Dawn Walker

Chapter 241: The Weight of a Name VI

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"Maybe she was a selfish person," he said quietly. "Maybe she was justified. Maybe they both were broken in different ways. Maybe none of it will make me feel better no matter what the answer is."

Lily waited until he looked at her again before replying.

"Then you do not decide the reason, yet. First find out the truth. Then you should reach a conclusion."

Sekhmet frowned faintly.

"You do not force yourself to choose hate or forgiveness before you even know what happened," she said. "You are allowed to be confused."

The sentence settled into him more deeply than it had any right to.

Allowed to be confused. It sounded simple. But it was not.

For the past two days, confusion had felt like failure. Like weakness. Like lack. But perhaps confusion was simply what happened when old foundations shifted faster than the heart could rebuild.

Lily rose from her chair then and moved around the table. She did not make it dramatic. She just came to his side and rested a hand lightly on his shoulder.

"We will figure it out somehow," she said.

Sekhmet looked up at her.

There was no genius plan in her face. No impossible promise. Just loyalty and practical faith.

And for some reason that helped more than any polished comfort would have.

He covered her hand with his for a moment.

"I told you everything in short," he said.

"I noticed." She replied.

"There is more." He added.

"There is always more." She responded.

He huffed softly. "That sounds familiar."

"It should. Your life appears to have committed itself to the concept."

He leaned back again while she remained beside him.

The room was still quiet. Still thoughtful. But it no longer felt like it was pressing inward.

Lily looked at the ring on the table, then at him. "Does this change what you plan to do?"

Sekhmet’s eyes flicked to the ring too.

"Yes," he said after a while. "And no."

"That sounds annoying."

"It is."

She waited.

He continued, "I still have enemies here. That does not stop because my father turns out to be a divine noble disaster. I still have a house full of people to protect. A business. The city. The captives. The Void land." His voice lowered slightly. "But now there is also a larger board. A larger family. Bigger consequences."

Lily considered that.

"So everything got worse."

"And larger," he said.

She nodded. "I suppose that is your version of optimism."

He smiled faintly. Then the smile faded as another thought surfaced.

"I also keep thinking about Father sitting there," he said. "In the Middle Domain. Inside that house. Surrounded by people who might punish him, they stripped him of his title, they called him back, and still somehow own pieces of his life."

His jaw tightened. "I do not know whether he is safe or not."

Lily’s hand squeezed his shoulder lightly once before withdrawing.

"You will know eventually."

He looked at her.

"You said Elena told you one important thing," Lily continued. "He is well for now. Hold onto that until you can get the rest."

Sekhmet let those words move through him. It still did not feel real in the simple way he wanted it to.

But it was something. Perhaps not enough for peace. But enough for direction. If his father doesn’t return soon. He knows where to find him.

Lily moved back to her chair and sat again, this time more loosely. The worst of the tension had passed, though the matter itself remained huge and unfinished.

She tilted her head. "Can I ask something selfish?"

He raised an eyebrow. "That sounds dangerous."

"It is not." She pointed toward the ring. "If all the maids know how to fight, does that mean I have accidentally been rude to assassins disguised as house staff?"

Sekhmet stared at her.

Lily added, "Because if so, I would like to apologize preemptively and improve my manners."

That got him again. She was trying so hard to make him laugh.

The laugh this time was warmer, though still tired.

"You really are impossible."

"And yet," she said with satisfaction, "you keep talking to me."

He rubbed his face once, still half smiling. "That may be my own flaw."

"No. That is wisdom."

The room sat easier after that. Not light. Not healed. But easier.

Sekhmet glanced toward the window again. The day had shifted while they spoke. The softened light had moved along the floorboards. Somewhere out in the house there would be footsteps, trays, Bat Bat arguing with language or fruit or both, Elena moving through halls with the terrifying calm of a hidden god who had apparently spent part of her morning correcting pronouns.

His life was absurd. And yet it was still his.

He looked back at Lily and said, "For the past two days I have been thinking and trying to make sense of everything."

She nodded.

"And I still cannot." He continued...

"That is normal," she said.

"I know."

"No," she replied. "I mean truly normal. Not the fake normal people say when they want someone to stop talking. Real normal. This kind of truth would scramble anyone for a while."

He considered that.

Then nodded once.

Lily leaned back and folded her hands in her lap. "So maybe stop demanding complete sense from yourself immediately. Start with smaller things."

"Such as?" Sekhmet asked.

"Such as eating. Sleeping. Not drinking yourself into another divine revelation. Asking one question at a time. Deciding what matters today and what can wait until tomorrow."

He gave her a long look. "That sounds suspiciously sensible."

"I am full of hidden talents."

"I have noticed."

There was a small silence after that. Comfortable this time.

Not empty.

Just shared.

And somewhere beneath all the confusion, all the old pain, and all the new weight, Sekhmet felt the first thin shape of something that might one day become steadiness.

There were no answers. Not yet. But a way to remain standing until answers came.