The Return of a Mother
Lira’s brows lowered as quiet hung over the elegant dining hall. The won at the long table looked at her, feeling her discomfort, but none of them said a word. The young silver-haired beauty changed her position in the seat, her blue eyes fixating on Nova.
Perplexity crossed her face as she leaned forward a little, voice shaking with suspicion.
"Sister Nova... are you pulling my leg? Because—"
Her words faltered in her throat.
The door, which had just creaked open, now disclosed a form slowly coming into view. Soft footsteps on highly polished stone filled the room, each one bearing down more heavily than the last on Lira’s heart.
Her eyes widened. Her lips parted silently.
Silver locks shone in the light of the lamp, falling in a river of moonlight down the woman’s shoulders. Eyes, an intense but kind blue, t hers. Those features she recognized, those features she had mapped hundreds of tis in waning mories—only grayer, rounder, more developed, like the face of her own reflection grown into its fullest beauty.
It was looking into a living mirror.
Lira stopped moving. The breath in her lungs caught with a sharp pain, her heart racing so hard it drowned out the whispers of the others. Everything around her began to blur at the edges as her sight tunneled down to that one figure.
"M-Mother..."
The na fell from her lips with little more than a breath.
Her chair scraped back across the marble floor as she fell to her feet. The others gasped, rising involuntarily, and the shock struck them too. Everyone’s gaze flicked to the doorway, to the woman outlined there.
Sona.
The mother who had been absent from their world—long enough to be nothing more than mory in Lira’s heart—stood alive before them.
Sona’s steps froze. For a single heartbeat, she just stared at them, the impact of their stunned eyes weighing her down. Then her lips curled, not into the precise poise that was her trademark, but into a smile warm enough to lt the most frigid winter.
"Hello, everyone." Her voice sounded with a gentle consistency, like the soothing touch of a well-loved lullaby so long forgotten.
The silence that followed was thick, loaded, almost acutely painful. Nobody stirred. Not even Lira. Her brain was a maelstrom, disbelief fighting with anguished hope.
And then it shattered.
"Mother!" Lira’s scream ripped through the air, raw and innocent.
She hurtled forward before she even knew her feet had moved, streaming silver hair behind her, blue eyes welling over with tears. She hurled herself at Sona with all the repressed yearning that had tornted her all these years.
Sona spread wide her arms freely. The two bore into each other in a struggling hug, Lira burying her face against her mother’s chest as if she were afraid that she would disappear again if she let go.
Warmth. Solid, real warmth.
"I missed you—I missed you so much!" Lira’s words ca out in shattered sobs, muffled against her mother’s gown. "How are you here? How—Mother, I thought—"
Sona cradled the back of her daughter’s head, fingers weaving through her hair. Her other hand smoothed over her shuddering shoulders, her smile shaking at the edges even as she struggled to remain steady.
"Shh, my lovely girl," she whispered, her voice heavy with love. "I am here now. I am with you. That is all that will ever matter."
The others watched silently, so with soft smiles, others with misted eyes. Even Syra, usually quick to throw a teasing remark, pressed her lips together tightly, her erald eyes glistening.
Lira’s sobs slowed. She pulled back just enough to see her mother’s face again. Her tears streaked down, but she smiled through them, radiant in her raw relief.
"Mother... I’m so happy you’re here."
Sona touched Emma’s cheek with her fingertips, her own smile soft. "And I’m glad to see you too, my love."
Emma laughed then, a tiny, fractured, happy sound within which hung Emma’s largest self, and so did Sona.
But the mont beca fraught when another woman appeared in the doorway behind Sona.
Natasha.
Her black bob-cut hair set around her face, her serene black eyes traversing the amazed room with asured assurance. Her entrance was unlike Sona’s warm one: a reminder of the hands that had forged this reunion into existence.
She smiled lightly, extending a hand in greeting. "Hi, everyone. It’s good to finally et you all."
Gasp spreads once more. So won froze, others opened their eyes in shock. Lira, still wrapped in the presence of her mother, turned her head. Recognition hit her like lightning.
Her own tears had not yet dried, but she fought to straighten, hastily wiping at her own eyes. Then, with an unexpected calm, she bowed her head.
"Lady Natasha," she greeted, voice firr now, though still shaking. "Welco."
Sona’s eyes softened at the exchange, pride flickering in her smile as she guided her daughter gently aside. With unhurried grace, she stepped further into the hall.
Her gaze swept across the gathered won—Rias with her crimson fire, Aria’s regal poise, Cynthia’s calm restraint, Syra and Kyra’s mirrored green sharpness, Mia’s shy eyes, Tsubaki’s knightly bearing, the maids watching silently from the background, Chloe’s curious innocence.
"Well," Sona finally said, her smile growing. "It has been too long since I stood with you. But I will say it correctly now—I am Sona. Leon’s family... and his wife."
The statent rippled like water across the room.
Rias was the first to stand, rising elegantly and bowing her scarlet head in courtesy. "We know, Lady Sona. And we are glad you are here."
Aria, Cynthia, Syra, Kyra, and Tsubaki all trailed behind, voices mingling with their salutations, their faces creased with sincere respect. "My Queen, welco."
But Sona raised her hand softly, freezing them in the middle of their gestures. "There is no need for such deference," she said quietly. Her blue eyes sparkled as she added, "Not between family."
Tsubaki let out a soft snort, her disciplined face relaxing. "As you wish, my lady."
The tension relaxed into warmth.
Natasha stepped alongside Sona thereafter, making a slight bow as she herself was introduced. The won greeted her in turn—Aria’s courteous nod, Rias’s sly but warm smile, Cynthia’s dignified nod, Syra and Kyra’s inquisitive stares.
But it was Mia who disrupted the pattern.
She jumped up from her seat, hair flying black, and without pause she advanced. Her eyes sparkled with feeling as she flung her arms about Natasha.
The room stood still.
Gasps were out there, shock ringing at the sight. For Mia—normally shy, reserved, easily shaken—to hug soone so freely... they were shocked to their core.
Mia’s voice shook as she whispered into Natasha’s shoulder. "Thank you. Because of you... my mother was here. Because of you, she is safe. I owe you everything."
Natasha blinked, surprised only for a mont before she hugged her back softly. A small, comforting smile played on her lips as she patted Lady Mia’s back.
"It’s okay, Lady Mia," she said quietly. "It was my obligation. You don’t have to thank . I was only doing what I ought to have done.
Mia drew back reluctantly, cheeks ablaze, but her eyes shone with thanks. The other won, though stunned, could not help but smile at the tableau.
And just as the mont grew warm, a new voice sliced through the air.
"Well, well..."
It was deep, suave, almost laughing. "Looks like the party got underway without ."
The hall froze again, the won turning hard in the direction of the sound.
The door was open, a shadow of another person hanging just outside it.
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