Kafka, gripping the arm of his throne, could only stare into the void ahead, utterly shaken.
His thoughts were spiraling.
He had believed, foolishly, that the worst was behind him. That maybe, just maybe, Evangeline's revelations had reached their peak.
But it was a fool's dream. Every time he thought he was past the biggest shock, the next one would rise like a tsunami and crash down twice as hard.
And now...this.
His mother. His mother was in love with him.
It was absurd. It was beyond absurd. Kafka let out a dry, hollow laugh and slumped deeper into his throne. His limbs felt like lead. His head throbbed with the weight of too many emotions.
He didn't know what to do, what to say, or even what to think anymore.
All he wanted...was to crawl into bed and sleep until the world decided to start making sense again.
He rubbed his temple slowly, groaning into his palm, muttering. "What the hell am I supposed to do with any of this..."
But then—
A noise beside him.
A strange, rhythmic trembling.
Kafka slowly turned to his left, and stopped dead.
There she was.
Vanitas.
Sitting on a throne just beside his. But nothing about her now resembled the image of the supreme being who ruled existence itself.
Her face was completely pale, almost sickly. Her shoulders quivered. Her eyes were wide and glassy, darting back and forth like a frightened animal. Her breath came in sharp, panicked heaves, chest rising and falling rapidly.
And her hands...her hands were shaking so violently against the golden armrests that they created a soft clattering sound, fluttering and tapping like wings trapped in a cage.
Kafka was stunned.
This wasn't the Vanitas he knew.
This wasn't the towering deity.
This wasn't the goddess worshipped by entire realms.
This wasn't the invincible cosmic being.
This was...a scared woman.
A woman who looked like a squirrel cornered by the world, petrified, powerless, and preparing to lose the only thing she had just regained.
And in that moment, Kafka understood.
She was afraid. Terribly, hopelessly afraid.
She was scared that he'd push her away.
That after finally, finally, getting her son back after all these centuries, after aching and yearning in silence for so long, she was going to lose him all over again.
That he'd look at her now with disgust. With hate.
That he'd reject her...and abandon her.
And the thought of it...
The thought of it was clearly destroying her.
She wasn't worried about judgment.
She wasn't even afraid of divine punishment.
No. She was afraid of him.
Afraid that he'd say "go away."
Afraid that he'd never let her near him again.
And Kafka realized something in that moment.
No matter how twisted things had become. No matter how confused, how shameful, how complicated it all was.
She was still his mother.
A mother suffering with something she didn't ask for.
A feeling she couldn't control.
And despite being a god, she looked like she was in more pain than anyone he had ever seen.
Kafka clenched his fists.
No.
There was no way he could sit there and watch his mother suffer like that.
Not now. Not again.
He shoved all the confusion back into the depths of his mind. All the chaos, all the panic, all the tangled thoughts about what this meant for the future, he sealed them away for later.
Right now, there was only one thing that mattered.
She needed him.
And then—
"Mom." Kafka said softly, his voice cutting through the haze.
Her body jolted. She looked up at him, eyes wide with dread.
"Get up."
That was all he said.
But for her, those two words hit like judgment itself. She thought he was about to scold her, punish her, abandon her. That he would tell her how disgusting she was.
She didn't want to hear it, but...she stood anyway.
Trembling like a leaf, she pushed herself up on weak knees, walked the few short steps to stand in front of him, and slowly, painfully, lifted her gaze to meet his.
She braced herself for the worst.
But instead...she saw it.
A smile.
A soft, gentle smile.
Kafka looked at her not with hatred...not with revulsion...but with kindness. With affection.
The trembling in her hands stopped. Her knees steadied. Her eyes blinked rapidly, confused.
And then—
Kafka reached out and took her hand. Warm. Firm. Real.
"Sit here, Mom."
He patted his lap. "Come on. Sit over here."
Vanitas froze, breath hitching. "W-What...?"
He gestured again, a small smile tugging at the edge of his lips.
