Chapter 223: Mind Of A Five Years old

Genevieve’s POV

It had been thirty long days since the heartbeat of this house stopped. And since Azura died.

One whole month had passed, yet time felt like it was stuck in place.

Everything in the pack house had shifted. The hallways felt wider and colder than they ever were before.

Even in the years before Azura arrived, when the house was quiet, it was never like this. Back then, it was just a quiet building.

Now, the silence felt heavy and suffocating. It was the kind of quiet that reminded you of a massive hole where someone beloved used to stand.

Rhydor had not accepted it. He spent the first two full weeks locked inside that stone room down below, the cold tomb where Azura’s body lay.

He had refused to eat the food I brought. He refused to wash the dirt and dried blood from his skin.

He refused to leave her side for even a minute. And worst of all, he still refused to put her in the ground.

Up to this very day, he held onto her as if he could force breath back into her lungs just by staying close.

The grief in the territory had boiled over last week. Azura’s aunt, Ellisa, had nearly lost her mind with sorrow and rage.

She had marched into the pack house with fire, threatening to burn the whole place to the ground if Rhydor did not give them their niece.

She wanted to force my son to let them bury her. The guards put the flames out before the fire could swallow the main halls, but the scorched smell of wood still hung in the air.

The message behind her act was clear. Ellisa was desperate. Azura was the very last blood relative their family had left in this world.

They needed to lay her to rest so her spirit could finally find peace.

I did not blame Ellisa. I truly understood how her family felt. My heart ached for them as much as it broke for my own son.

I sat on a cold stone bench in the garden, letting my hands rest in my lap as I watched the gray clouds drift across the sky.

A cool breeze moved through the trees, making the brightly colored flowers sway back and forth.

On the surface, everything around me looked peaceful and gentle. But inside my chest, nothing felt at peace.

I lifted my head and scanned the open green grass.

My eyes landed on a young woman. She moved across the garden path, but she did not walk like a woman her age should.

She moved with the light, awkward strides of a little child. The bottom hem of her long dress was caked in dark brown mud.

Her arms were stretched wide toward the air, her fingers snapping together as she ran back and forth, chasing a pair of yellow butterflies.

Amanda.

Ever since the day Azura stopped breathing, I had created this reality in Amanda’s mind to protect her from the pain.

She believed Azura was merely taking a very long sleep. When the tragedy happened, I could not bring myself to let Amanda see the pale, cold body down in the stone room.

I had held her hands, looked into her bright eyes, and told her that Azura was just resting her body. Amanda had trusted my words completely.

Ever since that afternoon, she had been wandering the grounds, patiently waiting for her friend to wake up.

I watched her skip across the grass for a long time, the sight bringing a tight lump to my throat.

Seeing her like this brought back the memory of a conversation we had just a while ago.

It was a quiet afternoon near the edge of the courtyard. Amanda was sitting on the grass, picking wild clover with dirty fingers.

I had walked over slowly, leaning in close so my voice would stay gentle and low.

"Amanda," I said softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Come sit with me for a moment."

She dropped her handful of grass, her eyes brightening instantly as she scrambled over on her knees.

We sat in a cool area.

"Do you ever think about growing up?" I asked her, keeping my tone light.

"Do you want to be like Leo and Ethan?"

Her cheerful smile faded into a deep frown. She tilted her head, her brows pulling together in genuine confusion.

"Like them?"

"Yes," I said, giving her a small nod. "Like grown-ups. Big and mature."

Amanda shifted her weight, sitting back on her heels as she thought about my words. ℴℴ𝘮

After a few seconds of silence, she shook her head back and forth with great force.

"They speak differently now," she pointed out, her voice dropping to a serious whisper.

"They use big words. They make jokes that I do not understand at all."

She reached out and took hold of my fingers, her grip firm and tight.

"So no," she declared with absolute certainty.

"I want Azura to meet me this way when she wakes up. I want to be the little me she already knows. If I change into a big person, she might not recognize me."

A sad smile touched my lips as I looked at her hopeful expression.

Hearing those words made my choice easy. I decided right then that I would not try to push her or force her mind to change.

Amanda remained inside the head of a five-year-old child.

When we walked through the village, some of the pack members stared at her with strange, pitied looks.

