"When I left the Virtues, I wandered aimlessly a bit for a few years. Tried my hand at a couple of things, but it never did end up well, and I'd find myself back where I started. I just wanted to survive, or maybe... to get away. I wanted to leave behind this damnable place, so I joined the academy and its knight division. I learned as quickly as I could to get sent off to the frontlines. There, I could fight, forget, and release myself from my stress. It didn't work."

  —Annalay, the Throne of Nature

  ———

  The Knight

  "I thought these kinds of things were beneath you,” Annalay mumbles. Her expression has changed drastically, no longer harboring that guarded vigilance from before. Now, her gaze is bitter and sarcastic.

  “Don’t mumble, dear.”

  “Why the hells do you care about how I speak?”

  “Language, Annalay.”

  “Stars, you’re insufferable…”

  “I have nothing but time these days,” she continues while ignoring her defiant daughter. “It was inevitable that I would come to fancy a hobby, and I do quite like the art of making tea. It’s sophisticated, yet simple to learn. It requires a deep wealth of knowledge to properly brew a quality batch. I must apologize to our old servants one day; the tea they brewed was truly breathtaking.”

  Annalay grunts and, though hesitant, takes off her helm. A rough face is revealed, burly and stout with harsh, piercing eyes. She looks exactly like a younger version of her mother, the only difference being her hair which is a slight auburn.

  Annalay grips the cup’s handle with a grumble and swallows the tea in a single gulp.

  “How is it?”

  “Fine. Doesn’t taste bad, at least.”

  “Mm, that makes me happy. What about you, Lorelai my dear? I remember you like your tea quite sweet, so I’ve prepared a few sugar cubes to the side, if you so wish.”

  “Ah, is that so?” it says while feigning an embarrassed flush. “I’m sorry. My tastes are still a bit unknown to me.”

  “Oh, there’s no need to worry about such things. The chancellor already told me of your condition. One step at a time, my dear. One step at a time.”

  It is silent between them for some time. Neither mother or daughter deign to speak to the other, and the Knight knows not whether it should attempt to break the spell or continue to remain in the uncomfortable environment. Fortunately, Annalay decides to take on the burden herself.

  “You’ve, um, gotten old,” she says.

  “Indeed I have. And you’ve grown much since I last saw you.”

  “Not really, at least compared to the other brats running around this place. Aren’t they supposed to be living at the academy right now?”

  “We received special permission from the head principal for them to live here. We’ve been rather protective of the younger generation after that monster of steel killed all of your cousins.”

  “You’re still on about that? You know Sarathiel had no other choice, and I won’t stand by while you insult him like he’s some kind of abomination.”

  “But he is, my dear. I’ve always had a bad feeling about that man, and he only confirmed my suspicions when he lost control of his own mind. If it were not for him, you wouldn’t be pressured to become the family head. Our grudges run deep.”

  “Oh yeah? Then what does that make my grudge, then?”

  Again, silence. Unbearably so.

  Annalay shakes her head. “Why did you call for me, exactly? I doubt it’s to have this little tea party.”

  “Is it so wrong for a mother to wish to see her daughter?”

  “You lost the right to call me that a long time ago.”

  “I’ve made my mistakes, Annalay.”

  “I don't think those were just simple mistakes.”

  “I was… scared, dear. I didn’t want you to go out onto the battlefield. You were supposed to get an administration position. It would have been safe; you would have been safe, and your honor as a noble would have been upheld as well.”

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  “So that’s why you disowned me? Forced me to give up the Virtue name and sent me out onto the streets? Real swell job you did, and now look at me: the Untamed Throne of Nature. Even you can’t boss me around anymore.”

  “And what a fine woman you’ve become.”

  “Don’t give me that shit.”

  “Language, Annalay.”

  Annalay slams her fist on the table. Her mother doesn’t flinch, nor does she react to the sudden bout of violence. There is only a sad look in her eyes—one of shame.

  “I—” she begins, voice struggling to part her throat. “I’ve regretted that moment every single day of my life ever since, Annalay. When I wake up, I see your face then. I see your tears, those eyes filled with betrayal, and I wonder what could have been if I had acted differently: treated you with a bit more compassion.”

  “It’s a little too late for that,” Annalay mutters, her voice bordering between a growl.

  “I know. And I tried to justify my actions. I thought renouncing your name would force you to look at reality. That day, I wanted you to come back, to stop being so rebellious and finally give up your dreams of becoming a knight.”

  “But I was too stubborn.”

  “You really were. I suppose it was only natural: You resemble me, after all. Perhaps too much.”

  “I am nothing like you.”

  “If only that were true. I would have liked it quite much if you took after your father more.”

  “Can’t take after someone whose face I don’t know.”

