"Mother, what is your name?" I asked, my voice a small, earnest thing, my eyes lit with the pure, unblemished wonder of a hatchling. "What is your signature in this deed called life?"
Mother froze mid-pace, mid-ramble, her majestic form suddenly still. Her eyes, pools of ancient ruby, widened with something like... amusement? No, pride. A deep, resonant pride that shimmered through the cavern.
She turned toward me, her gaze razor-sharp and her smile slow, like the unfurling of a dark, magnificent wing.
"My dearest daughter," she finally said, her voice a warm current in my mind, imbued with the weight of ages, "it is the purview of the discerning to question, to search, and to dissect for truth. Be perpetually curious, little one. While a cat may squander but a few of its nine lives for mere amusement, to lose them in the pursuit of knowledge? That, I assure you, is a trifle well spent."
Her lips curled in that signature, smug grin I'd grown to admire, a flash of gleaming white teeth against the rich darkness of her skin in human form.
"For understanding is not merely a skill; it is a weapon. And wisdom, a most formidable ally." She paused dramatically—Mother lived for theatrics, her very being a grand performance. "As for your inquiry? Your mother's name is Esh."
Esh.
It echoed in my mind, a secret only stars should know, a whisper of cosmic fire and enduring strength.
"Do well to engrave it upon your memory," she continued, her tone solemn now, imbued with command. "To present one's name to the world is a sacred trust, a declaration. Few are afforded such grace."
Then, suddenly, her grin grew brighter, a blazing beacon in the dim cave. Her crimson hair caught the cave light like a flame in joyous motion, a living ribbon of twilight fire. "Ah yes, I have it! Prepare yourself for astonishment, little one!"
I tilted my head, my pale, silken hair falling across my shoulder, utterly intrigued.
"With all my glorious authority," she announced, her voice resonating with power that seemed to vibrate the very stone, "I name you: Lux."
The word thrummed in the air, a palpable force, as if it had true weight, true light.
The world itself hummed in agreement, a soft, resonant chord.
"Though I bring the heat," she said, placing a clawed hand to her chest, over what would be her heart, "you, my little one, are my light. A most fitting appellation, if I do say so myself." Her eyes, those ancient rubies, held a spark of deep affection that warmed me to my core.
"Lux…" I whispered, testing it on my tongue, feeling the word like a new, powerful spell. Then I smiled, wide and honest, a genuine flash of joy. "I like it."
"Naturally, you do," Mother said smugly, her voice laced with that familiar arrogance, as she handed me a heavy, leather-bound book. "It was my conceit. Quite the brilliant notion, would you not agree?"
The Looming Storm
She'd been teaching me to read and write for some time now, our days unfolding in a peaceful, almost golden routine—warm, mundane, yet always laced with the subtle hum of magic.
Then, one day, Mother stopped mid-lesson, the ancient texts forgotten.
She looked at me with a smile full of both fierce arrogance and a profound, underlying affection—the kind of smile that meant something utterly ridiculous, yet utterly significant, was about to happen.
"Be wise," she said, her voice a low command, rich with authority, "be arrogant. Be stubborn and knowledgeable. Understand without surrendering. Knowing does not necessitate agreement."
She walked over and crouched down to my level, her eyes, usually alight with sharp wit, now held a stark seriousness.
"Do not be blind. And do not cling so tenaciously to one truth that you fail to perceive a superior one. Even the proudest palm, standing unapologetically tall, understands when to bow its head in the tempest."
I blinked, a shiver running down my spine. "...Mother?"
"Surrender is not failure," she said, her voice softer now, infused with an unexpected tenderness, "not if one judiciously selects what is retained in the exchange."
I swallowed. The air felt heavy, thick with unspoken meaning. Like the very stone of the cave knew something I didn't, something dark and inevitable.
"I have a minor excursion for you, little one," she added, her voice brightening, forcing a lightness that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Your inaugural journey beyond our threshold. Endeavor to be exhilarated!"
"Exhilarated?" I echoed, the word feeling hollow.
She reached into her robes, and from within their folds produced a small, sturdy leather satchel, surprisingly heavy, along with a gleaming one-sided dagger, its single edge catching the faint light with a cold, precise gleam. The satchel, when she placed it in my hands, clinked with the distinct sound of gold and silver coins.
"Funds for your travels, and a trifle for your defence," she winked, though her smile was tight, her gaze piercing. "Never forget: the blood of Esh flows within you."
"But Mother," I protested, my voice tinged with desperation, "I still cannot even sense mana. We've tried. It—"
She cut me off with a sharp, dismissive smile, holding up a hand. "Trust me. Mother, as ever, knows best."
And with that, she stepped across the cave's threshold—and stopped. Her body tensed, like a coiled spring, every line rigid with sudden alarm.
I heard it too.
The dull, rhythmic clink of armour. The heavy, unyielding march of boots. And then, the sickening, metallic stench of sweat and steel, of too many humans packed too close, wafting into our sanctuary.
It was wrong. The cave usually smelled like scorched stone and warm ash, like ancient power and quiet life.
But this?
This smelled like war. A cold, iron scent that stole the warmth from the air, promising only a bitter chill.