Chapter Text
“A long, long time ago,” she continued, her voice calm but low, like each word had to pass through stone. “So long ago, I almost convinced myself I imagined it. But I didn’t.”
She glanced down for a second, her tone turning distant.
“I was mated to an Alpha. Not a strong one, not powerful… but cruel. Abusive in a way that left more than just visible scars.”
Anissa’s brows drew together, a flicker of protective anger flashing in her eyes. Kregg’s jaw tightens.
Thula barely seemed to notice.
“When I found out I was pregnant, I was… terrified. Not just because of him, but because of me.”
Her voice dropped further.
“I was a soldier. A killer. A Beta who followed orders. I wasn’t soft, or gentle. I didn’t know how to be. And the very thought of raising something so… small, so alive, scared me more than any battlefield ever did.”
Her hands gripped her knees.
“I thought about getting rid of it. I really did.”
She finally looked at Mark then. Right at him. Not judging. Not challenging.
Just seeing him.
“But when it came down to it…I couldn’t.”
And with that, she fell silent.
The room remained frozen.
Not in discomfort — but in awe. In grief. In understanding.
For the first time, Mark wasn’t the only one unraveling. And yet, somehow…that shared vulnerability wrapped around him like a blanket.
Thula's gaze softened, her voice no longer laced with steel or caution. Now it carried a strange warmth — fragile and rare, like the flicker of a candle untouched by wind.
“But then I saw her.”
Her lips parted, not quite smiling, but something close — like a memory touched her in a place she’d long tried to bury.
“The moment I laid eyes on her, every doubt, every fear, everything I’d rehearsed in my head… just vanished.”
Her hands, so often curled into fists or crossed in guarded posture, now sat relaxed on her knees.
“She was…tiny. So small I was afraid I’d break her just by holding her. And she was mine.”
A soft breath left her.
“My daughter~”
And for the first time in any of their memories, Thula laughed.
Quiet. Reminiscent. A whisper of joy lost in time.
“She was beautiful. Not strong or fierce or anything Viltrumites boast about. Just… beautiful. And for the first time, I felt something I didn’t even know I was capable of.”
She glanced down, eyes distant, but the corner of her lips still curved upward.
“Something warm. Something that scared me, because I didn’t know how to be that kind of person. But I wanted to be. I wanted to learn. I thought maybe…maybe this was my chance.”
Her voice softened further.
“Maybe I didn’t have to be just a weapon. Maybe I could be gentle. Maybe I could be the mother she needed.”
The room held its breath around her.
“The world didn’t stop being cruel,” she said quietly. “But when she was with me…it softened. She made it bearable. She made me bearable.”
She looked at no one in particular now, just lost in memory — but the emotion was thick in the room.
“She was my peace. My reason. My life…”
And she stopped there — not because she was done, but because the feeling was too tender, too vulnerable to stretch much further in that moment.
The silence that followed was no longer cold.
It was reverent.
A stillness that wrapped around her words like hands holding something sacred.
Mark hesitated.
The question pressed against his lips, lingering like a breath on glass. It almost felt wrong to ask, but something inside him—curiosity, empathy, or perhaps something closer to fear—pushed the words out.
“…What happened to her?”
Thula didn’t answer right away.
Her jaw tightened, and for the first time, her shoulders visibly slumped beneath the weight of the question. As though the very memory pulled at her bones. The air in the room shifted again, still but dense—waiting.
Finally, she spoke.
“She was still a child.”
Her voice barely carried across the room.
“Not as strong. Not as fast. She wasn’t like the other children in her age group and her father hated that.”
Her tone sharpened with cold remembrance. “He used to call her a mistake. Said she was proof of my failure. A waste of breath and blood.”
Mark felt his throat tighten, but Thula kept speaking, her words measured and slow.
“I tried to keep her away from him as much as I could. Tried to protect her. But one day, something in him snapped. I don’t know why or how—it just… happened.”
She inhaled. The sound of it was sharp and hollow.
“One moment we were arguing—screaming, really—and the next, we were fighting.”
A flicker of hurt and anger flashes over her eyes.
“He was stronger than me. So much stronger. And I was too angry to care.”
Her hands flexed once in her lap, like a muscle memory.
“I gave him everything I had. But it wasn’t enough.”
The words began to slow.
“He had me on my knees. Bloodied. Bruised. Barely holding on. He looked down at me like I was less than nothing…like I was dirt beneath his boot.”
Thula’s voice wavered—not cracking, but trembling under the strain of control.
“All I could think about was her. I remember wondering if maybe we could still run. Maybe if I could crawl, I could get us out. Just escape. Start over. Be free.” Thula scoffs at her own nativity.