  “And that’s why I didn’t want you to become a knight, Annalay. Your father and I sacrificed everything to protect our nation, and when I heard news of his passing after giving birth to you… I knew then I had to give up my glaive. I wanted to raise you as someone who would never have to worry about loss.”

  “Raise? Do you even remember what you did to me!?” Annalay leaps up from her seat and snatches her mother by the throat, raising her high off the floor and clenching tight as the frail woman sputters and chokes before her grasp. The Knight moves in to stop the seething Throne but is stopped by the very victim of her rage.

  “It’s okay,” she gasps, holding a trembling arm out. “And I do, Annalay. I was harsh—”

  “Harsh? That doesn’t even begin to describe it. Stars, I sure was lucky to be born into a family of healers, huh? If not, I would’ve become more scarred than Lorelai from all the whippings and beatings and lashings you gave me. Every time you fed me poison, my guts would rot from the inside out, only to be completely recovered the next day. Every time you bashed my face bloody for disrespecting your orders, I’d be all fine and dandy after a quick splash of tonic. Again and again, without rest. I had to endure fourteen years straight of your abuse before I was finally free. Fourteen years of pure hatred I’ll never get back. You call that just harsh?”

  There is nothing her mother can say, and Annalay knows that full well. There are no excuses that can be said, and if even there are, she has no intent on listening to them.

  “From the very bottom of my heart, I despise you,” she says. “And that will never change.”

  “I know, Annalay. And I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t need your apology.”

  “Still, I will say it nonetheless. I know I don’t deserve to be forgiven, and I know nothing I say will ever reconcile the pain I’ve inflicted upon you.”

  “Then why the hells are we here!?” Annalay screams. “What did you bring me here for, if not for that, then? Go ahead. Try. Get on your knees and beg me to forgive you.”

  “If it will make you feel better, then I will.”

  “Stars, you’re utterly pathetic.” Annalay lets go and trudges back to her seat, leaving her mother to remain as a crumpled, collapsed mess on the floor. “Forget it, I don’t care anymore. Just tell me why you called me here.”

  “I… already said why, dear,” she wheezes.

  “Oh, don’t give me that. I know you have another reason. What, is it to convince me to come back to the Virtues? Surasha’s doing a fine enough job as Templar, already.”

  “I just wanted to see your face, Annalay.” Tears begin to glide down her cheeks, leaving behind stained patterns wet with sorrow, and a subdued cry leaks from her trembling throat. “I wanted to ask you about your life. How have you been? Are you eating well? Is it hard out there? I worry for you every second you’re out there against the Caelum legionnaires. And I worry that, one day, you’ll return in a casket, and I’ll have to say goodbye to my only child. Thrones don’t tend to live long, dear. And the thought of you departing for the Stars before me is more terrifying than anything else in this world. Even if it’s only for a short moment, I want to spend as much time as I can with you. Only Cosmos knows how long we have left together, so even if you berate me or yell at me or do whatever you wish to me, I will be satisfied as long as I can see you alive and healthy. That is my only wish.”

  The Knight has seen many families. Some are happy, and some are not. Oftentimes, many suffer from broken relationships, and more likely than not, tragedy always befalls them before they have a chance to reconnect. It is because it has witnessed so much that it knows the woman before it truly loves Annalay. The Throne has an opportunity right now: to forgive and let go of the past, or to fester in her loathing and forever discard what little bond between them remains. It is very interested to see what she chooses.

  “Get up,” she says, lending an arm for her mother to hold onto. The woman rises, and though it appears the two are about to make amends, Annalay’s expression is still cold. That hatred is still there, but not to the intensity from before. Something else has burrowed into her heart, but what exactly is unknown. It is a strange feeling, marred in a chaotic, jumbled blend of all sorts of emotions. The Knight is confused. What exactly is this?

  “I will never forgive you,” she repeats, face blank and devoid of warmth. “But, for all the suffering you’ve caused, there were moments where I was happy. It was rare, but I remember them. I cherished them because it was the only time I ever felt truly loved by you, and while I won’t forget the days where it felt like I was the most miserable person in the world, you tried at the very least to act like a mother. I won’t attempt to understand you. I will, however, acknowledge your effort. That’s the best you’re ever going to get from me.”

  Her mother softly laughs: a mournful, depressing laugh of one resigned to their fate, but it carries a small inkling of hope nonetheless. “Will you visit me again?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe if I feel like it.”

  “Then I will dare to look forward to it.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m leaving now. Don’t want to see your sorry face any longer.”

  “Goodbye, dear.”

  “… Goodbye, mom.”

  The two stand up, and they leave. The Knight can faintly hear the feeble woman sobbing behind the door, but Annalay doesn’t react. Whether she truly hears her or is merely pretending not to is unclear, but what’s certain is the gaunt expression spread across her face: tired and weary.

  “What shall we do now?” it asks.

  “Good question,” she begins. “You know what? Let’s go out for a drink. I think I need it.”