Page 49 of Demon Daddy's Hidden Son
Braylon wraps his small arms around both of them in turn, babbling something that might be words of farewell or might just be happy sounds. When Nomi finally sets him down, he looks between the villagers with bright curiosity but no apparent distress.
I watch Kaleen as she makes her rounds, accepting hugs and well-wishes with genuine warmth. But there's no hesitation in her movements, no backward looks filled with regret. She moves through these farewells with the grace of someone completing a necessary ritual, not someone leaving her heart behind.
When Lake finally appears, walking slowly from the direction of his father's brewery, I tense despite myself. But Kaleen's greeting is friendly without being intimate—the kind of warmth she'd show any good friend.
"Take care of yourself," she tells him, and there's real affection in her voice. But it's the affection of fondness, not love. "Thank you for everything you've done for us."
He nods, his expression carefully neutral. "Safe travels, Kaleen. You too, little man," he adds, reaching down to touch Braylon's cheek gently.
The moment is bittersweet but not painful. Whatever complicated feelings might exist between them have been resolved, or at least set aside. Lake steps back with dignity intact, and I find myself respecting him for it.
Finally, it's time to go. I help Kaleen into the carriage, then lift Braylon up beside her. He immediately presses his face to the window, fascinated by this new adventure.
As I take the reins and signal the zarryn forward, I glance back at Kaleen one more time. She's looking out the window too, but her expression isn't one of loss or longing. Instead, she looks eager, excited, like someone finally heading toward something they've been searching for without knowing it.
The wheels begin to turn, carrying us away from Veylowe and toward the life we built together once before—the life I'm desperate to rebuild with her now.
The familiar silhouetteof my estate emerges from the mountain mist like something conjured from memory itself. Carved from dark stone and nestled into the hillside, it rises in elegant terraces that follow the natural curve of the land. Crystalline windows catch the afternoon light, throwing fractured rainbows across the weathered walls.
The zarryn sense home before we do, their pace quickening as we approach the wrought-iron gates. They swing open at my approach—the recognition wards still remember me after twoyears of absence. The sound of metal on stone echoes through the courtyard like a welcoming song.
Kaleen sits forward, her amber eyes taking in every detail. The fountain in the center courtyard still runs, its water dancing over carved runes that pulse with soft blue light. The climbing vines I trained along the eastern wall have grown wild in my absence, their silver-edged leaves creating patterns I never planned but somehow love.
"It's beautiful," she breathes, and something tight in my chest finally loosens.
Braylon presses his face to the carriage window, babbling excitedly at the sight of so much space to explore. When I help them down from the carriage, he immediately totters toward the fountain, drawn by the musical splash of water.
But it's Kaleen who captures my attention. She stands in the courtyard, turning slowly to take it all in. Her expression isn't one of recognition—that flicker of remembrance I've been hoping for doesn't come. Instead, there's something deeper. Peace. Like she's finally found a place where she can breathe fully.
"Show me," she says simply, and I understand she means everything.
I lead them through the heavy doors into the main hall. The space soars overhead, supported by stone arches that seem to grow from the walls themselves. Tapestries in deep blues and silvers hang between tall windows, and the runic symbols I've carved into the doorframes still glow faintly—protective wards that have kept this place safe in my absence.
Kaleen moves through the halls like she's walking through a half-remembered dream. Her fingers trail along the stone walls, brushing over carvings I made years ago. She pauses at a window seat I built specifically for her, her head tilting as if she's listening to something I can't hear.
"This feels..." she starts, then stops, searching for words.
"Right?" I suggest.
She nods, that radiant smile spreading across her face. "Right."
The kitchen makes her laugh—a sound that fills every corner with warmth. The massive hearth dominates one wall, with iron hooks for hanging pots and shelves lined with preserved herbs. A long table sits in the center, scarred from years of use and marked with ring stains from countless mugs of tea.
"You cook?" she asks, amusement dancing in her eyes.
"Badly," I admit. "You always took pity on me and made sure I didn't starve. You loved to cook in here."
She runs her hands over the table's surface, and I watch her face for any sign of memory. Nothing comes, but she doesn't seem troubled by its absence.
Braylon explores with the fearless enthusiasm of a toddler, his small hands reaching for everything within grasp. I follow behind him, moving anything breakable to higher shelves and making mental notes of rooms that will need childproofing.
But it's when I lead them to the garden that Kaleen truly comes alive.
The space spreads out behind the house in carefully planned chaos—herb beds that flow into flower gardens, fruit trees heavy with late-season offerings, and stone paths that wind between raised planters. Wild roses climb the garden walls, their blooms deep red against the gray stone. A small grove of silver-leafed trees creates shade near the back wall, their branches hung with crystal chimes that sing softly in the mountain breeze.
Kaleen moves into the space like she's entering a sanctuary. She touches everything—the velvet petals of aracin blossoms, the rough bark of the fruit trees, the smooth stones that edge the herb beds. When she reaches the grove where we've made loveunder starlight more times than I can count, she stops and closes her eyes.
"This is my favorite place," she says with absolute certainty, though she can't possibly remember why.
