Identity in Mother of Death and Dawn is not presented as a fragile construct that must be actively and painfully reclaimed in the face of trauma and systemic violence. Through the fragmented journeys of Max, Aefe, and Tisaanah, the novel shows how a cohesive identity can be rebuilt in the aftermath of trauma not by returning to who one was before the traumatic event, but by confronting a painful past, making conscious choices in the present, and forging connections that allow for a new, more resilient sense of self to emerge.

The novel uses amnesia and alternate personas to represent the violent fracturing of identity. Max’s imprisonment in Ilyzath leaves him without his memories, a state of profound disorientation where his past is “a blur, like a hundred colors of paint all running together” (19). His only connection to who he was is an instinctual drawing of three shapes, an unidentifiable symbol of a self he can feel but cannot access. Similarly, Tisaanah’s infiltration of Lord Farimov’s estate requires her to adopt the persona of the enslaved servant “Roza” through a magical illusion. This disguise is a survival mechanism, but it also creates a painful schism within her. Looking in the mirror, she sees a face that is “unfamiliar…Me, but…not” (8). Both characters exist in a state of fragmentation, illustrating how trauma and oppression can force individuals to live disconnected from their own histories and true selves.

The path to reclaiming identity is depicted as an arduous, conscious effort. For Max, recovering his past requires him to metaphorically open a door in his mind, fully aware that it will unleash immense pain. When he finally confronts his memories in Niraja, it is an act of will, with his repressed memories hidden behind walls and heavy doors—experienced as literal, physical obstacles—in his mind. Voices in his mind warn him to turn back before confronting the hidden memory. A voice he recognizes as that of his brother, Brayan, says, “Funny thing, memories […] Losing them is the ultimate absolution, right?” (311). The promise of this kind of absolution is the promise that he can go back to being who he was before if he just forgets what happened, but Max knows that his is an empty promise. He cannot go back, and in order to move forward and grow, he must confront what he has been hiding from.

Aefe’s journey is even more pronounced. Initially, she clings to the violent, reactive identity of Reshaye, shouting, “I am not Aefe. I am Reshaye” (32). Her reclamation of self is not about remembering who Aefe was before the humans transformed her into the incorporeal, weaponized magical force called Reshaye, but choosing who she will become. A pivotal moment occurs when she creates a black rose from her own magic, marveling that it is “[s]omething created only by [her]” (152). For 500 years, her human captors led her to believe that she was incapable of creating anything on her own. She believed that she could only enact the will of others, never her own. This act symbolizes the birth of a self-defined identity, separate from both her subjugated past as Reshaye and her lost life as Aefe.

Ultimately, the novel suggests connection provides the psychic material needed to rebuild a new, cohesive identity in the aftermath of trauma. The psychic link between Tisaanah, Max, and Aefe symbolizes this theme; they experience flashes of each other’s thoughts and feelings, a constant reminder that their fragmented selves are intertwined. This shared consciousness is both disorienting and strengthening, a literal representation of how identities are shaped by and through others. Their individual journeys culminate in acts of connection: Max and Tisaanah merge their minds to wield the Lejara, and Aefe chooses to sacrifice herself with Caduan. In these moments, they define their truest selves not by returning to who they were, but by choosing who they are in relation to others.