Only Half a Lie
Rain tapped a fast rhythm against the kitchen window, the storm muting the world outside to a watercolor blur of grays and greens. The scent of rosemary and slow-cooked lamb stew clung to the air, mingling with the faint tang of woodsmoke from the stove. Marie hummed an old Irish tune under her breath, her back to Vale as she stirred the stew, the wooden spoon periodically tapping against the cast iron pot.
Vale slouched at the dark oak kitchen table, his fingers tracing the chipped edge of a photo he'd found tucked inside a cookbook. The image was faded, corners curled with age—a couple standing in front of a log cabin, snow-dusted pines framing the scene. The man had Vale's sharp jawline, the woman his storm-gray eyes. Their smiles were bright, and warm, as if he had seen them a thousand times before.
"Who are they?" Vale asked, though he inside already knew.
Marie stiffened, her humming cutting off. She didn't turn around. "Your parents. Taken a year before the fire."
"Why'd they move to Sweden?"
"To feel safe." She ladled stew into a small ceramic bowl ivy leaves over brown wood, the steam curling into the air like ghostly vines. "From the world, mostly. You know how hectic things can be, Vale. Some folk don't take kindly to… people like us."
"Outcasts, Wierdos?" Vale pressed, setting the photo down.
Marie finally turned, her face a mask of practiced calm. She set the bowl in front of him, the broth sloshing dangerously close to the rim. "Eat. Before it gets cold."
Vale didn't touch the spoon. "I have a right to know. Why aren't you telling me?"
The question hung between them, sharp as the emoryi cacti's spines that Marie kept in the garden. She wiped her hands on her apron, avoiding his gaze. "Your da was a Hunter, a damm good one too, greatest fighter the Fianna ever saw. Your ma…well she had gifts. Saw things others couldn't, brilliant woman, I imagine you got your brains from her, She loved to learn, to the point your father had to build an extension to the old house to fit all her books..."
Marie seemed to get more and more distant the longer she spoke, a smile found its way to her face, even as her tone got more and more melancholic.
"…..You never really talk about them, Marie. I..I just want to know who they were, and who I am." Vale looked away from her for a moment, a rare moment of vulnerability that no one else but Marie would ever get to see.
"My silly ours, the past doesn't define or change who you are. Only you decide that."
"Yeah well if my parents hated me or something I would still like to know."
"Valentine Aedan Felian." a soft-spoken response sent immediately shivers down Vale's spine. " Your parents adored you. They loved nothing more in the world than you. Don't you ever question that. I can swear by it."
Marie paused for a moment as if unsure whether to say the words that she had thought of, "Even after they are gone, they still left you gifts, didn't they?"
"Gifts?" Vale snorted. "Like what? Reading tea leaves?Brown hair? Let me guess 'My mother's eyes'" he said with some annoyance, before being silenced by a single stare from Marie.
Marie's eyes flicked to his hands—the faint scars from the garage cinderblock, the dirt under his nails from digging through the preserve. "Like surviving a fire that should've killed you. Like walking out of those woods alive when no one else could."
The words landed like a punch. Vale's throat tightened.
---
– Sweden, 2004
The cabin stood silent under a blanket of snow, smoke curling from its chimney like a gray serpent. Four-year-old Vale giggled, chasing his shadow across the frozen lake, his breath puffing in the crisp air. His mother watched from the porch, her knitting needles clicking rhythmically.
"Valentine! Inside before you freeze!" she called, her Irish lilt warm despite the cold.
"Five more minutes, Mama!"
She smiled, but her eyes darted to the tree line. A shadow moved there, just beyond rows of shrubs and mushrooms all neatly aligned — it was too large for an animal, too quiet for the wind.
That night, the fire started in the woods.
---
Back in the kitchen, Vale pushed the stew away, the meat suddenly too rich, too cloying. "Why didn't they just take me with them then!? And what stupid gifts!!?"
Marie sank into the chair across from him, her hands trembling as she poured herself tea. "They did it for you."
"Two weeks," Vale interrupted, cold fury edging his voice. "It took them *two weeks* to find me. What was I eating? Moss? Snow? Was I sleeping on the smoldering ashes of my home because they did it for 'me' !!??"
Marie's teacup clattered against the saucer. She stared at the photo, her voice barely a whisper. "The Doctors, they said you were feral. Covered in… in blood and bonds. Animal carcasses scattered around you. You wouldn't let anyone near, they had to tranquilize you."
"That part I remember." Vale spoke.
"You refused everyone after that, never spoke a word for years, not until-"
"Not until you," Vale finished.
She nodded, tears glinting in her eyes. "Your ma wrote to me before it happened. Begged me to find you if… if things went wrong."
Vale's chest ached. "Why you?"
"Because I knew what they were running from. Because we came from the same Fianna"
"And what's that?"
"A Family."
"They dead too then?" Vale asked bitterly.
Marie stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. She crossed to the sink, scrubbing an already-clean pot with violent strokes. "Some questions don't have answers, Valentine. Not ones you'll like."
Vale rose, the photo crumpling in his fist. "Stop lying to me! I'm not a kid anymore!"
The words echoed, raw and jagged. Outside, thunder growled, the storm swelling in time with the tension.
Marie turned, her face pale. For a heartbeat, Vale saw it—the flicker of fear in her eyes. Not of him, but for him.
"Your parents," she said slowly, "they didn't die in that fire. They set it."
---
**Flashback – The Fire**
Smoke choked the cabin, flames licking at the walls. Vale's father barred the door, his chest heaving from exhaustion, his hands shaking as he turned and shoved a journal into Vale's small arms.
"Take this my son," he rasped. "Don't let them find you."
"Dad no! I won't leave! Why aren't you coming with me?" Vale cried, clutching the soot-streaked journal to his chest.
"Be strong little bear."
---
In the present, Vale stumbled back, the photo slipping from his hand. "You're saying they—they killed themselves?"
"To protect you," Marie whispered. "To keep this from happening." She gestured vaguely at him, at the storm, at the invisible weight pressing down on them both.
Vale's screen flickered:
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
Status: Agitated, In shock
Bloodline: W?/??
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
He grabbed his jacket, the need to run, to escape, clawing at his ribs.
"Where are you going?" Marie called after him.
"Out!"
The door slammed, the storm swallowing his words.