Mythshaper-Chapter 44: Scars

Chapter 44: Scars

We watched from the foothills as Father’s figure disappeared into the mountains along with the others in the company. The guild had worked hard to organise everything in just one day for the expedition.

"It’s weird," Rosalyn said, glancing towards the tallest peaks. "Our home is just on the other side of the mountain range, yet this place feels so far away. There should still be exotic creatures—some that could form soul bonds with an Awakened deep inside the wilderness, yet no one ventures deep."

"Perhaps," Mum told her, "but considering how unwelcoming the wilderness can be, it isn't feasible for most people. Occasionally, some lost adventurers try their luck, but most don’t come back. And those who do return, were empty-handed, and their experiences so harrowing that they discourage others from trying."

"It didn't stop you," Rosalyn mumbled wistfully.

“Still thinking of joining them?” Mum asked, tapping her youngest sister on the shoulder.

Rose shook her head. "I wanted to go on an adventure with you," she said, hugging Mum’s arm. "I never hear the end of how many places you visited with Emi, but I never get to join even one."

The reason for that was probably the age gap between them. I didn’t know their exact ages—at least not Mum’s—but Rose looked like she was not even half of Mum’s age.

Mum hugged her back. "Well, never say never. One of these days, we might be able to go on some adventure together."

We strolled back home as the mist churned upwards in the sunlight.

"Mum, when have you ventured deep in the mountains?" I asked, because I had no recollection of such memory. It was evident that she was familiar with the region, as last night she had been educating Father about the area, with a bunch of maps covered in her own handiwork.

Mum gave me a curious glance. "I was a long time ago. Long before you were born," she said. "And we ventured from Vashar, not from this side. Still, I can tell you exactly why adventurers hesitate to go deep."

I was about to ask if she had found anything worthwhile when I noticed Mum suddenly freeze mid-stride.

Following her gaze, I spotted two stalwart figures standing like statues in the fog. Creeping a little closer, I made out the distinct features of a man, perhaps a decade older than my father, though not as tall, standing with a serious air.

He had a moustache and short-cropped hair in a military style, complemented by the longsword strapped to his back. I might have thought the sword was purely ceremonial—since many equestrian highlords carried swords as an ornament without ever needing to use them—but then my gaze caught the red cloak draped over his shoulders and the distinctive mark on them. A paludamentum, marking him as a legionary of at least a Centurion rank.

The woman, on the other hand, piqued my curiosity even further. She, too, was middle-aged, with auburn hair much like my mother’s. And judging by the way my aunt and Mum’s expressions shifted at the first glimpse of her, it became evident who she was.

"Mother," Rosalyn croaked, then quickly turned to the man. "Father!"

She squealed in joy before dashing forward and leaping into the man’s arms, his once-stalwart, serious look melting away into the mist.

Mum, however, stood frozen beside me, a deluge of raw emotion flashing across her face for a split second before solidifying into a stoic mask.

"Mother," Mum said with a curt nod, her voice flat. "I see you are in good shape."

Somehow, the older woman—my grandmother—bore a stark resemblance to Mum, and adopted the same air of stoicism. Only a tight smile escaped her lips.

Mum’s gaze darted too quickly to the man. "Sir Aelius, good to see you once again."

The revelation that the man might be a Crown Knight on top of being a Centurion didn’t immediately register in my mind, given how distantly Mum greeted them. It was strange. Rosalyn had called him Father. Shouldn’t Mum be more cordial towards him?

Hypercognition sent my thoughts racing, piecing together the answer. After all, I was named after my grandfather, Arcis Silverheart, yet Mum had addressed this man as Sir Aelius, a surname belonging to a High Patrician-class knight family.

My gaze returned to the middle-aged woman. Like Mum, she revealed none of her inner feelings as her eyes finally settled on me.

I felt an urge to hide behind Mum under her scrutiny but stopped myself and offered a curt hello instead.

My grandmother's lips curved upwards in a warm smile, as finally, Mum invited them inside.

Grandmother strolled through the house at a leisurely pace, taking her time studying the structure and every little decoration. Eventually, we all found ourselves in the study. Sir Aelius and Rose stood in one corner, observing the silent tension between Mum and my grandmother, exchanging far too many glances to be at ease.

"I’ll go prepare tea," Mum said, wandering off before anyone could stop her, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.

"Mother," Rosalyn said, her voice taking on a tone very different from its usual liveliness, "I’m surprised to find you here."

"That makes two of us," the woman replied with an exhale. "Colour me surprised when I found out my youngest daughter had taken leave from the academy and didn’t even bother to visit me. Is that what I’ve become in your eyes?"

