THE LAST DAWN
Chapter 16: The Mother’s Ghost
The room was warm.
The sun streamed through the window, golden and bright, casting long shadows on the wooden floor. The air smelled of bread and honey and something else — something that reminded Rowan of childhood, of safety, of love.
His mother sat on the bed.
She was young — younger than he remembered, younger than she should have been. Her hair was dark, her eyes were brown, her hands were folded in her lap. She wore a dress of blue linen, simple and clean, and her bare feet were pressed against the floor.
She was beautiful.
She was dead.
She was waiting.
“Hello, Rowan,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
His hands began to shake.
“You’re not real.”
“I’m as real as your memory. As real as your grief. As real as your love.”
“You died. Three years ago. I buried you myself.”
She smiled.
It was a sad smile, small and tired and full of years.
“I died. But I never left you. I have been watching you. From the other side of the hunger. From the space between. From the place where mothers go when their children still need them.”
Rowan’s eyes filled with tears.
“I miss you.”
“I know. I miss you too.”
“Why are you here?”
His mother stood.
She walked toward him.
Her bare feet made no sound.
“To help you. To warn you. To say goodbye.”
“Goodbye?”
“The hunger is not the only thing waiting for you in the Citadel. The Council is not the only thing watching. The end is not the only thing coming.”
“What else is coming?”
She stopped in front of him.
Her brown eyes were wet.
“The truth. The truth about your father. The truth about your blood. The truth about the hunger in your heart.”
Rowan’s blood went cold.
“My father died when I was young.”
“Your father was not your father. Your father was the hunger. The hunger took his shape. The hunger wore his face. The hunger planted the seed.”
“The seed?”
She touched his chest.
Above his heart.
“The seed that became you. The seed that has been growing inside you since the day you were born. The seed that will consume you if you let it.”
He stepped back.
“You’re lying.”
“I never lie. I have no need to lie. The truth is more devastating than any fiction I could invent.”
“Then why are you telling me this?”
She reached out.
Her hand was warm.
“Because you need to know. Before you face the Council. Before you face the hunger. Before you face the end.”
He took her hand.
Her fingers were warm.
“What do I do?”
She squeezed his hand.
“You remember who you are. You remember what you love. You remember what you’re fighting for.”
“What am I fighting for?”
She looked at the window.
At the green field.
At the golden light.
“The world. The world that is dying. The world that you can save.”
The room began to fade.
The walls crumbled. The floor cracked. The ceiling turned to sky — not the blue sky of morning, not the black sky of night, but a gray sky, empty and hungry, like the eye of a dead god.
“Wait,” Rowan said. “I’m not ready.”
“You’re never ready. No one is.”
“Will I see you again?”
His mother smiled.
It was a real smile, warm and bright and full of love.
“Every time you dream. Every time you hope. Every time you love. I’ll be there. Watching. Waiting. Loving you.”
She reached out and touched his face.
“Now go. The Council is waiting. The hunger is waiting. The end is waiting.”
She vanished.
The room vanished.
Rowan stood alone in the darkness.
The bones were back.
The throne was back.
The man in white was back.
“You saw,” the man said.
“I saw.”
“Do you understand now?”
Rowan looked at his hands.
They were shaking.
“I understand that I am the seed. The seed of the hunger. The seed of the end.”
The man nodded.
“And?”
” And I understand that I can choose.”