"Yeah, yeah. I know. That throne over there, it's beautiful. Definitely the kind of seat a goddess like you deserves. A cosmic queen's throne. But...that thing's cold. Lonely. All cold and distance."
He looked into her eyes, voice softer now.
"But this? Right here? This is warm. And I think...especially with everything you're going through, what you need right now isn't some perfect throne. You need someone to hold you. Someone who'll stay, no matter what."
Before she could reply, Kafka gently tugged her forward.
Her breath caught as her body lowered—
—and she sat, her plump bottom sinking lightly into his lap.
Kafka wrapped his arms around her, carefully but securely, pulling her close until her face rested against his chest. His heartbeat, steady, strong, alive, echoed softly beneath her ear.
Her breath shuddered.
She remembered that sound. That pulse. That warmth.
The first moment she held him as a baby...the first time she felt his little heartbeat fluttering against her chest.
And now it was still there. Still strong. Still hers.
And just like that...she melted.
Everything, the panic, the fear, the shame, evaporated as he held her. She leaned into him fully, her forehead resting against his collarbone, her arms hesitantly coming around his back. Her trembling was gone. She breathed him in, the familiar scent, the comforting warmth of her son.
She snuggled into his chest like a kitten curling up in its den. The world outside didn't matter. Nothing else existed except his embrace.
And if she were to close her eyes right now, she felt like she'd fall asleep instantly, like her soul would finally find peace.
She never wanted to move again.
Kafka looked down at her, a soft, amused smile playing at the corners of his lips. She looked so small, so fragile in that moment, curled up against him like a sleeping child, her face nuzzled into his chest.
Gently, he began to rub her back, slow and comforting.
"You've calmed down now, haven't you?" He murmured, his voice low and warm. "You don't have to say anything. I can feel it." His fingers traced lines between her shoulder blades. "When you first sat down...you were trembling like crazy."
He chuckled lightly. "Even your butt was jiggling so much, I could feel it vibrating through my legs."
Vanitas flushed instantly, the red rising to her cheeks again, but Kafka simply grinned and continued, "But now? Now you're all cozy. All soft. Your body's warm again. Your heartbeat's steady. You've settled."
His hand ran through her hair with care, brushing a few strands out of her face. "I'm glad. I really am. I'm glad you're alright now. Glad you're back to being you."
Vanitas stayed still, overwhelmed by how tender he was being.
"And you know..." Kafka smiled to himself. "I should thank the one who taught me how to do this. That nun, back then..."
At the word nun, Vanitas blinked, curiosity peeking through the haze of embarrassment and comfort. Slowly, she looked up at him, her voice barely a whisper.
"Nun...? Kafka, what nun?"
He tilted his head slightly, a fond glint in his eye as his fingers gently tucked her hair behind her ear.
"When I was about four or five, I lived in this orphanage. It was pretty rundown, not the nicest place in the world. No real heating. Cheap walls. But it was a decent place, you know? They did their best to take care of us."
Vanitas looked up at him, watching his face as he spoke.
"But that orphanage was in a rainy region." Kafka's smile turned a little sheepish. "And whenever it rained, the power would go out. Everything would go pitch black. And I...well, it's a little embarrassing to admit it now, but I was terrified of the dark back then."
He chuckled to himself, scratching the back of his head.
"Especially during thunderstorms. The whole place would go silent except for the sound of rain hammering on the roof and thunder shaking the walls...And it was so dark. No light, no sound, just shadows and noise. I'd get so scared, I'd start crying and hide somewhere. Under beds, in closets, wherever I could crawl into."
Vanitas listened in silence, a strange emotion forming in her eyes.
"But then, like clockwork...this one nun would always show up." His eyes softened. "She was kind...gentle. Treated all of us like her own. But somehow...no matter where I was hiding, no matter how quiet I tried to be, she always found me. Like she just knew. And she'd pull me into her embrace...just like this."
He pressed Vanitas gently to his chest again.
"She'd hold me close and press my head to her chest...and I'd hear her heartbeat. Steady. Calm. Warm." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't know why, but hearing that heartbeat, feeling that warmth, made everything else disappear. The dark, the thunder, the fear...everything just melted away. I felt safe. Like nothing in the world could hurt me."
