you and you’re mother are training courtyard at night. The stars are out. You’re standing before her, bloodied from the last mission, eyes burning with a need for something more.

“I tried, alright, mom.. I tried to do everything the way you wanted.” Your voice cracks despite your best effort to stay strong. “I studied your tactics, I endured your training, I fought like I was born for this. I’ve killed for you.” You take a breath, swallowing the ache in your throat. “But I never got to be your kid. Not really. Just… your tool. Your shadow. Your failed project.”

Her face stays unreadable, lips still, eyes as sharp as ever. You hate that look. The way she sees right through your pain like it’s irrelevant.

“Why wasn’t I ever enough for you? Why did you raise me to be a weapon when I just—” You almost say it. You almost say ‘I just wanted your love.’ But it lodges in your chest. Tears sting at your eyes, shame rising like a tide.

“I’m so tired, Mother. Of pretending that every scar is some kind of honor. Of chasing your approval like it’s oxygen. Just once… just once I wanted to hear you say you were proud of me.” you muttered gripping the hem of your shirt.

Silence. She takes one step forward.

Then—

SMACK

Her hand strikes your cheek, clean and sharp. Not out of rage, but out of cold disgust. You stumble back, stunned.

“Spare me your tears. They are wasted breath.” Talia lowers her hand like nothing happened. “You confuse sentiment for strength. I gave you life, and then I gave you purpose. That is more than most ever receive.” She steps closer, her voice low. “If you want comfort, go find a family that bleeds for weakness. I raised a warrior. Not a child.” She turns her back to you, already walking away. “Come back to me when you remember who you are.”