“When I finally pulled my head out of my ass, you had already moved on. You had gotten used to living without me, learning magic from Malyshka and everything else by yourself.
“When you needed me the most, I wasn’t there for you and when I understood how much I needed you, you returned me the favor. You remember little of me in your adult life because there’s little to remember and none of it is pleasant.”
“Were we that much of a dysfunctional family?” Solus asked.
“Worse but I’d rather not talk about such depressing memories right after being finally reunited.” Menadion sighed.
“Then let’s not do it, Mom.” Solus refused to let her mother go. “For better or for worse, my amnesia gives us a fresh start. You have a second chance at being my mother and I at being your daughter. What do you say?”
“That it’s a lovely idea.” Ripha sniffled.
“Only on two conditions.” Solus said. “Call me Solus and never flaunt your abs in front of me. Okay?”
“Okay, but does it also include my pajamas?” Menadion pulled away, shapeshifting the Skinwalker armor into Mogar’s equivalent of a crop top and loose hot pants.
“Mom! The armor can only replicate the clothes it stores. You planned for this!”
“Guilty as charged.” Ripha nodded. “But this is what I’ve always worn to sleep. There’s no malice in my choice of sleepwear.”
“That’s not…” Solus thought back to the times when she had barged into her parents’ bedroom and found similar clothes in her memories. “I mean, that’s true but why?”
“Because it was easy to put on when you barged into our room while your father and I… hugged and because this way I didn’t need to change before running to the Forge after a sudden flash of inspiration. Back then there was no Skinwalker armor.”
“Oh, yeah. The Epphy protocol. Now I remember.” Solus sighed.
“Gods, did you know?”
“Yes, but I never connected the dots until I was much, much older.” Solus replied. “Back then I thought the name referred to the stuffed animals you and Dad kept in your room.”
“They were only one part of plan, dear.” Menadion cleared her throat. “You know, to keep you busy while we put our clothes on.”
“Mom! Too much information. Especially after seeing you naked.” Solus emitted retching sounds. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Okay. Ask me anything you want.” Ripha nodded.
“Can you put other clothes on?” Solus asked. “I can feel your abs glaring at me and it’s destroying my self-confidence.”
“Sorry, sweetie.” Menadion slipped into something baggier. “Second question.”
“How did you meet Valeron the First?”
“Uncle Val came looking for me.” Ripha conjured the hologram of a young Menadion looking no different from now working in a smithy and of an even younger but scruffy Valeron who looked older than her.
“He needed weapons for his friends and wanted only the best for them. Back then, I was still Lochra’s apprentice but my Forgemastering skills had already surpassed hers…”
Mother and daughter kept talking for hours, filling in the blanks in each other’s life. Solus would have gladly spent the entire night like that, but after a while, she sent Menadion back into the Void Sigil.
‘We have plenty of time and Mom has already sacrificed so much for me. After seven hundred years of restless wandering, she deserves some rest.’
***
The room into which Menadion opened her eyes the following morning was familiar yet foreign, startling her.
For a brief moment, she forgot she was dead, that her husband was dead, and that her tower didn’t belong to her anymore. As she looked around Lith’s bedroom and Kamila smiled at her, however, Menadion quickly remembered when and where she was.
“I can’t believe what I’m about to say, but I would have liked to sleep a bit longer.” She sighed while assessing her mental condition.
The rage and obsession that had accompanied her for seven long centuries were still there, yet Menadion could feel their edges had become smoother and their flame less violent.
The endless suffering was over, with old and new happy memories washing away the pain from her mind as the Void Sigil nurtured her soul.
“How do you feel, Ripha?” Kamila asked.
“I only got two good nights’ sleep after seven hundred years of wake but I feel… more centered.” Menadion replied.
If being a wandering soul was akin to constant marching to the rhythm of relentless war drums, sleeping inside a Void Sigil was like hammering a blade on an anvil.
There was a pause between the strikes, a peace that allowed the blacksmith to adjust the angle and strength of the next blow. The rage heated the forge and the obsession drove the hand wielding the hammer, but there was method and discipline to it.
When the hammer fell, Menadion was made painfully aware of her mistakes, the opportunities she had missed, and the things she had left unsaid. When the hammer lingered in the air, instead, the Void Sigil showed her the happy moments that had defined her life.
The moments of pain were no less intense than when she was still a wandering soul, constantly forced to remember her final moments and chase after the source of her grief. Yet they hurt in a different way.
Suffering and peace had each a clear purpose. One showed Menadion the wrongs she had done and could now fix while the other bathed her in the things she had done right and pushed her to make more.
A wandering soul had no way to interact with the world of the living and only sought to perpetuate their misery to prolong their existence. A Demon, instead, possessed a semblance of life and as such needed a purpose.
The Void Sigil preserved the former and provided the latter.
“Why am I naked and where’s Lith?” It took Menadion a few seconds to notice she wasn’t wearing her Skinwalker armor and Lith’s absence.
“He conjured you from the bathroom to give us a bit of privacy.” Kamila pointed at several pieces of clothing displayed on the bed. “Yesterday we were a bit in a rush so he gave you what we had at the ready. Today we can take things with more calm.
“Pick whatever you’d like to wear today and tell me which of these clothes suit your taste. I’ll have our tailor have them prepared by the time we go back to Lutia.”
“Are you serious?” Menadion asked in confusion.
“Of course, Ripha. Death took everything away from you. Aside from the hammer you made out of stolen components, you owe nothing. Lith wants to correct the situation.”
“It’s a thoughtful and kind gesture.” Menadion was almost moved by those words. “Also, out of character. Was this your idea?”
She knew that Kamila was the one who treated the Demons with humanity. Lith usually just went along with it.
“No, Lith thought about this on his own.” Kamila chuckled. “He’s a bit inconsiderate sometimes, but he’s not a bad man.”
“I guess you are right.” Menadion remembered the time Lith had bought Solus her own communication amulet and the many clothes of her wardrobe as she put a loose white linen robe typical of the Blood Desert. “I’ll take this, this, this…”
