A Mother Knows Best but the Lord Knows Better

My mother led me into her private study.

A familiar space—warm, lined with books, soft cushions, and the ever-present scent of dried herbs and parchment.

It was supposed to be comforting.

But right now, it wasn't.

Not when my stomach was still twisted in knots.

Not when the weight of my father's stare was still pressing against my thoughts.

She sat beside me.

Close.

One arm wrapped around me, holding me gently but firmly enough that I could feel it.

Her free hand rested against my head, fingers weaving through my hair in slow, steady strokes.

Not forcing me to speak.

Just waiting.

For me to breathe.

For me to settle.

For me to think.

But I couldn't.

Because the weight in my chest wasn't going away.

Because my body still felt wrong.

Because my father's stare still burned in my mind—

Cold. Calculating.

And I—

I didn't know what he saw when he looked at me.

I didn't know what I had done.

I didn't know why everything felt different now.

It was too much.

It was too…much.

I clenched my fists.

Swallowed hard.

Tried to keep my face blank.

Tried to be calm.

I failed.

The first sob tore out before I could stop it.

Small. Quiet.

But enough for my mother to hear.

And in an instant—

Her arms tightened around me.

A steady presence, holding me before I could shatter completely.

"It's alright, little star."

Her voice was softer than I had ever heard it.

"You're safe."

I wasn't.

I didn't feel safe.

Because I didn't understand what was happening to me.

Because something inside me was changing, and I had no control over it.

But her voice didn't demand anything from me.

Her embrace didn't ask me to be strong.

So I let go.

Only a little.

Silent tears burned down my cheeks, my fingers gripping the fabric of her sleeve.

Her touch stayed constant.

Never tightening.

Never letting go.

Just being there.

And for now—

That was enough.

I don't know how long I sat there.

How long my mother held me.

How long the weight in my chest pressed down, threatening to suffocate me.

But she never let go.

Never hurried me.

Never asked me to explain.

She just stayed.

Warm. Steady. Unmoving.

Her fingers traced slow circles on my back, rhythmic, calming.

Her heartbeat, steady against my ear.

I focused on that.

Tried to drown out the noise in my head—the echoes of my father's stare, the weight of the world shifting beneath me.

I didn't want to think anymore.

I was too tired.

Too drained.

Too small for the enormity of everything I didn't understand.

So I let myself sink.

Into the warmth.

Into the quiet.

Into the steady, grounding presence that had always been there.

My mother.

I felt her press a light kiss against my temple.

"Rest, little star."

I wanted to.

Even if my thoughts were still tangled.

Even if something deep inside me whispered that nothing would be the same after today.

But in this moment—

With her warmth around me, her heartbeat steady against my ear—

I let my eyes drift shut.

And for the first time that day, the weight finally lifted.

Sleep took me.

Lelyah carefully shifted Chiori's sleeping form against the cushions, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.

Her daughter's breathing had evened out, the tension in her small frame finally easing—if only for now.

But Lelyah wasn't at ease.

Not even close.

She exhaled, pressing a lingering touch to Chiori's back before rising.

Her husband was waiting.

Satoshi stood near the window, arms crossed, watching the moonlight cut through the darkness.

He wasn't calm.

He was thinking.

Calculating.

Lelyah knew that look well.

"She's asleep."

He didn't respond right away.

"Good."

Silence settled between them.

Neither moved.

Neither spoke.

Because now—

There was no more avoiding it.

Satoshi finally exhaled.

"It's Gravity, Lelyah."

The words sat heavy between them.

She swallowed.

"I know."

"Summoning was one thing. But this?" His jaw clenched. "An element that isn't supposed to exist?"

Lelyah felt her stomach twist.

Not because she was afraid of Chiori.

But because she knew what this would mean for her.

"She's five."

"And she just used an element that shouldn't exist like it was natural."

Lelyah's hands tightened at her sides.

"It wasn't intentional, Satoshi."

"That doesn't matter."

His voice wasn't harsh.

But it was firm.

Because they both knew the truth.

Magic affinities follow rules.

And yet—

Chiori had just broken those rules.

Gravity was not an obtainable element.

No one had ever been born with it.

And now—

Their daughter had.

Lelyah exhaled, pressing a hand to her temple.

"Then what do we do?"

Satoshi turned to face her fully.

"We make sure she learns control."

Lelyah's jaw tightened.

"She's already been training, Satoshi."

"Not in magic."

Lelyah exhaled sharply.

It was true.

Chiori had been trained in self-defense, evasion, and strategy.

She knew how to move, how to react, how to think ahead.

But when it came to magic—

They had held back.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Because they hadn't known what she was.

And now they did.

"You mean we train her properly."

"Yes."

Lelyah hated this conversation.

Hated that it even needed to happen.

Because Chiori wasn't a warrior.

She wasn't a threat.

She was just a child.

And yet—

"If we don't, she could hurt herself."

Satoshi's words cut through her thoughts.

"If she doesn't understand her own power, Lelyah, she won't be able to stop it when it matters."

And that—

That was what terrified her.

Because he was right.

Because Chiori deserved to understand herself before the world made that decision for her.

But finding a tutor—

That would not be simple.

Lelyah met Satoshi's gaze.

"Who?"

Satoshi exhaled.

"I'll find someone."

He didn't have an answer yet.

But they both knew—

Waiting was no longer an option.

This wasn't about turning Chiori into a warrior.

It was about keeping her safe.

Because now—

They both knew the truth of her magic.

Gravity wasn't just a gift.

It was a target.