But Amanda never noticed their eyes, and even if she had, she didn’t care.

She moved through the world in her own quiet bubble.

The list of people she trusted was very short. She only felt safe when she was around me, Leo, Ethan, and Torin.

Torin was a unique case.

His closeness with her always puzzled me a little. Torin had arrived at our pack house during the chaotic days when Amanda had gone missing in the woods.

He had never known her before her mind regressed. He had never met the little version of Amanda.

Yet, from the moment she returned, she seemed naturally drawn to him like a moth to a light.

Maybe it’s because he was the one who carried her back from Wraithfen, and the only person who stuck with her till she became conscious

She was constantly looking around the halls to see where he was. Whenever she finished eating or playing in the dirt, she would dust off her hands and run off to find him.

Uncle Torin, that’s what she calls him.

She followed him around the training grounds like a shadow, pulling on his sleeves and begging him to teach her things.

She wanted to know how to grip the leather handle of a sword. She wanted to learn how to throw a punch, how to dodge, and how to do every single thing he did.

What surprised me most was how quickly her hands learned.

Maybe it was a natural instinct left over from before her mind changed, or maybe it was just a hidden part of who she was.

But whenever Torin showed her a movement, she picked it up almost instantly.

There were days when her sweet mood broke into loud tears. She would cry and stamp her feet on the floor whenever Torin refused to take her along on his trips outside the pack gates.

He often visited the crowded taverns in the lower town, the loud drinking houses where men spent their evenings looking for women.

Torin was fiercely protective of her and refused to let a child set foot near those places.

Whenever he locked the main gates behind him, Amanda would cross her arms and puff out her cheeks in pure frustration.

"I want to be mature," she would pout, her voice thick with annoyance as she stomped around the courtyard.

"I want to be big, so I can go with you everywhere."

But then, just a few hours later, as the sun began to set, her mood would flip entirely.

She would sit by the window, staring out at the road, and whisper her other truth.

"I want to stay little," she would say, her eyes wide and soft.

"I have to stay little so I can meet Azura."

These two competing desires were constantly pulling her little heart in opposite directions.

One half of her wanted to grow up so she could stand beside Torin, while the other half fought to stay a child so she wouldn’t lose her connection to Azura.

Looking at her now, I honestly did not know which side of her would win in the end.

Up to this very day, Amanda remained just a little girl. Confused, innocent, and endlessly waiting for a friend who was never coming back.

I snapped back to the present moment, my eyes still fixed on the edge of the garden path.

Amanda suddenly stopped running. Her hands dropped to her sides, her feet freezing right in the middle of the dirt trail.

She had spotted a figure turning the corner near the tall stone archway.

Torin was walking slowly toward the main garden, his arms swinging loosely at his sides.

The moment Amanda recognized his face, her whole expression lit up with bright joy.

She let out a high squeal, sprinted across the grass, and threw her arms around his waist like a tiny child greeting her father.

Torin let out a deep, warm laugh that echoed off the garden.

He reached into the deep pocket of his leather coat and pulled out a small paper wrapping filled with sweet candies he had picked up from the morning market.

He pressed the treat into her muddy hands, and her smile stretched from ear to ear.

I leaned back against the stone bench and smiled gently at the warm sight. It was a rare spark of light in a very dark place.

My smile slowly faded as I shifted my gaze toward the grand stone stairs leading up to the front entrance of the pack house.

Another figure was moving up the steps.

My heart sank as I watched my son.

Rhydor was walking with heavy, mechanical steps toward the heavy wooden doors. His face was entirely devoid of color and emotion.

It was cold, hard, and unreadable. Looking at his sharp jawline and distant eyes felt like stepping backward in time.

He looked exactly like the old Rhydor. The version of my son that existed before Azura came into his life.

The bitter, distant leader who had built thick, unbreakable walls around his heart to keep the world out.

He did not look to the left or the right. He did not glance at the flowers; he did not look at Amanda’s laughter, and he did not notice me sitting on the bench.

He kept his eyes locked straight ahead, stepping through the shadow of the tall doorway and disappearing inside the cold house.

I watched the heavy wooden doors swing shut behind him, cutting off the last glimpse of his dark cloak.

"When will my son heal from this?" I whispered to the empty garden air, my voice trembling under the weight of a mother’s helpless grief.