His hand gently smoothed over Vanitas's hair again.
"She's the one who taught me that sometimes, all someone needs...is to be held."
He glanced down at her, expecting a smile or maybe a word. But to his surprise, Vanitas had a deeply guilty look on her face. Her eyes were shadowed with something unspoken. She looked like she was hiding something.
Kafka frowned. "What's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?" He leaned forward, studying her face. "Why does it feel like you're keeping something from me?"
She hesitated. And then...
He saw the flicker of realization flash through his own eyes.
"Wait..." He reached down and gently tilted her chin up, making her meet his gaze. "Don't tell me...That nun, was it you? Were you the one who sent her?"
Vanitas's eyes widened, and for a second she looked like a child caught stealing sweets.
"I always wondered how she found me." Kafka's voice was low, but firm. "I'd be tucked into the tiniest corners sometimes, hiding away like a mouse. No one should've found me. But if you...if you were watching me the whole time...whispering from above..."
He trailed off, staring at her.
"...You were the one who sent her, weren't you?"
Vanitas, caught completely, gave the tiniest nod, her voice trembling.
"I...I didn't have a choice." She whispered, eyes darting away in shame. "I saw you...curled up, so small and afraid...hiding in the dark, all alone. It tore me apart. I couldn't just watch it happen..."
Her voice cracked.
"I-I wanted to go down there myself. To hold you. To tell you everything would be okay. But I...I couldn't. So I found someone kind. Someone close. And I whispered into her heart. Told her to hold you. To comfort you. To press you against her chest and let you hear her heartbeat...because that's what I would've done if I was there."
She clutched his shirt weakly, her voice barely a breath. "I did it every time. Because I couldn't bear to see you in pain..."
Kafka stared at her. Then, he laughed. A bright laughter that surprised Vanitas.
"So it was you." He said, grinning as if he'd just solved a lifelong mystery. "You were the one who always came to me...even then."
He shook his head, smiling to himself. "You've been protecting me all along, huh? Even from the heavens."
He looked at her again, and this time there was something deeper in his gaze.
"You know what that means?" He asked softly. "It means you're the one who taught me this. You taught me how to hold someone. How to calm them down when they're hurting. Before I even met you properly...you were already taking care of me."
And then, before she could react, Kafka leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to her forehead.
Kiss!
Vanitas gasped, her body trembling again, but this time, not from fear. From emotion. From joy. From disbelief. Her eyes shimmered, wide with wonder, as her son kissed her so tenderly.
It was the first time. The first time he'd kissed her like this.
Kafka leaned back, smiling warmly. "Thank you, Mom." He said, voice thick with sincerity. "Thank you for protecting me. For watching over me...even when I didn't know it."
He ran his fingers through her hair, slowly, lovingly.
"I always thought I had a guardian angel by my side. But it was you. It's always been you."
She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Tears had begun to well up again, but they were different this time. Not tears of fear or shame.
Tears of being seen.
"And just like how you helped me through my darkest times..." Kafka continued, stroking her cheeks. "...I'm going to do the same."
Vanitas blinked in surprise, eyes meeting his.
"Right now...I can feel what you're going through." Kafka said, his voice low and tender. "I know you're struggling. I know you're afraid, afraid of how I see you. Afraid I might push you away."
He paused, locking eyes with her. "But don't. Don't be afraid."
"I made a promise. And I'm keeping it. I won't push you away. I won't abandon you. I won't look at you with disgust...Just like you never looked at me with anything less than love."
His grip around her tightened.
"You were there for me...in the darkest moments of my life. You saved me. Again and again. So now..." He rested his forehead against hers. "Let me save you."
"The pain we're facing...the chaos between us...we'll face it together."
"You're not alone anymore, Mom."
"Not ever again."
Vanitas's breath hitched...she smiled. A soft, tearful, trembling smile.
Because she finally believed it.
She wasn't alone anymore.
Her son was holding her now.
And he ever wasn't letting go.