And their daughter was standing right in the center of it.

The house was quiet.

Not truly silent—there were always distant sounds, the soft footsteps of servants, the rustle of paper as Lelyah worked late into the night.

But the weight of the day still lingered in the air.

Satoshi stood by the window of his private study, gazing out over the estate grounds.

The moon was high.

Chiori was asleep.

For now.

His hand curled into a fist.

This wasn't just about her anymore.

Not after today.

Not after what they had seen.

He had thought they would have more time.

More time to ease her into magic.

More time to figure out what to do.

But Chiori's magic had already manifested.

And time was no longer a luxury.

They needed a tutor.

And they needed one now.

The candlelight flickered against the study walls, casting long shadows across the room.

Satoshi set his quill down, exhaling as he stared at the unfinished letter.

Ragna Varlen.

A name from the past.

A risk.

A gamble.

But before he could commit to sending it—

A knock.

The knock at the door was sharp, precise, and entirely predictable.

Satoshi sighed.

"Come in."

The door slid open smoothly, revealing Hinata Saegusa in all his usual self-satisfied calmness.

Too calm.

Satoshi didn't need to ask why he was here.

His eyes flickered to the unfinished letter on the desk.

Hinata's gaze followed.

A slow, deliberate smirk tugged at his lips.

"Looking for a tutor?"

Satoshi did not roll his eyes.

Not outwardly.

"You're not my first choice for help, if that's what you're asking."

Hinata placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. "That hurts, Tomaszewski. Truly."

Satoshi didn't even look up from his desk. "You'll recover."

Hinata sighed dramatically. "And here I thought we had built such a strong foundation of trust."

Satoshi finally glanced at him, unimpressed. "Trust and convenience aren't the same thing, Saegusa."

Hinata let out a mock sigh, stepping forward and pulling the chair across from Satoshi's desk as if he owned the place.

"And yet, I always seem to be the one who arrives when you're out of options."

Satoshi leaned back in his chair.

"You didn't think I'd actually need you for this, did you?"

Hinata raised a brow.

"I think you need me more often than you like to admit."

Satoshi gave him a flat look.

Hinata simply gestured to the letter.

"Tell me, then. Who is your brilliant first choice?"

Satoshi exhaled through his nose.

"Ragna Varlen."

Hinata let out a low whistle. "Ah. You're desperate, then."

Satoshi didn't even blink. "She's capable."

Hinata scoffed. "She's unstable."

Satoshi leaned back slightly. "She's effective."

Hinata crossed his arms. "She's insane."

Satoshi exhaled. "No one's perfect."

Satoshi waved a hand dismissively.

"No one's perfect."

Hinata chuckled, shaking his head.

"Tch. You really do enjoy making your life harder than it needs to be, don't you?"

Satoshi sighed.

"Do you have an actual reason for being here, or did you just come to critique my decisions?"

Hinata smirked.

"A little of both."

Then, without waiting for an invitation, he tossed a sealed document onto Satoshi's desk.

Satoshi stared at the document.

Then back at Hinata.

Then back at the document.

His voice was flat. "And this is?"

Hinata smirked. "An alternative to your very unhinged, very volatile, very bad first choice."

Satoshi arched his brow. "You already found someone?"

Hinata exhaled dramatically. "I anticipated your incompetence."

Satoshi didn't bother hiding his exasperation. "Charming."

Hinata leaned back in his chair, entirely too pleased with himself.

"Go on. Open it."

Satoshi stared at the sealed document sitting on his desk.

Then he stared at Hinata.

Then back at the document.

Then back at Hinata.

Slowly, he picked it up, breaking the seal with a sharp flick of his wrist.

His eyes skimmed over the first few lines.

And then—

He stopped.

Completely.

His fingers stilled.

His brow twitched.

Then he slowly, deliberately, lifted his gaze to Hinata.

Expression blank.

Expression flat.

Expression that very clearly said:

"You have got to be joking."

Hinata smirked.

He was not joking.

Satoshi exhaled through his nose.

"Of all people."

Hinata shrugged, leaning back in his chair.

"You wanted effective, didn't you?"

Satoshi set the document down with more force than necessary.

He exhaled sharply. "This is insanity."

Hinata leaned back, completely unfazed. "No, this is efficiency."

Satoshi pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Hinata—"

"Satoshi—"

They stared at each other.

Satoshi sighed.

Hinata smirked.

"So, when do I tell them you're sending for them?"

Satoshi didn't speak.

Not immediately.

Instead, he picked up the document again, reading the name one more time.

As if seeing it a second time would somehow make it make sense.

It didn't.

It still didn't.

His fingers tapped against the desk.

Slow. Rhythmic.

His thoughts turning over themselves, trying to find the logic in this.

Because of all the people Hinata could have suggested—

This. One.

His lips pressed into a thin line.

"You're serious?"

Hinata chuckled.

"Oh, very."

Satoshi exhaled, dragging a hand down his face.

The name on that document?

Shouldn't have been an option.

Not because they weren't capable.

Not because they weren't skilled.

But because—

They were a walking disaster.

Unpredictable. Eccentric. Infamous for tearing apart the very foundations of magical study.

And yet—

They were undeniably one of the best.

The only one, perhaps, who could take on something like this.

Satoshi exhaled sharply.

"I should've expected this from you."

Hinata smirked.

"You really should have."

Satoshi stared at the name again.

The weight of it.

The madness of it.

And finally—

"This is going to be a nightmare."

Hinata's smirk widened.

"I'd say it'll be entertaining."