The warmth that followed my father’s words settled comfortably around the table, lingering far longer than the conversation itself. For all the accomplishments I had achieved over the years, all the titles that had been attached to my name, and all the battles I had survived, none of them carried the same weight as hearing those simple words from him.
The quiet that followed felt natural rather than awkward, as though none of us wanted to disturb the fragile peace that had finally settled between us. Beyond the dome, the distant sounds of construction and activity continued uninterrupted, but inside our small corner of the world, everything felt strangely calm.
My mother was the first to break it. A smile slowly spread across her face, carrying an expression that immediately made me suspicious.
"Now that the important things are out of the way, let’s discuss something much more serious."
A familiar sense of danger stirred in my chest.
Across from me, my father immediately groaned.
"Oh no."
That reaction alone was enough to make me wary. I pointed between them.
"What?"
My mother folded her arms and leaned back slightly, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
"You’ve spent all this time telling us about the important people in your life, but there’s one person you’ve somehow managed to leave out."
For a moment I simply stared at her, then the realization hit.
"Oh."
Roland practically sprang forward in his chair.
"Oh, this is interesting."
My father looked no better.
"Billion, is there someone?"
The speed of the transition was honestly impressive. Only a short while ago they had been fighting tears. Now they looked like hunters who had spotted fresh prey.
I sighed heavily.
"There is."
The reaction was immediate. My mother’s eyes lit up. My father sat up straighter. Roland burst into laughter before I had even said another word.
"What is her name?" my mother asked.
"North Winter."
The amusement vanished from her face so abruptly that it caught me off guard.
"Winter?"
I frowned.
"Yes."
"North Winter?"
"That’s what I said."
My mother turned toward my father, and the look they exchanged lasted only a second before she suddenly laughed.
Not a polite laugh or a teasing one, but genuine disbelief.
"Anne’s daughter?"
Now it was my turn to stare.
"You know her?"
"Know her?" she repeated. "I trained with Anne for years."
My father nodded in agreement.
"Your mother and Anne were close friends whenever they weren’t driving each other insane."
A distant look settled into my mother’s eyes as old memories resurfaced.
"Anne was one of the most dependable people I ever met. If there was a problem, she solved it before anyone else even realized it existed. If someone needed help, she was already moving before they had the chance to ask for it. She carried more responsibility than anyone should have and somehow made it look effortless."
Without realizing it, I found myself smiling.
The expression didn’t escape her notice.
"She’s like her mother, isn’t she?"
"Maybe."
My answer only encouraged them.
"North is convinced she knows what’s best for everyone."
"Definitely Anne’s daughter."
"She plans things for me without asking."
"Definitely Anne’s daughter."
"She lectures me."
"Definitely Anne’s daughter."
"She once tried to organize my entire schedule for a month."
My mother was laughing so hard she had to wipe at the corner of one eye.
"Oh, that’s Anne all over again."
I shook my head.
The conversation continued for several more minutes, filled with stories about a woman I had only ever known through North’s occasional complaints and reluctant admiration. Listening to them speak about Anne felt strangely comforting.
Eventually the laughter began to settle, and my mother’s expression softened.
"So," she asked quietly, "how serious is this?"
The teasing had disappeared from her voice entirely.
I leaned back slightly.
"Very."
Something changed in their faces.
"We’ve been together for years."
My mother visibly relaxed.
"Does she know everything?"
I already knew what she meant.
"Pretty much."
"And she stayed?"
I rolled my eyes.
"Mom."
"I’m serious."
"So am I. Yes."
The answer seemed to satisfy her.
"Sounds good."
There was no grand speech attached to it, no emotional declaration or lengthy approval. Just one simple word.
My mother smiled gently.
"I’d like to meet her someday."
The words landed harder than they should have.
For a moment, I found myself imagining it despite knowing better. North sitting across this same table. Listening to Roland’s impossible stories. Arguing with my father after five minutes because neither of them knew how to back down from an opinion.
Letting my mother fuss over her while pretending not to enjoy the attention. The image appeared so naturally that it almost felt real, a glimpse of a future that should have existed years ago but had been stolen before it ever had the chance to happen.
The thought lingered longer than I wanted it to.
As the conversation drifted into silence once again, another memory slowly surfaced from beneath everything else. Unlike the others, this one had been waiting patiently since the moment I arrived, pushed aside by reunions and emotions and questions that needed answering first.
My smile gradually faded.
"Actually," I said, and the single word was enough to make all three of them look up.
The easy atmosphere that had settled around the table after our earlier conversation began to fade as I studied my father for a moment before continuing.
"There is something I’ve been wondering about."
My father nodded slowly.
"What is it?"
I held his gaze.
"When you arrived in the Null Realm, why did you tell the family I didn’t exist?"
The question struck the table like a stone dropped into still water.
The smiles disappeared immediately.
My father’s expression froze. My mother lowered her eyes. Even Roland, who rarely seemed caught off guard by anything, grew noticeably quieter.
The reaction alone answered one thing.
They had known this question was coming.
"When I first arrived here," I continued, "the Ironharts were shocked to discover there was still a living descendant in the real world."
Nobody interrupted.
"They told me that when the family questioned you after your deaths, both of you reported that there were no surviving descendants."
My eyes moved between my parents.
"You said you had no child."
The words still felt strange every time I thought about them. Not because they made me angry, but because they never made sense.
"Why?"
Roland was the first to break it.
"I was wondering how long it would take before that came up."
My father rubbed a hand across his face while my mother stared down at the table. For the first time since our reunion, all three of them looked genuinely uncomfortable.
When my father finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before.
"Because we believed you would die if we told the truth."