"I was going to visit," she said. "After… visiting Eldest Sister." Rose set her jaw, lips pressing into a thin line. "How did you know I was here?"

My grandmother shot her a sidelong glance but gave no answer.

I was just about to quietly exit the room as they became engrossed in their conversation when her next words froze me in place.

"Is that my grandson?" she said, waving a palm towards me. "Come closer, child. My old eyes barely see far."

It was barely a couple of yards away, but I found myself with no choice but to obey. Slowly, I stepped towards the older woman as she bent down to press a palm over my shoulder.

"Look how big you’ve grown," she said. "You've seen what, twelve seasons?" She sighed and shook her head, pushing her resignation away. "I see you have received my gift. Good, good."

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I tilted my head in confusion, but once again, she withheld the explanation.

"Come, sit. I have so much to hear from you."

She practically forced me onto the couch next to her and began asking all sorts of questions—mostly mundane ones about my life here, how my studies were going, and how I trained. I found myself answering in as few words as possible.

The woman might have been my grandmother, but I was still too unfamiliar with her to act naturally. Then the thought of how distant my mother behaved with her.

"I can already see some signs of training in your gait," the knight said, examining me. "Swordsmanship?"

I nodded, cocking an eyebrow. Can a knight tell that just through my walk?

"Who do you train under?"

"My father," I said. "I’ve been training under him for over two seasons."

Sir Aelius nodded.

The name Aelius had a long history, heralded by Tiberius Aelius, who had been a heroic knight in his time, and of course, Arch Imperator Hadrian Aelius Alberius. I was uncertain how the man before me was tied to the lineage. Rose or Mum had never mentioned a thing about it.

Mother finally returned with a tray full of beverages and food. She had outdone herself, preparing a platter of fruits and cookies.

Leaving the tray on the table, she stood rigidly to the side.

"Come now," her mother said. "Don’t act like a stranger with your own mother."

"I don’t know how you expect me to act," came her reply, her expression neutral. "Will hugging and kissing you mend our relationship?"

Grandmother pressed her lips together. "Act however you want. Just don’t make it seem like everything was my fault."

"It wasn’t," my mother said, her jaw clenching as an air of Weight and Influence escaped her for a split second before receding into her form.

"It still feels like there’s a large part of you that blames me for what happened," my grandmother said. "And I suppose I deserve it."

"I should've known you were the one who gave Emi the phoenix pendant to pass along." Mum’s tone turned accusatory.

"Can’t a grandmother gift something to her grandson?" She took a sip of tea. "He’s my first and only grandson, after all. Ahh, never thought you would even have children—much less be the first to bring me a grandson. I had my suspicions about Rose, that she might someday come home expecting a ch—"

"Mother!" Rosalyn protested.

"Among my three daughters, you’re the only one stupid enough to think that would be a good way to spurn me."

Rosalyn flushed and shut her mouth.

Mum still seemed fixated on the pendant. "You could have given the gift in person, without all the theatrics," she said. "Since you managed to make your way here."

"Would you have accepted it if I came in person to hand it to Arilyn?"

Mum’s silence was answer enough.

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"Arilyn," my grandmother repeated, as though testing the name. "I like it. A proper Althian name"

"It was his father who named him," my mother added curtly. "He’s not here. Gone on an expedition."

"A pity." Grandmother pulled me closer. "I would have liked to speak with him before I leave, but it looks like I’ll have to wait for another time."

Mum seemed much too relieved about that fact.

"I like how you’ve kept the tradition alive, teaching him our essence unification method."

I perked up at that, but Mum only grunted in reply. Her figure, which had seemed so large in my mind, seemed to slump in her mother’s presence.

What had started as a confrontation between mother and daughter fizzled into a quiet stalemate. Eventually, Mum excused herself from the room once again.

I was once again the centre of my grandmother’s attention.

"Arcis, your grandfather would have been so happy to see you," she said, stroking my hair. "He would have burst into laughter hearing you’re named after him."

That comment made me raise an eyebrow.

"Unfortunately, he died in a war before he could meet his grandchildren."

Now it was confirmed—Sir Aelius was likely her second husband. I had never considered the possibility of Rosalyn being Mum’s half-sibling before, given how close they were. But that didn’t seem to be the reason behind the conflict between Grandmother and Mum.

Our conversation continued for over an hour, covering various topics—how my grandfather, may he rest in peace, received the title of Silverheart, and how, once, Mum and Aunt Emi had delved into the Candor Mountains and returned with the antlers of a Frostbloom Elk.

