Chapter 769: [The Rewritten Lost Past] [9]

After watching Lisandra and Alphonse leave together toward the lake, Amael lifted himself off the ground and flew back toward the mountain.

Their home now, he supposed. Though he’d been the one to find it first, the place had changed in the three years since the two former Queens had arrived.

He’d been a simple man with simple needs. A straw bed, some clothes, a fire pit. That had been sufficient.

But Lisandra and Alphonse were decidedly not simple women, and they had made their feelings about his ’bachelor cave’ abundantly clear within the first week. The transformation that followed had been comprehensive and, he had to admit, considerable improvement.

The interior of the mountain hollow now looked like an actual living space rather than a temporary camp. Proper beds, three of them, carefully positioned with a degree of spacing that suggested ongoing negotiations about personal boundaries. Decorative fabrics hung on the walls, softening the bare stone and adding warmth. Storage had been organized. The rough edges had been smoothed away, literally and figuratively.

It looked genuinely good. Comfortable and like a home rather than a hiding place.

Not that he’d admit that out loud. They were smug enough about it already.

Once inside, Amael moved immediately to the fire pit they’d constructed near the entrance, positioned to let smoke escape while keeping the interior warm. He began his evening routine: building up the fire, arranging the meat he’d prepared earlier, adding the spices and herbs they’d cultivated in a small garden outside.

Cooking had become his responsibility by default and necessity.

He was, by general consensus, the only one of the three who could be trusted with food preparation. Alphonse was competent in theory but lacked practice, having spent her entire life with palace cooks. Lisandra, on the other hand...

He still had nightmares about the day he’d tried to make her cook.

Whatever she’d created had looked edible, even smelled vaguely promising. But one bite had sent him to his knees, his stomach staging an immediate revolt against whatever chemical warfare she’d somehow managed to conduct with basic ingredients. He’d spent the next six hours in genuine agony while both women alternated between concern and barely suppressed laughter.

It was the only time Lisandra had come close to actually defeating him.

To avoid repeat incidents, he’d claimed cooking duties permanently. Everyone was happier for it.

Minutes passed in comfortable routine, the familiar motions of turning meat, adjusting heat, adding seasoning at the right moments. The smell was already excellent, filling the space with warmth and the promise of a good meal after a hard day of training.

Then Amael stopped moving entirely.

His hand froze mid-motion, the stick for stoking the fire still clutched in his fingers.

He turned his head slowly toward the entrance.

"Oh... no."

He dropped the stick immediately and moved to step outside, to intercept, to do something—

But he was already too late.

A figure appeared at the entrance, backlit by the setting sun in a way that would have been beautiful if it weren’t so absolutely terrifying in context. The light created a halo effect around her silhouette, catching the edges of her form and making her seem almost ethereal.

Long silver hair pulled back into an elegant braided bun. Silver eyes that caught the light like polished metal. The kind of beauty that existed in its prime, mid to late twenties, the perfect intersection of youth and maturity, the sort of appearance that could enthrall any man and even most Gods through sheer presence alone.

But this particular woman wasn’t interested in any man right now.

Except her son.

Belle stood in the entrance, arms crossed beneath her chest, her long silver gown moving slightly in the evening breeze. She was smiling at Amael.

The smile didn’t reach her eyes though.

"What are you doing?" She asked, her voice perfectly pleasant.

"Cooking, Mother..." Amael kept his composure through sheer force of will, even as cold sweat began forming on his back. His mind was already racing. He had to get her out of here. Immediately. Before she discovered...

"Cooking," Belle repeated, her gaze dropping from his face to sweep slowly across the interior of the hollow.

"Why did you come here, Mother?" Amael spoke quickly, trying to redirect. "I told you I would meet you outside. Always outside. That was our arrangement."

Belle didn’t answer. Instead she reached out, placed one hand against his cheek, a gesture that would have been affectionate from anyone else and physically moved his head to the side so she could walk past him into the space.

Amael watched her go with growing dread.

"I count three beds here," Belle observed, her tone still perfectly conversational. "I was under the impression you were living alone, my dear son."

"I am," Amael said immediately. "But sometimes I have guests. It’s... courteous to have accommodations."

"Guests." Belle turned to look at him, one silver eyebrow lifting. "You’re inviting guests into Enigma’s precious, secret sanctuary? The place you guard specifically because it must remain hidden?" Her smile sharpened. "I doubt you’re that stupid, Amael. Perhaps ’Amael’ might be, but Nyrel certainly isn’t. You don’t trust easily. You wouldn’t simply invite random ’guests’ here to play around. I raised you better than that." A pause. "You don’t even know what playing means."

