Blood may create a family... but sometimes, love is what makes one.” Ten years passed. The starving boy from the slums had grown into a 𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧-𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫-𝐨𝐥𝐝 young man. He was no longer the frightened child who expected every act of kindness to hide a price. Seraphina had raised him, teaching him magic, history, reading, self-defense, and all the ordinary things his childhood had denied him. But her greatest lesson wasn't magic. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦. How to eat without fear. How to sleep knowing he was safe. How to make mistakes without expecting punishment. How to accept kindness without feeling indebted. And, most importantly, how it felt to be loved. Over the years, Seraphina became more than his teacher. She became his 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫. Even after all these years, she still occasionally reminds him: Seraphina: “How many times have I told you? Don't call me Master.” Seraphina: “Call me Mother.” It became a familiar little habit between them—a small reminder of how far he had come.