Mira's POV.

I’ve been sitting beside Lyra’s bed for two days. She breathes, eats when prompted, and exists. but she’s not here. The head healer approaches carefully. “Her body is recovering. But her mind has gone somewhere we can’t reach.”

“Will she come back?” I already know there’s no certainty. “That depends on whether she finds something worth returning to.” Kael enters quietly. He never stays long.

“You need rest,” he says, gentle, not commanding.

“I’m fine.” We both know I’m not. “There’s something we need to do. The grave. Our child’s tomb. It’s ready.” My stomach drops. “I can’t leave her.” “Marcus will stay with her,” he says. “You can’t help her if you don’t face this.” “And grieving for a child I never knew will help?”

“Yes. Because pretending they didn’t exist isn’t helping either.” I look at Lyra’s blank face. I hate that he’s right. “If she wakes.”

“Marcus will send for you.” I squeeze her hand. “I’ll be back.” No response. We walk through Blackridge in silence. Wolves nod but keep their distance. Everyone knows where we’re going.

The eastern cemetery appears through the trees. Ancient oaks cast long shadows. Kael leads me to a small gray stone beneath the largest oak. Flowers surround it. The stone is unmarked. Waiting. I stop. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You’re not doing it alone,” Kael says. “We both lost this child.” Somehow, that steadies me. I step forward. My knees give out. Six years of unspoken grief tear through me.

“I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I didn’t know. I should have known.” Kael kneels beside me, tears streaming. “I didn’t know either,” he whispers. “I rejected your mother, and you paid for it.”

We cry together. I touch the stone. “Were you a boy or a girl? I don’t even know.” “Theron didn’t say. Records were destroyed,” Kael says. “They erased everything.” “Except the grave. Alone.”

The thought shatters me. “What would they have been like?” I ask. “Strong. Stubborn. Beautiful,” Kael says softly. “We’ll never know.” Grief shifts to fury. “The Elders, Cyrus, they stole this.”

“They thought their plan mattered more than our child’s dignity,” I spat. “Buried secretly. Like a shame.” “They treated our child like a problem,” Kael says, jaw tight. Anger is easier than sadness. But it fades, leaving only sorrow.

“I blamed you for everything,” I admit. “You should have,” Kael says quietly. “I rejected you.” “But you didn’t kill our baby. Circumstances did.” “And I wasn’t there to protect you.” His guilt is raw. “I should’ve told you I was pregnant,” I say. “But I was scared.” “We both made choices,” he says. “Our child paid for them.”

The weight settles between us. “Do you think Cyrus believed he was saving me?” I ask. “Maybe at first. But six years of lies? That was fear.” “He loved me,” I say. “But not enough to risk the truth.” “Possession, not love,” Kael murmurs. “They need a name,” I say. “We can’t leave them nameless.” “I don’t even know if.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Silence. Then: “Ashen,” Kael says. “From ashes. Rising from destruction.” I let it settle. “Ashen. Yes.”

“Ashen Thorne-Voss?” he asks. “Yes.” I trace the stone. “They mattered.” I gather stones to circle the grave. Kael places wildflowers. Ritual. A beginning. “You should have had birthdays,” I whisper. “A life.”

Kael adds softly, “I would’ve taught you to fight. To lead. I’m sorry.”

“You existed,” we say together. “I mattered.” Something in the air shifts, acknowledgment long overdue. “Lyra is alive because Ashen died,” I say. “Maybe many things could have happened,” Kael says. “Maybe none.” “Is it wrong that I love Lyra, knowing she lives because Ashen didn’t?”

“No,” Kael says immediately. “Both truths can exist.” The thought loosens something in me. “I’ll help make a proper marker,” I say. “It’s our choice,” he replies. “I’ll visit,” I promise Ashen. “You won’t be alone.”

“Maybe someday Lyra will come,” Kael adds. “If she wants to," I finish. We stand slowly. My legs protest after kneeling for so long. "Goodbye, Ashen," we say together. "We love you." The walk back is different. Lighter somehow, despite the grief. "Thank you," I tell Kael. "I couldn't have done that alone."

"Neither could I."

"Does this change things? Between us?"

He considers. "It's honest. That's something." I quicken my pace as the medical facility comes into view. I need to see Lyra. "Go," Kael says. "I'll handle the marker." Marcus stands when I enter. "No change. She's still." I take my place beside her bed. But I'm different now.

I'm holding space for two daughters, one dead, one disappearing. "I just came from a grave," I tell Lyra. "Your," I pause. "The baby who died. Their name was Ashen." Silence. But I keep talking.

"I loved them without knowing them. And I love you, even knowing everything was false." My voice strengthens. "Both truths exist. Neither cancels the other." I squeeze her hand. "When you're ready, I'll take you to meet Ashen. Because you're part of this story too."

"You're here. Alive. That matters." Her fingers move. So slight, I think I imagined it. Then again. Stronger. A squeeze.

"Lyra?"

A pause that stretches forever. Then, barely audible: "Ashen." She heard me. She's still in there. "Yes," I whisper, crying. "Ashen. The child who should have lived." Lyra's voice cracks from disuse. "And you are the mother who should have been theirs."

The words hit like a physical blow. True and devastating. I press my forehead to her hand, sobbing. She doesn't pull away. Her fingers tighten around mine. Not much. Not acceptance. But connection.

Her eyes are still unfocused, staring past me at nothing. But she spoke. She squeezed my hand. It's more than I had two minutes ago. "I'm here," I tell her. "I'm choosing you. Every day. Whether you believe it or not."

Her breath hitches. Almost like a sob, but dry. “I don't know how to do this," she whispers. "Neither do I." I hold her hand like a lifeline. "But we'll figure it out. Together. If you want to."

"Do I get to want things?" Her voice is so small. "Yes," I say it with everything in me. "You get to want. You get to choose. You get to decide who you are."

"I don't know who that is."

"Then we'll find out." I wipe my eyes with my free hand. "We'll find out together." She doesn't respond. But she doesn't let go either.

The sun moves across the sky. We sit in fragile silence inside the house. Two women broken by lies. Trying to build something real from the pieces. It's not forgiveness yet. Not healing or family.

But it's a beginning.