Mother's POV – Number 109978
The sun had barely risen when the knock came.
Not the knock of neighbors. Not the knock of merchants.
The knock of soldiers.
I rushed to the door, my heart already knowing.
And there they were—two BAM warriors in full armor, with a Union officer behind them. The Blackwood seal glinted on his chest.
"By command of the Throne," he said, his tone cold and final, "the boy is to be escorted to the Blackwood School of Loyals. His belongings will follow. Prepare him."
My hands trembled as I turned to see my son. He was already dressed.
Not by me. Not by his father.
By himself.
As though he knew the King's word was not a gift—it was law.
I tried to smile, but my lips betrayed me. I took his face in my hands.
"You will always be my child," I whispered. "Even if the world calls you something greater."
His little eyes—bright, unafraid—looked back at me. "Mama," he said softly, "the King carried me."
Tears burned my eyes. He didn't understand the weight of that moment, not yet. To him, it was joy. To me, it was chains and wings at once.
The officer grew impatient. "It is time."
I wanted to scream. To hold him. To refuse. But my husband's hand touched my shoulder—firm, heavy, final.
We both knew there was no refusal.
So I packed what I could in a small cloth. His book. His wooden toy sword. A scarf I had sewn for him when he was a baby. I tucked them into the soldier's bag though I knew they'd be stripped away once he entered those gates.
As they led him out, my son turned back. For the first time, his face wavered. Not with fear. Not with sadness. But with something sharper—realization.
"Mama," he said, voice small. "Do I still come home?"
I broke.
"No matter where you go, this will always be your home," I sobbed. "Always."
The soldiers placed him inside the convoy wagon. The doors shut.
The wheels rolled.
I stood there, clutching the doorframe until my nails bled, watching my son vanish down the road, swallowed by the Blackwood Union.
And in my heart, one truth echoed:
The King had touched my boy.
And from that moment, he would never belong to us again.
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