Velara's POV.
I watch Malakar walk away — tall, proud, and so heartbreakingly familiar. My son. My beautiful boy. There’s still so much we haven’t said to each other, still wounds left to heal, but we’re trying. And that’s something. Maybe even everything.
The door creaks softly behind me, and I don’t need to turn to know who it is. I feel him before he speaks — I always do.
“He’s looking more and more like you every day,” Vladimir murmurs beside me, his voice a low balm against the breeze.
I smile, my heart tugging. “No. He’s stronger than I ever was at that age.”
“He’s stronger because he had to be. But that strength — that heart — comes from you.”
I glance at him, raising a brow. “I thought you hated when I got sentimental.”
“I do,” he says with a smirk. “But I love you more than