Mark’s heart beat louder in his ears. Even Anissa's usual bravado had vanished, her brows drawn, her eyes unblinking. Kregg stood like a statue, his expression subtle but understanding.
Then Thula said the words that changed the room entirely.
“But the final blow never came.”
She looked down.
“Because she got in the way.”
The silence grew colder, tighter—every breath felt wrong.
“Everything happened so fast…” She exhaled shakily.
“All I remember is looking up and seeing her there. Standing in front of me.”
Half a second passes.
“And his fist… going straight through her.”
No one moved.
No one could.
Not Mark. Not Anissa. Not Kregg.
What could anyone possibly say?
There were no words heavy enough. No comfort is strong enough. Only the sound of breathing and the weight of a memory no one in the room would ever forget.
Thula's voice had steadied for most of her story but now…now it cracked.
Not loud. Not sobbing. Just a small, tremorous shift in her breath as her memories peeled back the final veil.
“I… I couldn’t move.”
Her voice was almost a whisper.
“My mind just…stopped. Like time had frozen. I watched him—”
Her words caught in her throat.
“I watched him pull his fist out of her chest.”
No one in the room dared move.
“And then…” she continued, eyes glassy and far, far away, “he threw her like she was nothing. Like some broken doll.”
Her hands clenched into fists, knuckles paling.
“I still remember the sound her body made when it hit the ground…I still hear it sometimes…”
Her voice trembled again.
“Then he dragged me by the hair… across the ground. I couldn't stop him. My body was already giving out...”
She blinked slowly, the words spilling out almost mechanically now—detached, as if that was the only way she could say them at all.
“He made me look at her. Said I needed to remember the face of failure. Said that—”
Her voice broke harder now.
“That she was the price of weakness.”
A soft, wet sound escaped her. A whimper—fragile, aching—cutting through the silence like a blade.
But she caught herself. Snapped her mouth shut. Pulled the emotion back under iron will. The silence that followed was deafening.
Then, with eerie calm, she continued.
“He told me to never forget. That every time I closed my eyes, I’d see her. That the echo of my failure would never leave me.”
She exhaled—shaky, ragged.
“And then he left.”
Her voice faded to ash.
“Flew off. Like she didn’t mean anything.”
And just like that, it was only her and her daughter.
Just silence and death.
Thula’s voice wavered again—no longer sharp, no longer even steady. What remained was something quieter, more fragile than anyone in the room had ever imagined her capable of.
“I don’t know how I did it…but I crawled to her.”
She stared at the floor now, as if she could still see her daughter’s small form lying there.
“I was barely breathing. Bones shattered. Blood pouring from my mouth. But I needed to hold her.”
She closed her eyes.
“I kept whispering: I’m here… mommy’s here. Please—please stay with me, baby.”
Mark swallowed hard, his own tears threatening to rise again.
“I begged her to hold on. Just hold on.”
Thula’s breath hitched—more raw this time.
“But we both knew… we knew she didn’t have much longer.”
Silence.
“And she…” Thula’s lips trembled, her voice thinner now. “She looked at me with the softest eyes. Like she wasn’t scared at all. Like she was proud.”
Her jaw clenched, fighting to keep control, but the emotion was spilling through every crack in her armor.
“She said, " See? I’m not weak…I saved mommy”.”
The quiet in the room was absolute.
“I told her not to talk. I was begging her to stop—to just save her strength. But she wouldn’t. She just kept smiling.”
Thula’s hands gripped the edge of the bed now, knuckles pale, trembling.
“She said… You’re not weak, mommy. You’re nothing like he said you were. You’re the strongest person I know...”
Tears finally began to stream down her cheeks.
“She said… If I had the chance to live in another life, I’d choose you to be my mom every time.”
A sharp, broken sound escaped Thula’s throat. She didn’t even try to stop it this time.
“She reached up…with everything she had left. Just to touch my face.”
Her hand lifted instinctively, brushing the air near her cheek as if she could still feel her daughter's hand.
“And she said…I love you.”
Thula’s voice collapsed into a whisper.
“And then she was gone.”
Her breath caught in her chest, then broke into something ragged. Not a scream. Not a loud sob. Just a sound—the kind that lives in your bones for the rest of your life.
She hunched forward, finally unable to keep herself together any longer.
Anissa was the first to move—slowly, gently—releasing her scent into the air, subtle and grounding.
Then Kregg followed, his own scent wrapping around them with a quiet firmness, anchoring Thula in the here and now.
Letting her know that she wasn’t alone.
