The transition from sleep to consciousness was like pulling myself through heavy, dark water.
When my eyes finally flickered open, the familiar beige walls of Miss Amy's guest room were gone, replaced by an architectural elegance I couldn't name.
Women in ethereal, flowing garments moved with silent purpose through the chamber.
A woman with hair the color of autumn embers sat by my bedside.
Her eyes were sharp, yet filled with a strange reverence.
"Who are you?" I croaked, struggling to push myself upright.
The woman didn't answer me. Instead, she turned toward the door. "Your Majesty, he is awake."
The title sent a bolt of confusion through me, but it was eclipsed by the sight of
Amy rushing into the room. She looked the same, yet entirely different—there was a weight to her presence, a gravity she had never shown me before.
"Luke, are you alright?" she asked, her voice trembling with genuine concern.
"Your... Majesty?" I repeated, the words feeling like ash in my mouth. "What is going on?"
"I will explain everything later," she promised, reaching for my hand.
I pulled away. "No. I think it's best if you explain everything right now. Last night... the vampire, the glass, the chanting... that wasn't a dream, was it?"
Amy took a long, steadying breath and shook her head. The silence in the room was deafening.
"Who was that man?" I demanded, the questions pouring out of me.
"How did he know my name? Why did he try to kill me? And are you... are you really a witch?"
"Luke," she began, sitting on the edge of the silk-laden bed.
"My real name is Willow. I am the Crown Princess of this realm, and yes, I am a witch. Everyone you see here possesses the Craft. That man was a vampire scout, a servant of the dark courts. He wasn't just looking for any victim. He was searching for the surviving heir of the Golden Dagger."
"The Golden Dagger?" I asked, my head spinning.
"What is that, some kind of antique?"
"It is an ancient power," Willow said softly.
"A source of energy that holds the capability to create life itself. And you, Luke... you are its only living descendant. That is why he came for you. Your blood is the key to a power they cannot be allowed to possess."
I stared at her, waiting for the punchline of a joke that wasn't coming.
"That makes no sense. I have a family. I have a mother in the hospital and a sister in Barcelona. How can I be some ancient descendant?"
Willow's expression softened into one of profound pity.
"Luke... they are not your biological family. The woman you call Mother found you on the streets when you were an infant. She took you in, but she could never give you her blood. It is the reason her husband left you behind—he knew you weren't his. He took the child that was his and abandoned the one who was a mystery."
"That's a lie," I whispered, though a cold stone was forming in my gut. "That's a big lie."
"It isn't. And if you don't believe me, you should ask her yourself."
The betrayal felt like a physical weight, pressing the air from my lungs.
I stared at the woman I thought I knew—the neighbor who had brought us soup, the journalist who had written about local politics, the woman who had saved my life.
"Why me? Why did you lie to me all this time?" My voice cracked, echoing in the strangely silent room. "When were you ever planning to tell me the truth, Amy?"
"I did everything to protect you, Luke," she said, her voice steady but her eyes pleading for understanding.
A woman with hair as white as a winter moon stepped forward from the shadows of the hallway.
"Should we head back to the kingdom, Your Majesty?"
The title hit me like a physical blow. Majesty.
"Very well," Amy replied, her authority absolute. "You all may leave. We will be there tomorrow."
With a series of soft shimmers, the other women vanished, leaving us in a heavy silence.
"We?" I asked, backing away.
"Yes. We are going to my kingdom tomorrow."
"I'm not going anywhere with you," I snapped, the world spinning too fast.
"Please, Luke, don't be stubborn," Amy sighed, reaching out a hand she knew I wouldn't take. "I only want to help you."
I didn't answer. I couldn't. When the only person I trusted turned out to be a fleeting fairy tale.
I went to the hospital, the sterile smell of antiseptic a grounding contrast to the madness at home.
Mom looked small in the large hospital bed, but her eyes brightened when she saw me.
"Are you okay, baby?" she asked softly.