"That’s harsh, Mother." Amael tried for wounded dignity. "I understand you’re upset, but I’ve already explained that I don’t wish to participate in Father’s grand plans for me, so I’m spending time here, staying hidden and out of reach as much as possible—"

"Who," Belle interrupted with perfect, terrifying calm, "is living with you, Amael?"

Amael smiled, the easy, charming smile that worked on approximately everyone who wasn’t his mother. "No one, I already told you. If there happen to be some guests on occasion—"

"My sweet boy."

The temperature in the hollow seemed to drop several degrees.

Amael felt genuine fear spike through him as he watched his mother’s smile transform into something that was still technically a smile but with not warmth or patience.

"You have learned to lie to your own mother now?"

"Mother, I’m not—"

-BAM!!

"Ughhh!"

Amael barely had time to register the motion before Belle’s fist connected with his stomach.

All the air evacuated his lungs in one explosive gasp. His body folded around the impact point and then was propelled backward with devastating force, sent flying out of the cave entrance like he’d been fired from a cannon.

-BOOOM!

His trajectory didn’t stop at leaving the cave. Something, Belle’s follow-up, though he hadn’t even seen her move, slammed down into him mid-air and drove him straight into the ground far below. The impact created a deep crater, earth and rock spraying outward in a perfect circle, trees in the immediate vicinity shuddering from the shockwave.

Amael lay in the center of the crater, groaning, blinking up at the sky and trying to remember how breathing worked.

"M—Mother! Wait!"

Belle appeared next to him without transition, one moment absent, the next standing over him with one heel raised above his stomach, ready to deliver another strike.

"What concerns you so much in this place," she asked, her silver eyes glowing with cold intensity, "that you would ignore your own mother? That you would lie to me?"

Amael raised both hands in quick surrender but stayed silent.

Belle’s eyes narrowed further.

She was fully prepared to bring that heel down, knock him unconscious, drag him out of this place and lock him away somewhere she could watch him every single day and ensure he never pulled something like this again but...

"Amael!"

Two voices rang out simultaneously.

Belle’s head turned.

Amael wanted to slam his face into the ground and possibly keep going until he reached the planet’s core.

Lisandra and Alphonse appeared at the crater’s edge, both of them clearly having rushed from the lake, their hair still wet and loose, water dripping from the ends, clothes hastily thrown on. They must have heard the explosion and come running.

Directly into the worst possible situation.

"What are you doing to Amael?!" Lisandra shouted, her single eye blazing. Her entire body erupted into dark blue flames, the full force of her mana unleashed without hesitation, the heat distorting the air around her.

Alphonse was half a step behind, her sword already drawn, her body crackling with golden lightning at maximum output. The electrical discharge spread across the ground in branching patterns, the sound like a thousand angry insects.

The ground trembled under the combined pressure of their released mana.

Belle however stood perfectly, completely still.

Her eyes had gone wide.

She looked at the two women ready to attack her.

Then slowly, her gaze lowered to Amael, who had turned his face away in what could only be described as a pout.

Belle’s lips curved into a smirk.

"She is my mother," Amael said, still not looking at anyone, directing his words at Lisandra and Alphonse.

The blue flames flickered.

The golden lightning stuttered.

Both women’s eyes went wide as dinner plates.

"What?!"

***

Several minutes later, four figures sat inside the mountain hollow around the fire pit.

On one side: Lisandra and Alphonse, sitting close together.

On the other side: Belle, seated gracefully on her knees with perfect posture, looking like she was attending an elegant tea ceremony.

Between them, or rather on Belle’s side: Amael, lying down with his head resting in his mother’s lap, staring up at the ceiling with an expression of resignation.

Belle smiled serenely as she ran her fingers through Amael’s silver hair with tender strokes.

Lisandra and Alphonse stared at this sight with complete, uncomprehending bewilderment.

Amael, for his part, looked not even slightly embarrassed. This was simply how things were with his mother.

Belle’s silver eyes moved from her son to the two women across from them, her smile widening with interest.

"So," she said pleasantly, her fingers still moving through Amael’s hair. "You’re my son’s wives?"

Both women flinched.

Lisandra’s hands shot up immediately, waving in panicked negation. "N—No! We’re not...we aren’t—"

"Where are my grandchildren?" Belle interrupted, her smile widening a bit.

Lisandra’s face went from pale to absolutely crimson in approximately half a second.

"Nowhere!"