Highness… it's Nemesis," she announced gently. "He's hurt himself."
A sharp knot formed in Luciana's chest. Hastily, she entrusted both infants to the care of their nurses and swept out of the chambers, the faint cries of Ra'el still lingering behind her as she hurried down the marble corridors.
In the outer courtyard, a small gathering of soldiers and servants formed a circle, their faces tense with quiet concern. At its center, Nemesis stood upright, his wings having already vanished into the ether, but his frame trembling, his expression void of tears—just pain and a fragile dignity clinging to him.
Luciana pressed through the crowd, her composure fraying at the edges as she fell to her knees beside him. Her hands immediately searched his small limbs for injury.
"Nemesis—!" Her voice cracked, fraught with maternal panic.
Relief fluttered through her when she found only shallow abrasions along his elbows and knees, no sign of serious harm. But the pallor in his face told a different story—a hurt far deeper than scrapes.
"How did this happen?" Luciana demanded, her tone sharp as her eyes swept over the gathered servants.
They exchanged hesitant glances until finally, one of the guards stepped forward, voice low with unease. "The young prince… he attempted to fly—higher than he's ever dared before. We tried to follow, but he lashed out, commanding us to leave him be. He—he said he was going to find his father."
Luciana's heart clenched. Her lips parted, yet no reprimand surfaced. She understood all too well. The weight of responsibility pressed mercilessly on her chest.
Nemesis remained quiet, his gaze fixed to the ground. Determined, he stood unaided, brushing off the faint dust on his palms, but his small hands trembled unmistakably.
"Come, let's get you treated," Luciana urged softly, taking his hand in hers. His fingers were cold, his shoulders faintly shaking, but he offered no resistance.
The murmurs among the servants persisted as they parted, whispers threading through the air like smoke. Luciana heard every word—the rumors, the veiled accusations. They dug deeper than any blade.
She led Nemesis through the palace, her exhaustion mounting, her steps heavy with guilt and grief. He trailed beside her, head bowed in silence.
At the infirmary, the healers immediately tended to him, inspecting the wounds and preparing salves of herbal ointment. One approached Luciana with quiet concern.
"Your Highness, shall we treat you as well?" he inquired, noticing the strain evident in her features.
She shook her head, her attention anchored solely on Nemesis.
The boy flinched as the cold salve was applied to his scrapes, the sting drawing a sharp breath from him. The healer worked carefully, binding the shallow wounds.
"The injuries are superficial," the healer assured her. "There will be no scarring if the ointment is applied regularly. He'll recover in three days."
"Thank you. You may leave us," Luciana replied, her voice weary but composed.
Once alone, she settled into a chair facing Nemesis. He sat quietly on the examination bed, shoulders hunched, his small frame dwarfed by the sterile room.
"Nemesis," she called gently.
He flinched but did not meet her eyes.
"Look at me," she urged, reaching out, cupping his cheek with delicate fingers.
His eyes lifted momentarily, glassy with unshed tears, but faltered again, falling to the floor.
"Will you tell me why you did something so dangerous?" she asked, her voice firm yet brimming with tenderness. "The Nemesis I know doesn't take reckless risks."
His lips quivered as he tried to steady his breathing. When he finally spoke, his voice fractured with emotion.
"Dade… he left us again. I wanted to find him… tell him to come back and take us with him," Nemesis whispered, his composure collapsing into tears that rolled freely down his cheeks. His small hands balled into fists upon his lap.
Luciana's heart fractured at his confession—the raw longing, the heartbreak only a child could voice so purely.
"Oh, sweet one… your father hasn't abandoned you," she whispered, though the words tasted hollow in her mouth. Even she struggled to believe them fully.
"Then why do they talk about us? Why do they look afraid when they see me… or Hades… even Ra'el? I heard them say… he's bad blood. What does that mean, Mama?" His voice cracked, overwhelmed with the confusion and cruelty he had quietly endured.
Luciana moved beside him, drawing him into her embrace, cradling him tightly as his sobs deepened.
"Dade… hic… he promised he'd be here today… for my birthday… and Hades' too… today was supposed to be the best day… but he left…" Nemesis's voice broke entirely as grief poured from him.
Luciana froze, the realization searing through her—today was Nemesis's sixth birthday. In the storm of political unrest, the whispers, the unease among her people… she had forgotten. The guilt sank its claws deeper.
A knock at the door interrupted the moment. A servant entered, eyes downcast.
"Your Highness… the Emperor Helios requests your presence," he announced, glancing briefly at Nemesis, his pity evident.
"I'll come shortly. Inform him," Luciana responded quietly, not loosening her hold on her son.
As the servant departed, her resolve crumbled. She pressed her lips to Nemesis's dark hair, her voice breaking.
"I'm so sorry, my love… I've made you and your brother carry burdens that aren't yours," she whispered, her confession weighted with helplessness. "Your father… left our fate in my hands. And I—I…"
Nemesis could feel her trembling. His young mind recognized the fear beneath her strong facade—the same fear she tried so valiantly to hide.
For as long as he could remember, his parents were entwined in something complicated, fractured—held together more by duty and the desperate love for their children than by peace between themselves.
But despite the whispered words of the servants… despite the looks from strangers… he knew his mother carried the weight of the world for them.
Lifting his tear-streaked face, he saw the glisten of her tears as she buried her face in his shoulder.
"Mama… please don't cry," he pleaded softly, his small hands clumsily wiping her cheeks. "I promised Dade I'd protect you… and my brothers… promised you wouldn't cry…"
Luciana choked on a sob, her apologies spilling between them as she crumbled under the weight of grief.
But Nemesis, his voice faint but determined, whispered, "Mama's strong."
Her breath caught, eyes widening as his words settled between them.
"You're kind… gentle… you protect us… you're… beautiful," Nemesis added, his voice steadying, determined to lift her the way she lifted them.
She didn't meet his eyes, only stroked his head with trembling hands, her lips curving in a fragile smile.
"Maybe… maybe you're stronger than me," she whispered, holding him close as both their hearts began to mend—if only for a moment.