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I wasn’t sure which version of Kleitos was trying to calm my doppelganger down, but one of them slung an arm around its shoulders and pulled it in close like an annoyed older brother. I rolled my eyes. My patience for this little creature was wearing thin. I didn’t care if it had my face, it seriously needed to chill.

The other Kleitos, my actual father, fell into step beside me. Unlike his twin, he didn’t throw an arm around me or say anything at first. We just walked in silence, the kind that felt oddly comfortable. The house wasn’t far, but none of us seemed in a rush.

Eventually, Kleitos cleared his throat and slid his hand into his pocket. “Don’t take it personally,” he said with a calm but almost nostalgic edge to his voice. “My Naemira used to be frustrated with me too. It was… angry that I was unreachable for so many years.”

Taking a deep breath, I glanced sideways at him. Up close, he was even more intimidating, massive, really, but in that lightweight bodybuilder kind of way. Tall and sculpted but still lean enough to move like smoke. His hair was a warm, tanned blonde, pulled back into a tight bun, with loose coils bouncing freely around his temples. His golden skin practically shimmered under the sun.

“I don’t feel bad,” I muttered, just low enough that the shadow version of me hopefully couldn’t hear. “If that’s the same thing that’s been dragging me through all those memories, it can go to hell. It never explained anything. I asked it questions, nothing. Now suddenly it talks?”

He chuckled softly beside me, then reached out to pat my shoulder. “It takes time to manifest. I’m surprised you never shared any of this before. How long has he been calling to you?”

Shrugging, I thought back to the first real encounter. “I think it started when I first transitioned. That’s when he showed me the Queen standing over an empty crib… there was a lot of blood. I didn’t finish whatever he wanted me to see; I stormed out of the room.” My body tensed at the memory. Her screams echoed fresh in my mind, sharper than I wanted to admit. “It was terrible.”

His hand reached up again, this time gently touching my cheek. “I’m sorry you had to witness that. And I’m sorry that you’re going to have to see what comes next.”

“See what?” I asked, my voice edged with curiosity and caution.

We had finally reached the house when a delicate black carriage appeared in the distance, approaching slowly up the road. A single horse pulled it, guided by a driver dressed in dark attire. Inside, seated openly, were a man and woman dressed in garments so fine they almost glowed.

The man wore a tailored blue and white suit with a tall matching hat; the fabric so refined it looked soft even from here. Beside him, the woman wore a corseted gown with a skirt so full it seemed to float. Her ensemble mirrored his colors, blue and white, and her face bore little makeup, her beauty natural and serene.

“A memory I once had to watch myself,” he said quietly at my side. He gave me a small, knowing smile before continuing, “It doesn’t start out here, actually. Come on.” His hand found my arm, guiding me gently by the elbow up to the porch. From outside, I could already hear faint shrieks, high, panicked cries that belonged to a woman.

Both of our Naemiras had already entered the house, leaving the front door open for us. The home, despite its size, felt warm and intimate. There was a stone fireplace nestled in the living room, flanked by plush couches and low tables. Paintings hung on the walls, and books filled the wooden shelves lining every corner. In the center of the room, a fur rug lay across the floor, with soft pillows scattered around it.

But the shrieks, now clearer and sharper, began to echo off every wall.

Kleitos led us quickly up the staircase and down the far hallway to a room at the end. The door was already ajar, allowing the cries to spill into the corridor like a haunting melody. We slipped inside.

The room was filled with tension and urgency. A woman crouched low on all fours on the bed, completely unclothed, her legs spread wide as she labored in pain. Her belly was round and full, heavy with child. Sweat clung to her brow, and her hands gripped the linens beneath her as another cry ripped from her throat.

Two others were in the room. One was a man, tall and dark-featured, his expression intense and unreadable. The other was another woman, strikingly similar in appearance to the one giving birth. She too was pregnant, less far along, but unmistakably carrying life within her.

No one moved to help her as the baby crowned, her panting growing more erratic. “Lance,” she gasped through gritted teeth. “Please, Lance, help me—” Her voice barely rose above a whisper before another wave of contractions seized her body, arching her back in raw agony.

Lance flinched but didn’t move. He glanced toward the other woman in the room, and the jealousy etched across her face was unmistakable. Just as he made to step forward, her arm shot out across his chest, stopping him where he stood. Their eyes locked in a silent war; a conversation passed without words. After a tense beat, Lance swallowed hard and took a reluctant step back.

“You’re doing well, Ameega,” he said gently, but his voice held the weight of restraint, as if that was all he was allowed to give.

The names hit me a second later, Lance and Ameega.

Which meant...

The other woman was Aribella.

Why would they be showing me this?

I turned to Kleitos. He hadn’t said a word. His hand pressed flat against his chest, and his eyes were glassy, brimming with unshed tears.

Ameega braced herself, her hands moving between her legs as she gave one final push. Her entire body strained, muscles in her stomach visibly tensing, blood streaming down her thighs, until the baby slipped free into her waiting hands.

The infant was slick and crying, still attached by the long, curling umbilical cord. With trembling arms, she pulled the baby to her chest, nuzzling the tiny body close. Then, without hesitation, she severed the cord with a swift bite of her fang, breaking the bond between them.

Before she could even take a full breath, Aribella’s voice shattered the air. “Take him away!” The scream ripped from her throat, venomous and violent. A thick vein bulged at the side of her neck, her lips twisted into a snarl, fangs gleaming.

The baby began to wail, startled by the hateful tone.

Ameega’s proud, maternal gaze sharpened in an instant. If she hadn’t just given birth, I truly believe she would’ve taken them all down. “Lance, no! Please—” she cried as he ran toward her.