When she spoke, it was so evident that she loved all her children deeply, yet there was a conspicuous divide between them.

Eventually, I found myself sparring against Sir Aelius in the yard. He approved of what my father had been teaching me and pointed out the gaps in my technique. Well, Father had promised to teach me the Fourth Form once he returned from the expedition, so that would probably cover what I was missing.

While I was engrossed in the knight’s guidance, my grandmother disappeared back into the house—likely to find my mother again.

Ashlyn

Ashlyn hammered the heavy metal plate on the anvil, her calloused strokes gradually falling into methodical forms. If it had been any other alloy than Elensil, it would have already been paper-thin under her hammering.

She rarely used a hammer for her forge work these days. Her control over the elements and telekinesis usually allowed her to mould metal into any desired shape. But there was something about working with a hammer. It didn’t bring back nostalgic memories of when she had first learned smithing; it was more about clearing her mind and channelling her energy into something tangible.

With each strike of the hammer, some of the tension in her body eased, and her thoughts became a little clearer. Still, she wasn’t in the mood to craft something new. After the recent debacle with the corpse flies, she had decided it was necessary to arm Arilyn with one or two protective enchantments.

A shield would have been simple to create, but one couldn’t carry a shield everywhere. Besides, her boy wasn’t of age yet. No, she needed something finer—something with an ornamental design. Something that would require the full depth of her expertise and a fair measure of creative inspiration.

Whatever she made in her current mood would only be something foul and hideous. Ashlyn might be a Master Runesmith, but she was not the master of her emotions. Only Jinn could be the best version of himself even when he wasn’t having the best of days. But she was not Jinn, and she had not made peace with her life.

The creak of the forge’s door interrupted her thoughts, and a figure slipped inside. Ashlyn didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

Her mother stood in the doorway, as imperious as Ashlyn remembered her the last time she had seen her—the time she had exiled her. Solas, why does it still hurt so much?

Her mother said nothing, merely scanning the forge, her eyes scrutinising every corner, lingering on the stacks of elementary designs Arilyn left scattered on the desk. Ashlyn, too, stayed silent and focused on the metal beneath her hammer. The plate had already been refined beyond Tier 3, and further refinement would require the use of her essence.

"The little cub is far more polite than you were in your youth," her mother finally said. A line or two of new wrinkles had crept across her otherwise exquisite face, but they only added to the sternness of her gaze. "I heard from Emelyn that you’ve had trouble raising him alone. Always second-guessing your intentions, questioning the effects of your teaching."

Ashlyn paused mid-strike and shot her mother a sharp look.

"It’s a mother’s failing to her children," her mother continued. "Perhaps I could help you unburden some of that."

"Thank you for your offer," Ashlyn replied, ensuring her tone was sharp and crass. "But I’m doing fine."

"How about his Shaper skills, then?" her mother pressed. "You know I could teach him a thing or two."

"Like you taught Emi?" Ashlyn tried to remain composed, but her emotions betrayed her.

A sigh escaped her mother's lips.

"What do you want, Mother?" She set her jaw, years of resentment bubbling to the surface.

"Can I not come just to see my daughter and grandson?"

"Now I’m your daughter?" Ashlyn laughed sarcastically. "You’re not ashamed to bear my shames, then?"

"I was never…" She froze, a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps—crossing her face. Her mouth opened as though to form a response, but no words came.

For that, Ashlyn was grateful. She had spent years crafting excuses for her mother in her mind—any reason to forgive her. But each excuse only fuelled her anger, and the years apart had done little to dull that pain.

In the end, it didn’t change the fact that her own mother had exiled her, erased her name from the family tree, all for someone else’s crime.

Ashlyn exhaled heavily. Even with so many points in her attributes, she found her body shuddering, her essence quaking.

"I knew it would be difficult with you," her mother said at last. "For what it’s worth, you should know that I’m proud of you. I’m proud of all your accomplishments. My heart swelled with pride when you forged your own path, and I accepted it when you chose to leave everything behind to live an ordinary life."

Ashlyn searched her mother’s expression for a hidden agenda, trying to gauge the motive behind her words. It had always been like this with High lady Shenaryn Amadeus—always a game, always a scheme, always something under the line. But something had changed. Whether it was the unfamiliarity bred by years apart or a genuine shift in her mother, Ashlyn could find no scheme in her gaze, no hint of falsehood in her aura.

For once, she was at a loss.

So they sat in relative silence, the only sound in the forge the rhythmic hammering of metal.