Ep 130. I Am Not Your Mother. (3)
Hours slipped by as Serenis and Karas both listened to Aymeia’s haphazard recollections.
Some were memories from a distant past; some were recent. Some, no one could tell – not even Aymeia herself.
In retrospect, the former deity’s story made little sense: her memories comprised of a mix of her own and Vulka’s, or at times, some completely unrelated entity. She often stumbled on her own words, unable to decide on how she felt about various issues.
This was especially evident when Felicir’s name came up: being her former teacher and friend, the human girl Aymeia had always appreciated his presence. But to Vulka, the Reaper was nothing but a despicable, heartless enemy.
Indeed, Aymeia was responsible for sending the Reaper to Serenis in the first place. But despite her evident memories, she could hardly understand why she’d relied on Felicir for help, or why she’d sent him to kill someone that could’ve been her own mother.
With two conflicting notions resting within her mind, there was little coherence in Aymeia’s words. And the more Serenis listened, the more her certainty grew.
‘…This isn’t Vulka.’
The memories Aymeia possessed were real: some were ones that no one else could’ve known besides the dragonlord’s only son.
However, those memories were often corrupt, or incomplete. Even though Aymeia could recall Serenis, she couldn’t recall the existence of there being a sibling; she could recall one elder, but not another.
She could recall how they’d parted. But not how they’d met.
“…But…what is there to recall about our meeting? You were always there. Children don’t normally remember meeting their parents for the first time, right…?”
In response, Aymeia received a cold stare from Serenis.
“You know what you should not…and yet, you know not what you should.”
First, Aymeia’s claim was only true among human children. Dragon hatchlings tended to spend the first few years within their egg, and many retained memories of their hatching day, as well as how they’d ‘met’ their parents for the first time.
Second, the relationship Serenis had with Vulka wasn’t exactly a typical parent-child relationship. And even though the dragonlord had never told him certain things about their relationship, she didn’t doubt for a moment that her clever child would’ve figured it out on his own.
But because they were never said by either of them, certain aspects of their parental relationship had always remained unsurfaced. There was no explicit memory to explain who they were to each other, and Aymeia – only being in possession of Vulka’s explicit memories – was incapable of reaching the same realizations he had.
Hence, when the former deity’s series of recollections came to an end, perhaps it was only natural that Serenis would remain adamant in her denial.
“…I will say it again. I am not your mother, and you are not my child.”
“…”
When Aymeia lowered her head in disappointment, a hint of remorse gnawed at the dragonlord’s conscience.
But before she could act upon it, Karas finally broke his long silence after watching their interactions finish.
“Interesting. Seems her egos have fused.”
“…Fused?”
As Serenis turned to Karas, the professor nodded in response.
“It’s only a theory, but…on rare occasions, a secondary ego will surface alongside a preexisting one within one soul. When neither are successfully erased, the two will fuse, and the individual’s sense of self becomes lost between the two. Symptoms are as you see: incoherent memories, and a conflicting self-image. Though I suppose in this case, it’s due to a divinity’s influence.”
Serenis listened intently as Karas explained his ‘theory’ – which wasn’t so much a theory, with a secret advisor telling the professor exactly how things had happened inside his head.
And said advisor wasn’t being very helpful at the moment.
‘Felicir, is there no fix to her state of being?’
‘To tell you the truth, I had high hopes when our hero took away her divinity. I thought removing her divinity would revert her back to normal.’
‘…And it didn’t, did it.’
‘No, that it did not. And therefore, I’m out of ideas.’
“…”
While Karas struggled with the voice inside his head, Serenis was struggling to meet the former deity’s innocent gaze.
She, too, had experienced what it was like to hold the star deity’s divinity. It wasn’t difficult to grasp how the girl’s state of mind had to come to pass.
‘…That wasn’t a dream after all, was it?’
Had Zion not protected her within her unconscious, the star’s memories may very well have flooded Serenis’ mind. She may have lost herself amidst its crashing waves, never to regain herself again.
‘You would’ve fared better. I’m sure you wouldn’t have needed help as I did.’
After a short silence, Serenis quietly whispered a name.
A name she dearly missed.
“…Vulka.”
“Huh?...Yes?”
Watching the star deity respond to her son’s name, the dragonlord’s discomfort only grew further.
She wasn’t speaking to Aymeia to begin with.
She was merely calling out into thin air – lamenting the loss of her son to no one in particular.
If only I could, I would bring you back.
If only I could, I would tell you how thankful I am…and how sorry I am.
But I’ll never be able to. Not anymore.
As saddening as it was, Serenis’ son had long passed away. She’d seen his remains with her very own eyes, and she’d reclaimed the legacy he’d left behind.
