“You are the first generation where suppression failed,” Lucian continues, “because the bloodline has progressed beyond single bond containment.”
Axel exhales slowly.
“She evolved,” he says.
Lucian’s lips curve faintly.
“Or she returned to original design,” he replies.
The bond between the three of us hums steadily, and the vibration beneath the dungeon floor mirrors it in quiet alignment.
“You are not anomaly,” Lucian says softly, “you are correction.”
The words hit with unsettling clarity.
Correction.
My mother refused the triad.
She chose autonomy over structure.
She chose love over design.
And now history stands at the same crossroads.
“She was given a choice,” I say carefully.
“Yes,” Lucian replies.
“And I am being given the same one,” I continue.
Lucian does not answe
