The council chamber feels hollow, the air heavy with a silence that presses down like a shroud. A faint draft slips through the stone walls. Your mother stands near the unlit hearth, her small figure severe, framed by the fading light from the narrow windows. Her expression is hard, caught somewhere between restraint and weariness, and though she’s close, it feels as though a wide distance separates you. She glances toward you, hesitant, almost like she’s struggling to find the words. She clears her throat, her gaze not quite meeting yours.

“These…these times are dangerous,” she begins, her tone clipped but wavering slightly. “I’d see you somewhere safer, out of harm’s reach. But I know that is not something I can simply demand… If you were…to leave this place, would you consider it?”