Hence, the lost girl before her was not her child. Aymeia was no different from a broken instrument, playing notes that it was never meant to play; it was small wonder its sounds would come out torn and unpleasant.
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“…”
On the day Serenis awoke in this body for the first time, she’d wished that her son would be at the valley to greet her again.
When she’d realized that he’d passed away, she’d wished that he’d return to life somehow. Just like she had, through another inexplicable miracle.
‘…But this is not how I wished for it to be.’
Steeling her heart, Serenis drew a deep breath before she would speak again.
“…Aymeia. Do you recall how you became a deity?”
“I…”
Aymeia’s voice faded into silence as she failed in forming her answer.
It was a hazy memory, blurred beyond recognition. She couldn’t recall much detail, but there were certain things she hadn’t forgotten to this day.
“…I wanted to help him.”
“? Help who?”
“…Felicir.”
Aymeia couldn’t believe her own words. But the Reaper’s grinning face was all she could see in her memories.
“I’m not sure why. I hate him, I always hated him, but…for some reason, I wanted to help him then. I didn’t know it would end like this…”
Aymeia warily eyed the dragonlord, afraid that she’d receive another cold gaze from her. But Serenis was instead nodding her head, her eyes reflecting more of remorse than contempt.
‘…Vulka probably hated him. But you clearly did not.’
Aymeia had been born a human; if she had been born a dragon, then Serenis would’ve noticed it from the start, one way or another. And if she was born human, then there was no telling what sort of relationship she would’ve had with the Reaper during those days.
Though, now, the girl was nothing more than the First’s mockery of the second dragonlord.
Normally, that would’ve been enough reason for Serenis to remove the girl from her sight. If the First would mock her kin from beyond death, then she would gladly kill him as many times as it would take.
But there were also reasons to stay her hand.
As matters stood, Aymeia was nonetheless a dragonkin in the present; the fact that she’d responded to the dragonlord’s speech was the only evidence Serenis needed.
Further, none of it had been intentional: Aymeia had never intended to mock the dragonlord’s son, and she’d never intended to steal their memories. She’d never intended herself to become the maddened, confused individual that she was.
One thousand years ago, a human girl had wanted to help her teacher in distress.
And she hadn’t the mind to think an entire millennium ahead in making her decision.
“…”
Serenis closed her eyes, reflecting over her own conscience. She continuously asked herself what the other lords would have done in her place.
Some would’ve elected to kill Aymeia without a second thought.
Some would’ve resorted to punishment. Some would’ve sold her to another tribe like livestock, or exiled her from their tribe. Some may not even have cared about such defects.
But her son would probably have laughed, noting the unexpected twists that fate had to offer him.
He would’ve taught and reprimanded Aymeia about why she shouldn’t attempt to imitate his being. And he would’ve dissuaded his mother from resorting to violence, protecting the peculiar girl as fellow kin.
Finally, he’d shrug it off afterwards.
Content, and unbothered.
✧ ✧ ✧
When Serenis had first announced her intent to turn a blind eye to Aymeia’s state of being, Karas let out an internal sigh of relief. Had Serenis decided to resort to violence, then he would’ve been cornered into a choice of breaking the Reaper’s conditions, or having to defend Aymeia against a literal demonlord – neither of which were too appealing.
But Aymeia herself seemed no better than she was before.
In fact, Serenis’ announcement seemed to worsen her mood. The former deity’s strained gaze met the dragonlord’s as her eyes begun to well up.
“…If I’m not your child as you say…who am I then, really?”
“…”
Despite Aymeia’s conflicting memories, Vulka’s were, ironically, still the largest portion. But now, that was being denied by the very person she thought to be her own parent.
And yet, her supposed mother could not give her an answer.
Serenis didn’t know who Aymeia was; the peculiar girl was just a human-turned-dragonkin who’d coincidentally happened to possess her son’s memories through the divinity they once held. The dragonlord knew nothing about the girl’s personal life.
Instead, the answer came from someone else.
“Asarda’s guardian.”
As soon as Karas broke his silence, Serenis and Aymeia both turned their eyes towards him. The professor awkwardly cleared his throat in response to the sudden attention, adding on a few extra details.
“Well, that’s…what the Deity of Stars is said to be, anyhow. Aymeia is worshipped by Asardans as their guardian, and it’s said that she oversees their land and well-being. It’s also said that she alters the constellations to guide those who are lost.”
Serenis meekly nodded her head. She could care less what humans made their supposed deities out to be, but what Karas was saying did sound like something a tale that mankind would weave.
Instead, the confused one was Aymeia herself.
“…I am?”
“Yes. Yes you are. In fact, now that I think about it…”
The professor then turned to face Serenis, gesturing towards his chest.
“Serenis. I believe you’re currently in possession of Aymeia’s divinity, yes?”