That this space… this memory… this pain… could be held, accepted and grieved without being ridiculed.
Thula sat in silence for a long moment.
The tears still welled in her eyes, but her jaw had firmed again, the tremble in her voice replaced by the cool edge of someone who had survived. Someone who had endured, and endured, and endured—and was still here.
“Years passed.”
Her voice was low. Steady again.
“I got stronger. I had to.”
She didn’t look at anyone now. Her eyes were fixed on something no one else could see.
“But so did the grief. It didn’t fade. It didn’t soften. It just…grew quieter. Heavier.”
There was no shame in her tone—just truth.
“And then came the purge.”
The Viltrumite war against their own—the slaughter of the “weak.” We were told to find and eliminate those deemed unworthy. The defectives. The liabilities.”
Her lips twisted slightly—not quite a sneer, but the ghost of one.
“That’s when I saw him again.”
The air around her chilled.
“The same monster who took everything from me.”
Her fists clenched in her lap.
“I almost didn’t believe it. But there he was, bold as ever. Still breathing. Still smug.”
Her voice dipped lower.
“We fought. Brutally. Just like before. But this time…this time, I won.”
She didn’t say it with pride. She said it like a fact. Like a stone being dropped in water.
“And when he fell…he begged.”
A flicker of something icy crossed her face.
“Begged me to spare him. Said we could always try for another child, as if—”
Her throat tightened again, fury tightening her words.
“—as if she meant nothing.”
Mark felt his gut twist, a quiet sickness rising in his chest.
“He didn’t deserve mercy.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“He deserved to suffer.”
And suffer, he did.
Thula didn’t go into detail—but she didn’t need to. The silence that followed spoke volumes.
“By the time I was done, he was barely recognizable.”
She finally exhaled, her shoulders sinking.
“He never cared about me. Never protected me. Never loved me.”
Her voice softened, but not in a gentle way. It was hollow.
“And as I watched him take his final breath, I didn’t feel triumph. I didn’t feel closure.”
She looked down at her hands. The same ones that had brought down a monster.
“I just collapsed. Right there. Everything I’d held together for so long…all of it came crashing down.”
And for a moment, she didn’t look like a warrior.
She looked like a mother who never stopped grieving.
Despite the weight of what she’d just shared—despite the pain that still echoed in every word—Thula’s voice remained steady as she looked at Mark.
“I know what it’s like,” she said, her gaze unwavering. “To be scared. To feel weak. To question if you're even capable of surviving, let alone protecting something so fragile...so innocent.”
Mark didn’t respond, not right away. His breathing was shaky, his eyes wet, lips parted as if searching for words that wouldn’t come.
“Carrying a child,” Thula continued, “it’s not a straight path. It’s dread. It’s exhaustion. It’s waking up every day terrified that you’re not ready.”
She reached forward and gently placed her hand over his.
It was a quiet, rare act of tenderness—from someone who had always seemed forged from steel. Her eyes still shimmered, but her smile was soft.
“But that child...will give you a strength you’ve never felt before.”
Mark’s throat tightened.
“They’ll be your reason. Not a burden. Not a weakness. A purpose. A kind of love that doesn't ask you to be perfect, just present. Just real.”
Thula’s hand squeezed his.
“Even if you can’t see it yet...I do. I see it in you.”
The room was heavy again—but not with despair. With something warmer. Something fragile, but whole.
And in that moment, without even realizing it, Mark’s scent shifted again subtle but unmistakable. That sweetness, that quiet vulnerability… a scent not drenched in fear or rage, but something far more human.
Hope.
He pulled her into a hug, tight and silent. Clinging to her as if the gesture alone was keeping him tethered.
Thula didn’t hesitate. She returned it, arms strong around him, her chin resting lightly atop his shoulder.
Anissa watched from nearby. Her lips curled into a small smile. She remembered not long ago when Mark had held her the same way—soft and wordless after she'd cracked open her own past to him.
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.
Kregg leaned quietly against the wall, his arms crossed—more reserved, but his stance said enough. He was staying. He wasn't going anywhere.
And for a moment… just a moment…
Mark felt safe.
Mark pulled back, embarrassment flashing in his eyes. “I’m sorry…I gotta stop doing that so suddenly.”
Thula blinked at him, taken aback for a moment—but then she smiled. It wasn’t sarcastic or smug. It was soft. Real. Bittersweet. “You’re lucky it’s you,” she murmured. “if it was anyone else, they would’ve left this room in pieces.” Her thumb gently brushed over his cheek. “But you? You get a pass.”