I sat by her side, clutching her hand.
"Mom... I need to ask you something. I need the truth."
She sensed the gravity in my voice. "Sure, baby. Anything."
"Am I..." I swallowed hard, the words tasting like iron. "Am I your biological son?"
The silence that followed was longer than any I had ever experienced.
The machines hummed, a rhythmic ticking of seconds.
"What?" she whispered, her face crumbling.
"Please, Mom. Just tell me."
She closed her eyes, tears leaking through the lashes.
"You are not my son by blood, Luke. I found you on the street one day, years ago, when I was coming back from work. You were so small, so alone... I might not have given birth to you, but I loved you like you were mine. I always have."
The floor seemed to drop out from under me. "Why didn't you tell me? Why keep it a secret?"
"I was afraid," she sobbed. "I was afraid of losing you."
I pulled her into a hug, my own tears hot against her shoulder.
"Mom, I know you love me. And I want you to know... even if we aren't related, you are my mother. I love you."
We cried together for a long time, the shared grief of a secret finally brought to light. Eventually, I pulled back, wiping my eyes.
"Mom, I have to leave tomorrow with Amy. She's... she's enrolled me in a special college. A scholarship."
"Really?" Her face lit up with a fragile pride.
"Yeah. I might not be able to visit for a while, but I promise to call every day. Amy is going to make sure you have the best care."
"Don't worry about me, Luke," she said, squeezing my hand. "Focus on your studies. Amy will take care of me."
Leaving that room was the hardest thing I had ever done. I kissed her forehead, lingering for a moment, memorizing the scent of her before I walked out into a life I didn't recognize.
When I got back to the house, I found her—Willow—waiting in the living room.
"How did it go with your mother?" she asked.
"Good," I said shortly, walking past her toward the stairs.
"Luke? Are you angry with me?"
I stopped on the first step. "Not angry, exactly. Just confused. Am I supposed to call you Willow or Amy now?"
"Whichever pleases you," she replied softly.
"Fine. I know you'll send people to look after her," I said, not looking back.
"I will. Go get some rest, Luke. We leave first thing in the morning."
I collapsed into bed, but sleep was a stranger.
I lay awake staring at the ceiling, wondering what a "witch kingdom" could possibly look like, comforted only by the knowledge that Mom would be safe under Willow's watch.
The next morning, I wasn't woken by an alarm, but by the frantic, beautiful singing of birds and a scent so sweet it made my head swim—fresh roses, thousands of them.
I opened my eyes and sat upright. I wasn't in my bedroom. I was in a chamber of white stone and silk.
I stumbled to the door and peered out. A lady was passing by in a gown that seemed woven from mist.
"Excuse me," I called out. "Where am I?"
"You are in the Witch Kingdom," she replied with a smile.
"Where is Amy? I mean... your Queen?"
"Her Majesty is in the royal courtroom downstairs."
I followed her directions, feeling like a ghost in a dream. When I pushed open the massive oak doors of the courtroom, I found a sea of women.
At the center stood a figure that took my breath away.
She had long, flowing purple hair that shimmered like a nebula, and a silver tiara rested atop her brow.
"Amy?" I breathed.
The room went silent. Every head turned toward me.
"Luke, you're awake," the lady said. It was her voice, but deeper, more melodic.
"Is it really you?"
"This is what I look like in my true form," she said, stepping toward me.
"How did we get here? I don't remember leaving."
"Teleportation," she explained. "You were fast asleep, and I didn't want to disturb you. It was the easiest way. Have you had breakfast?"
"No," I said, my mind still trying to process the purple hair and the crown.
A woman with hair the color of a dying fire—Sunset, they called her—looked at the Queen. "Your Majesty, have you told him yet?"
"Not yet, Sunset," Amy replied.
My stomach did a nervous flip. "Told me what?"
Amy stepped forward and offered her hand. "Luke, come take a walk with me. We have much to discuss."