CHAPTER 14: THE QUEEN'S RETURN

I moved with deliberate grace, my footsteps measured yet unyielding as I pushed the wheelchair through the dimly lit corridors of the Wolfhard estate. The cold stone beneath my feet whispered of memories long buried, the iron sconces on the stone walls cast flickering shadows, their restless dance mirroring the storm of emotions brewing within me.

Zephyra giggled as she sat in the wheelchair, her silver hair catching the dim light. To her, this was a fleeting moment of joy, like a child being pushed in a carriage, but to me, this was a march of defiance. A declaration that tonight, history would shift.

For more than half a year, I had not seen my mother properly. Not because I did not wish to, but because my time had been consumed by rewriting the fate of this world, concocting plans to avert the bad scenarios from the webnovel from unfolding. But she, Sushila van Wolfhard, ever since she lost her ability to walk, had been locked away, discarded like a forgotten relic of the past. A queen dethroned, reduced to a mere ghost within these walls.

Tonight, that would change.

We halted before the grand wooden doors of her chamber. My knuckles rapped against the grain. Once.

A moment of silence. Then, the rustle of fabric, the soft sound of hesitant footsteps.

The door creaked open, revealing Zora. Her gaze steady, unreadable as always. She studied me for a long moment before dipping into a bow, her voice devoid of warmth yet laced with something unreadable.

"I, Zora, humbly offer my respects to the esteemed Fifth Young Master," she said, before fixing her posture, her tone devoid of warmth. But I wasn't here for pleasantries.

A smirk curled my lips, but my crimson eyes held no amusement, only quiet determination. "It gladdens me to see you in such fine health, Zora. I've come to see my mother."

With a silent nod, she stepped aside, granting us passage.

The room was bathed in the dim glow of dying candlelight. Heavy curtains shrouded the windows, allowing only the barest sliver of moonlight to pierce through. The air smelled of aged parchment and medicinal herbs, a scent of stagnation, of time frozen in place.

And there, at the heart of it all, seated upon an ornate luxury-carved bed, was her.

Sushila van Wolfhard.

She was thinner than I remembered, her once radiant complexion pale, yet her presence was undiminished. In her frail hands, she clutched a book, a tether to a world beyond these walls, an escape into pages that made time go faster. For that reason, she had fallen in love with books.

And then, her tired, sorrowful eyes met mine.

In that instant, time shattered. The weight of years, of exile, of a mother's longing for her son and a son's quiet grief for his mother, none of it mattered anymore.

"Arthur...?"

Her voice was a whisper, yet it held the gravity of a thousand unshed tears.

A breath left me, ragged, unsteady. The weight in my chest threatened to break me. I didn't know if it was this body's reaction, my consciousness as the author of this world, or if, against all reason, I had truly grown attached to it.

I stepped forward, lowering myself to one knee before her. "Mother…it's been too long."

Her fingers trembled as they reached for me, hesitant, as though afraid I would vanish like a dream at dawn. But I was here. Solid. Real.

"Look at you..." she murmured, her frail hand cupping my cheek. "You've grown into a fine young man…"

I covered her hand with mine, firm yet gentle. "And tonight, Mother, you will walk among them again. No more shadows. No more exile."

She frowned, confusion flickering across her delicate features. "Arthur, what are you saying—?"

I turned, gesturing to Zephyra. "Mother, look, I've made a friend."

Zephyra's azure eyes brightened, her small hands gripping the handles of the wheelchair.

"Zephyra, this is my mother. Please, bring the chair forward."

She nodded, pushing the chair closer.

"It's nice to meet you, Zephyra," Sushila said softly, her voice carrying the weight of exhaustion yet tinged with warmth. "I am glad my son has found a friend. Where are you from?"

I answered before Zephyra could. "She's a princess of the empire."

A flicker of shock passed through Sushila's tired eyes. But there was no time for explanations. Tonight would speak for itself.

I turned my gaze to Zora, who had been standing silently in the background, her posture unwavering.