“…?”
Serenis instantly narrowed her eyes at Karas’ unexpected remark.
“…How do you know that?”
“Huh? Oh. Uh, well…”
The professor soon realized his mistake – while Felicir was busily laughing inside his head. But he had no time to pay the laughing spirit any mind, rushing to make a plausible excuse.
“Well…Raizel took it to deliver it to you, and I haven’t heard either of you mention it since. I was curious if anything had happened to it.”
Serenis’ frown somewhat loosened as she listened to the professor’s reply.
“Oh…I see. I was wondering how it’d suddenly appeared. I suppose she did deliver it to me then. Though, this time…I happened to absorb it.”
“Ah. You…absorbed it. That’s different, yes? You normally opt to destroying them.”
“…Circumstances were dire. I had no choice.”
“Haha. I see, I see. Interesting.”
After faking out both laughter and interest, Karas took care to consciously calm his breathing.
‘Good heavens. I better watch for that.’
‘Or…you could simply tell others that I’m with you. And that I tell you things.’
‘…Felicir. In case you aren’t aware, that would likely get me killed.’
‘My point.’
‘And in case you aren’t aware, my death translates to your demise.’
‘…My bad, I take it back. Live long and prosper, slaver.’
After calming himself to a sufficient degree, Karas once again cleared his throat to elaborate on what he’d initially meant to.
“Then, Serenis, that being the case…you don’t seem influenced by it like Aymeia or Lavnore were. Did the divinity have no impact on you?”
“…It did. Had circumstances been any different, I may have lost my mind as well.”
“Is that so? Could you elaborate on how you managed?”
“…I held onto the present. And I destroyed the divinity’s memories.”
Karas took a few seconds to absorb the information, nodding his head at the new knowledge. He then looked towards Aymeia from the corners of his eyes, studying the former deity from head to toe.
“I see. So, in other words…you were able to retain yourself by reinforcing former memories, while rejecting the new.”
“I…suppose.”
“Then there may be hope for our deity yet.”
The professor then fully turned to face Aymeia. He stretched out his arm, gesturing towards the mountains in the distance – and the frozen lands beyond it.
“It may be possible for Aymeia to yet regain herself. Serenis, since you’ve already taken the liberty of rejecting her newer memories, we only need to reinforce the old.”
“…And how do you plan to do that? We hardly know of her past self.”
“Ah, quite the contrary. You forget that history is my main area of study. Although more recent records speak of Aymeia as a deity who’d long disappeared from the star, there are older records that depict her as a benevolent guardian of Asarda’s people. Specifically, there are tomes about…”
As Karas began his short lecture, even Aymeia’s eyes lit up with interest. Even though he was merely speaking about her own self, her mind grappled with the professor’s words, desperate to recall the things that he was speaking of.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t remember most of it. But all of it felt nonetheless familiar.
They were memories she’d lost – memories she’d once held dear.
“…So, in fact, we do know quite a lot about her past. And surely at such points, she was still of her own mind. Her former memories may reawaken in the presence of her land and people.”
As Karas drew his conclusion, the first thought Serenis had was how plausible the professor had made it out to be.
But her second thought was how unwilling she was to carry the plan forth.
“…I see your point, Karas. But I fail to see why I should go to such lengths to help a divinity.”
“She no longer is, is she? With her divinity lost, I thought she’s closer to a dragon than she is a deity.”
“…”
“Though, I do suppose there’s no reason for a lord to help every single one of their kin. But should we succeed in restoring Aymeia to her regular self, she may be able to offer you information about the remaining deities – something I know you would be after.”
Serenis let out a resigning sigh. She spared a brief glance towards the puppy-eyed girl before turning back to address Karas.
“…There’s no need to convince me to help my own kin.”
“Haha. It’s the thought that counts.”
“What of yourself, then? Why are you going to such lengths to help this girl? She is neither kin nor acquaintance to you. I don’t see why you’d suggest such time-consuming methods to help her state.”
“…”
The professor mused upon the dragonlord’s question – or rather, upon how to deliver a convincing lie. But unlike last time where he’d been caught completely off-guard, he was well-prepared this time around.
“…There’s a multitude of reasons. For one, I’ve ample time right now – a luxury I could scarce afford during my days at the institute. Any history scholar would welcome the opportunity to study a deity’s past in their presence, and I am no exception. It would also be worthwhile to deliver the news of Akeia’s fall to Asarda: the people are wont to believe us if their guardian is present. And, lastly…”
The professor spared a brief glance towards his student. Light was just starting to stir awake, rubbing her eyes as she arose from Ilias’ side.
Soon after, Karas finished his statement with a visible grin.
“…I was taught that compassion goes a long way in life.”