"When He Said Mama"

Celestia's Perspective (Mother of Elian)

I cannot describe the joy I feel upon seeing my son, Elian—with his white hair and luminous blue eyes—as he runs and roams around the house. Yet behind my gentle smile, my heart trembles with deep fear at his strange antics. How can a child not even two years old try to grab a sword and even swing it from side to side?!

And that isn't all; this strange man (my husband) only adds to my worries. Every time Elian heads toward the sword, his eyes light up, and my husband—despite his simplicity—immediately begins trying to teach him how to wield the sword and even hunt animals. I feel as if I'm living in a madhouse!

I'm convinced that this boy, though he is my son, will one day, sooner rather than later, become a spitting image of his father. Yet I have no choice; I love my husband just as much as I love my child, even if my features appear stoic and my smile is slight. How can I not express the extent of my love and anxiety—whether for my husband on his dangerous missions or for this little rascal as he attempts to play with his father's sword, or even with the kitchen knives?

Where in the name of hell is there a little boy who abandons wooden toys and stuffed dolls only to play with swords and knives—and even picks up books as though he were able to read them?

Yet what truly softens my heart is that his gaze is mostly as innocent as any child's, though at times it flashes with intelligence and sometimes even hints at strength. Perhaps I see him that way simply because he is my precious child.

He also appears genuinely fascinated when we go shopping. His eyes sparkle at the sight of bustling streets, roaming vendors, and busy shops, and he becomes exceedingly happy whenever we pass a weapon shop. Have I given birth to a killer or a monster, I wonder?

And when he sees his father training, he seems utterly delighted—eagerly trying to mimic some of the moves. It appears as though I've given birth to another little scamp.

Yet I cannot blame him; his father was an adventurer from the age of twenty—a truly remarkable feat.

I still remember a time when I was in the capital and saw those conceited brats in mid or late adolescence—just as their strength awoke—yet they had achieved nothing, while my dear one was out there slaying Category D monsters. At least, I believe they had dreams they longed to fulfill.

Then came the day I saw Garen with the members of his group; when our eyes met, he stood frozen like a statue—I thought he must have been paralyzed! It wasn't long before one of his teammates had to smack him on the head to rouse him from his stupor.

Later, when I went to the guild building searching for work, that very man mustered his courage and invited me to dinner. There, we connected, and the days passed as though we were writing a shared history together.

It seems my child has inherited some of our traits—but he certainly takes after me in appearance.

As usual, the days rolled on, and this little pup would crawl madly into the study to play with the books, even though I know he can't read (after all, he's just a child). Yet, he appears to get embarrassed whenever I change his diapers—how can a child ever feel embarrassment?

Then, one day, as the routine repeated itself, I heard him say for the first time:

"Mama."

I couldn't hide my emotions in that moment and cried out loudly:

"Garen! Oh, Garen, my child has spoken!"

Garen replied, his voice filled with delight and pride:

"Of course—he said 'Daddy'!"

Angrily, I retorted:

"No, you fool—he said 'Mama'!"

My child then repeated "Mama" several times, and I couldn't resist teasing Garen further over the incident. He looked as upset as a little child for my son having been the first to say "Mama," haha.

In the following days, I watched Garen training in the front garden of our home. Having left his adventuring life behind, he now works as the city guard—and sometimes as a personal guard for the governor's family in this region. Although the life of an adventurer brings in a great deal of money, I have lived in constant fear and anxiety, for whenever my husband embarks on a mission, I never know whether he will return home.

There's also something strange: Elian has never fallen ill in his life—except for one time when he nearly killed himself with his father's sword while trying to reach it atop the table. And sometimes, my child sits as if he were practicing some kind of meditation (children are usually so full of energy), before heading back to the study—a session that lasts no more than half an hour, so I haven't worried too much about it.

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Elian's Perspective

It seems I haven't wasted my time after all. I appear to have managed to collect fragments of "Mana" onto the empty heart that lies beside my true heart—but then something unexpected happened…

BOOOOOOOOOM!