"Please, prepare my mother for dinner."

Zora stiffened. "Young Master, you cannot mean—"

"I do," I cut in, my voice edged with finality. "Tonight, my mother dines with the family. And the empire itself will bear witness, so dress her well. Something elegant. Something befitting a Wolfhard."

For the first time, Zora hesitated. But then, she bowed. "As you command, Young Master."

I turned back to my mother, gripping the wheelchair's handles firmly. "With this chair, you will move again. I made it just for you."

Sushila's lips parted in quiet disbelief. A flicker of uncertainty danced in her gaze, but beneath it, something else stirred.

Hope.

Outside, as the full moon escaped the clouds in the sky, draping the world in silver, stars bloomed like scattered embers, and the night stirred. The hour of feasting whispered its arrival.

The Wolfhard estate's grand dining hall was alive with murmurs, laughter, the clinking of fine silverware, drifting beneath the golden chandelier's glow. The scent of nobility was thick in the air, a heady mixture of arrogance and expectations.

At the head of the table sat Grey van Wolfhard, the patriarch himself, his gaze sharp, unreadable. His wives adorned their seats like statues carved in elegance, their poised faces betraying nothing, their jeweled fingers clutching wine glasses.

And the emperor, his very presence suffocated the room into silence with each subtle movement.

The grand doors stood untouched.

Then, with an agonizing creak, they parted.

A hush fell over the hall.

And there I stood.

Arthur Romaeus van Wolfhard II.

Pushing a wheelchair forward.

Sushila.

Gasps rippled through the gathering like a storm over still waters. Pearls were clutched, whispers surged behind trembling hands.

The patriarch's eyes widened. His wives stiffened. My siblings exchanged uneasy glances.

But the emperor—

The emperor leaned forward, his blue eyes narrowing with keen interest.

I guided the wheelchair to the long dining table, my steps slow, deliberate. I let the silence stretch. Let them choke on the sight before them. Let their gazes linger on the forgotten Wolfhard they had cast aside.

Behind me was the princess, Raina my maid, and Zora my mother's maid. The princess sat next to the emperor.

Then I spoke.

"Here, Mother. This is where your seat belonged." I said, pushing the wheelchair to the table, my voice was smooth, polished steel wrapped in velvet.

No one dared to speak.

It was the emperor who finally shattered the silence. "Sushila van Wolfhard," he mused, his voice a rich baritone. "It has been some time."

Sushila lifted her chin, her voice steady. "Your Majesty."

A slow, amused smirk curled the emperor's lips as his gaze flicked to the patriarch. "Grey," he drawled. "You said your wife lost the ability to walk. Yet here she is, moving just fine. Or have my eyes deceived me?"

The patriarch, still locked in shock, finally broke free of his stupor. He was a man who prided himself on control, but in this moment, he had been outplayed. By his own son.

Even the greatest healers, with hands that weave between life and death, had sworn she would never walk again. But now, before his very eyes, the impossible had become reality. She wasn't walking, yet she moved, a defiance of nature itself. When Arthur took the chair, he had simply said, Trust me. And in that moment, all doubt shattered.

His youngest son was not simply a genius. He was something greater, something terrifying. Even the shattered mana core meant to be a death sentence, a crippled fate, wouldn't stop him from taking over the Wolfhard throne if he saw fit.

Right there and then, Arthur Romaeus van Wolfhard II had just declared himself a threat.

Finally, with great reluctance, he gestured to the servants. "Bring in the food," he ordered.

"This wasn't my doing, your Majesty. It was the youngest," he said.

I smirked.

With this, the shackles of fate will crumble, and the shadows of misfortune shall never touch her.

I took my rightful seat at my mother's side, my crimson eyes gleaming under the candlelight.

Raina and Zora stood where they belonged, their positions mirroring the other maids.

Let them choke on my surprise.

Let them understand—

The forgotten Wolfhard would be forgotten no longer.