“So you actually finished it,” Aven’s mother commented as he walked into his home. With it being the warm season, most of the game that the tribe’s hunters would normally be searching for were resting in their caves and dens on account of the heat. As hunters didn’t use up arrows they didn’t fire, his parents only worked on their craft every other day and spent their days off at home. There were of course chores and responsibilities that kept them busy, but apparently not at the moment as his mother demonstrated by enjoying a meal at their shared table.

When Aven didn’t speak up, not moving in the doorway, his mother rose from her seat and pushed past him to get a better view of his golem. “10 tries, was it, for your first time? There must be imperfections somewhere, but as long as it moves that’s enough to help out.”

He simply waited as she performed her inspection, first of his construct and then him, undoubtedly finding fault based on the frown that grew on her face. “Then why is he not hauling lumber for the family, you stupid son! Your father could have had a day off as well, but now he is dealing with a shortage of feathers because you decided it was of greater importance to play around in the fields than do any actual work.”

Aven could not help but feel that a tiny part of him agreed, realizing it was a mistake to not inform his parents of his success sooner. Something they would have known, had they ever attended his attempts after his first failure, another party chimed in. He had always wanted to stop being a nuisance to his family, to see the pride in their eyes when he finally made something of himself. And, up until now, he had thought it would be in golemancy, by creating a golem dexterous enough to help his parents with the crafting of arrows and stringing of bows.

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But now, as his mother continued her usual chastisement, the aspect of himself that agreed with his mother took root in his mind and drowned everything else out. If this had truly been for the sake of his family, why had he not informed them last night? How would thinking for himself solve the problem, when his parents were right there to tell him what to do? Who did he think he was? Did a little bit of knowledge on mana, constructing golems and the tribe’s history make him anything other than a failure of a son who could only rely on the two people who had raised him?

“...you should just do as you are told! Is that concept too difficult to understand? Maybe we would have been better to have a golem than a son; at least the former would follow instructions!”

Like a gong went off in Aven’s head, the pain in his chest and tenseness of his closed fists was replaced with the view of the village from afar, his conversation with Creator Fernon and his every childhood imagination of golem’s coming to life. His mother’s face was inches from his, her breath bouncing off his skin, and yet her normally sunken brown eyes and bulging cheeks were distorted. Aven blinked away the tears he had not noticed forming, but that only served to deepen the lines in her forehead until they cut across her entire face. His mother’s normally light brown skin turned darker, grayer, until the only recognizable aspect were her eyes that began to merge. A crystal formed in their place, and with a flash of blue that surged through the runes inscribed upon her head, the human that was his mother had transformed into a golem.

“M-mother!” Aven squeaked out, slowly backing away from the construct that had taken the place of one of his parents. Even though golem’s lacked facial expressions, the lowered head and squared shoulders of the construct before him radiated anger. With no warning, its hand whipped out and slammed into Aven’s cheek, knocking him to the ground before lifting him up by the collar of his shirt.

Although Aven did not remember much from the beating that followed, once he could focus his right eye again, it was the livid face of his mother that he saw.

He wished it was a faceless golem.