Mark gave her a faint, remorseful smile, but the warmth between them fractured the moment the door hissed open behind them.
A shadow swept across the room.
Conquest.
He stepped inside with the kind of presence that didn’t need announcing. His voice cut through the silence, dripping with disdain.
"Hmph... this room reeks of weakness and sentimentality…pitiful if I do say so myself."
He stepped in like he owned the place—shoulders loose, posture relaxed, but every step deliberate, heavy with the weight of dominance. His eyes scanned the trio surrounding Mark, and his lip curled with amusement.
"Awww.” he drawled. "Are we having a little therapy circle now?"
The atmosphere snapped taut.
Anissa immediately stepped in front of Mark, her posture guarded. Thula’s hand tightened around his. Kregg placed himself between them and the approaching figure—internally shitting bricks.
Conquest’s heavy boots echoed with each step as he moved closer, his presence said everything. Suffocating and dominating. A silent threat that made the hairs on their necks stand on end.
“Out.”
His eyes didn’t waver from Mark. “All of you—except him.”
They didn’t move, not right away.
Was it dangerous? Yes.
Was it stupid? Oh, 100%
It wasn’t disobedience out of spite. It was something else. It was protective. It was fear—not of what Conquest would do to them, but what he’d do to Mark.
The silence stretched.
“Oh? Are we feeling a little brave today?” Conquest’s nostrils flared, irritation radiating from him like heat from a wildfire. He didn’t roar. He didn’t yell. Instead, he released something far worse—a sliver of his scent, dark and suffocating like iron and fire. The kind of scent that coiled into the lungs and made the chest cave in.
Mark gagged, his stomach twisting violently. Thula groaned, clutching her forehead. Anissa let out a soft gasp, dizzy from the sudden weight in the air. And Kregg…he stood still, trying—and failing—to keep his hands from trembling.
Yet, still, no one moved.
Not until Mark—sweating, pale—spoke up through the nausea. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ll be fine. Please—just go.”
His voice broke the spell.
Thula hesitated. Then, slowly, reluctantly, swaying slightly as she stood. Her fingers brushed his one last time. “We’ll be close by.” she said quietly.
Anissa followed, but not without one last cold, cutting glare toward Conquest. “I swear if you lay a finger on him, I'll—” she began, only to be cut off.
Conquest tilted his head with a mocking smile. “Save it. You’ll still piss yourself the next time I breathe too hard.”
Just as Anissa was about to retaliate, Thula grabs her by the arm and guides her out of the room before she has the opportunity to make things worse.
Then only Kregg remained.
Still.
Unusually quiet.
Conquest noticed.
A slow, taunting smile spread across his face. He stepped forward—not threateningly, not loudly. But with that same cold confidence that made blood run cold.
"You’re still here," he said, lowly. "Still pretending you’re not trembling beneath that bravado."
Kregg’s jaw clenched.
Conquest leaned in just a little closer.
“I’d suggest you stand down,” he murmured, “before you end up right where you were not too long ago…”
He let the words hang there—calm, quiet, and dripping with implication.
“…under me. Breathless. Begging. Making those pretty little noises I like so much.”
Kregg’s entire body tensed, unable to hide the reddening of his face.
Conquest chuckled—delighted by the reaction.
“You can pretend all you want, little Alpha…” he whispered. “But I remember…your body remembers—”
Conquest reached out and gently took hold of his chin, forcing their eyes to meet. Not rough. Not violent. Deliberate. Possessive.
The room seemed to shrink.
Conquest leaned in close, voice low, thick with mocking affection.
“You really think you can protect him?” he whispered, lips brushing the edge of Kregg’s hearing. “That’s cute.”
He chuckled. “Tell me, Kregg. How do you plan to defend him…when you couldn’t even protect—”
“Fuck you,” Kregg snapped. His voice wavered—shaky, but sharp.
Conquest’s grip tightened just slightly, fingers pressing into Kregg’s jaw until it strained. But he was grinning, eyes glinting with twisted pleasure.
“There it is,” he said quietly. “That fire. I missed it.”, he mused, letting his hand fall—only to plant it firmly on Kregg’s shoulder, pulling him close until their bodies nearly touched.
A whisper in his ear followed, low and smooth, with a dangerous sort of finality:
“I’ll be seeing you tonight~”
Kregg froze. For a moment, his breath hitched. His glare faltered—but only for a blink. He yanked away without another word, shoving past Conquest as he left the room. His face burned with barely-contained rage and shame.
Conquest grinned, watching the door seal behind him.
“Now,” he said, turning to Mark, “where were we?”
And suddenly, it was just the two of them once again...