She clearly didn’t like his answer.

"Being busy isn’t an excuse to starve," she said firmly. Then flicked his head in a similar way that Ronan flicked Irene’s. "And it’s no reason to miss out on sleep. Don’t think I didn’t understand the implications of what you just said."

Ronan didn’t look angry, as if this was a common talk. "Heirs have duties. There’s nothing I can do about that."

"You’re a child before you’re an heir, Ronan. Do not forget that."

Current Ronan watched from the side, expression blank. So this woman was Ronan’s anchor. So this was why he endured it. She didn’t expect anything from him at all. She didn’t even ask once about his studies or training.

She only asked if he ate.

Young Ronan sat beside her. She brushed his hair back gently. He complained about his tutors a little, but not much.

Even here, he seemed afraid to complain too openly, as if Vulcan would barge in and punish him for complaining.

"Father says wasted talent is unforgivable," he said quietly. "I have to do my best to make him proud."

His mother’s hand paused.

Then she said gently, "Talent isn’t a debt you owe the world."

Young Ronan didn’t fully understand. "I don’t understand."

She smiled sadly. "It means you’re allowed to be Ronan before you’re the Ashbourne heir, sweetie."

Young Ronan went quiet.

"But Father needs me to be useful," he whispered. "If I don’t do what he says, he’ll call me a failure."

His mother pulled him closer. "I need you to be alive, healthy, and happy. That’s enough for me. You can be a failure as long as you’re happy."

Young Ronan buried his face against her.

For a moment, the atmosphere of the scene stayed warm.

Then, as if a switch flipped, the air in the room changed.

Every bit of color was drained from the surroundings.

The curtains stopped moving. The candlelight dimmed. The room became gray and still. His mother’s hand froze in young Ronan’s hair.

Current Ronan felt something familiar. Not from original Ronan’s memory.

From his own.

A cold pressure crawled through the soulspace. Something wrong stood in the corner of the room.

A black figure.

This didn’t feel like it was part of the memory, but if it was interacting with the memory, it had to be.

It had no eyes. No face. No clear body. It was shaped like a person only because the mind needed a shape to understand it.

Current Ronan went still.

He recognized it. Or almost recognized it.

It almost felt like the thing that killed him.

The moment he tried to think about it directly, however, pain split through his head.

Not normal pain.

The soulspace rejected the mere action of thinking about this creature.

The room bent unnaturally.

The memory started to become static.

Ronan almost saw another scene behind it, but the pain got worse the more he reached for it.

He stopped trying.

The pain faded slightly.

That told him enough. This thing was connected to his death too.

The memory continued.

Young Ronan noticed his mother stiffen. He asked, "Mother?"

She didn’t answer immediately. Her expression changed. There was fear in her eyes.

Recognition.

That made it worse.

She pulled young Ronan behind her.

"Run."

Young Ronan didn’t move.

"B-but Mother! What is tha–?"

"Ronan! Run!" she yelled this time.

Ronan flinched, but he still made no attempt to move. Instead, he tried to move closer to his Mother.

But his body froze.

The black figure moved closer without walking.

His mother raised her hand. Dark mana gathered around her fingers. Not flame mana. Something else.

Something not even the current Ronan recognized.

"Don’t look at it. Go."

She tried to speak calmer now, as if there wasn’t some unknown entity coming after her.

Young Ronan started crying.

He tried to move, that much was clear, but he couldn’t. He was frozen in place.

Ronan could feel his emotions.

Fear. Helplessness. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear.

The black figure appeared closer.

The window cracked.

The candles went out.

Medicine bottles shattered across the floor from an unknown force.

His mother pushed young Ronan back. "Run!"

Young Ronan fell. He hit the floor, looked up, and saw the black figure reach her.

There was no dramatic attack.

No, even if there was, he couldn’t see it. The black figure was blocking Ronan’s vision.

But even then, Ronan could tell that this creature had killed his mother.

Young Ronan screamed. "Mother!"

Current Ronan watched silently, his thoughts moving at light speed.

His mother’s eyes widened.

She tried to say something.

Maybe his name.

Maybe a warning.

But nothing came out.

She collapsed, a horrified expression on her face.

Only then did the blood come. It spilled out of her neck.

Young Ronan crawled toward her, sobbing. He grabbed her sleeve with both hands. "Mother, wake up. Please wake up."

He screamed at the black figure. "Please stop! I’ll be good! I’ll study harder! I won’t waste it! I won’t waste my talent! Just stop!"

The black figure didn’t answer.

Young Ronan kept crying. He told his mother to get up. He promised he’d listen. He promised he’d be better. He promised anything a child would promise if he thought the world could be bargained with.

Current Ronan felt the original Ronan’s emotions flood the memory. Horror. Confusion. Helplessness. Grief.

Was this where the original Ronan changed?

Not because his talent disappeared.

When the only person who loved him without asking for anything in return died in front of him.

Young Ronan’s scream filled the room.

The memory began to crack again. This time the cracks were black.

Current Ronan tried to look at the figure one more time.

Pain slammed into him instantly. His vision blurred. For one moment, he almost saw another death behind the memory. Ren’s death. A faceless darkness. A system message flickering through static.

Then the memory shattered before he could understand.