CH 14 The Mother of Monsters

The others ate breakfast laughing, spoons clinking against bowls, milk dripping from the corners of their mouths. A chorus of chatter about chores, books, and games of tag. Innocent voices. Too innocent.

My hands trembled as I lifted my spoon. I forced porridge down, but it turned to paste in my throat. The more I chewed, the more it tasted like ash.

Taylor caught my eyes for a heartbeat. Her face was calm

—too calm. A mask that had been practiced. Beside her, Matthew laughed at something Peter said, seemingly oblivious. But was he really? Did he know? Did he suspect?

I smoothed every edge of my own face, trained my voice to match the rhythm of their laughter, forced every movement to seem casual. Mama’s eyes drifted across the tables, and I knew even a crack in my mask could be fatal.

The day stretched like a nightmare that refused to end.

---

In the classroom, the chalk scraped against the board, a shrill sound that set my teeth on edge. People were almost losing their mind that Mama was teaching us today. How could they feel worthy?

Every question from Mama’s lips felt sharpened, deliberate, like a knife sliding between ribs:

— “What do you do if, outside the walls, someone discovers you are awakened?”

— “Who wrote this passage?”

Her voice was gentle, warm, even maternal. But beneath it pulsed something cold, a reminder that each answer was a test, that each mistake might cost me more than points.

I let my gaze meet hers, steady, calm. My mother—my real mother—once taught me to relax the eyes when lying. The eyes are the window to the soul. If you can shutter them, no one can enter.

Mama’s eyes narrowed, then softened. She smiled.

And then she did something I had never seen before. She wept.

Tears welled in her eyes and slipped down her cheeks, shining in the lamplight. The children gasped, their little bodies stiffening in shock. Mama crying? It was unthinkable. But the tears came, delicate and convincing, as though her heart were breaking.

She dabbed her face with her sleeve. When she spoke, her voice was weighted with grief.

“May the supreme deities be worshiped because I know Corrny and Ifunaya have transisted to glory .”

“What do you mean mama?”

“They are dead.”

The words landed like stones in still water. The room froze.

Her explanation poured forth quickly, smoothly, almost too smoothly: “posion,” she said, perhaps related to the monster they’d fought in the dungeons. How Ifunaya’s mind had been torn apart in sleep. How Corrny had tried to help her but was also affected by the same thing. The orphanage would be on lock down for a while to make sure no one is contaminated.

It was the perfect story. Convenient. Sealed with a mother’s grief.

But I knew better.

A sharp cry broke the silence. Little Toony slipped from her chair, clutching the desk with white knuckles before collapsing. “Big Sister Corrny…” Her voice cracked, and sobs tore through her.

The ripple of grief spread like fire across the younger children. Sniffling, hiccupping, wailing. Some called Corrny’s name. Others clung to Mama for comfort.

And Mama gave it. She patted their heads, stroked their hair, whispered lullabies. But behind those soft touches, I saw it—the curve of her lips. Not sorrow. Satisfaction.

She hadn’t needed to tell them. She hadn’t needed to shatter the little ones with raw truth. But she had. She wanted their despair. She wanted it to soak into the walls.

---

The rest of the day was unbearable.

Tag at recess felt like running through a graveyard. Mama’s gaze followed every step, her smile lingering whenever I faltered. Taylor ran fast, laughing as though nothing had changed, but her eyes flicked again and again toward the wall, measuring, calculating. She played the game of escape even as the others played tag.

“Hey.” Matthew’s voice broke into my thoughts. He fell into step beside me, frowning. “I wasn’t around when your sage path was graded. Someone told me it’s the Emonios Sage Path. That true?”

“Not now,” I muttered, raising a hand to silence him. I couldn’t think about paths, not when escape plans were already clawing through my mind.

One of the winged beasts. I could take it, force it to carry me over the wall. Find the nearest Imperial office. Report everything.

But then Cornny’s face flashed before me—the strongest of us, gone in an instant. If she couldn’t survive, what hope did I have?

No. I would escape, but not as I was now. I needed strength. A baseline. Enough to keep me alive long enough to vanish.

“Matthew, wait!” I sprinted after him. My breath caught in my chest, but I forced the words out. “Can you train me?”

He stopped. Turned. His frown deepened. “Mama says she doesn’t want the colors training each other.” He studied me for a long moment, his jaw tight. Then, softer: “But… if you can reach red, I’ll put in a word for you.”

I nodded. That was enough. A path, however narrow, was still a path.

---

The supreme deities are to be worshiped becuase diinner came. Stew steaming, bread soft, the smell of rosemary filling the hall. It should have been comforting. It was suffocating. I stared at the pot in the center of the table and wondered whose life had been exchanged so we could eat tonight.

The younger ones ate in silence, still raw with grief. The older ones forced smiles, forcing laughter, trying to keep the air from drowning us. Mama ate, too. Slow, graceful motions, each bite savored as though nothing at all had changed.

Her eyes flicked to me once. A single glance. Enough to send ice crawling down my spine.

---

Night fell heavy.

I lay stiff in my bed, staring at the beams of the ceiling, listening to the steady breaths of children around me. Every creak was Mama’s step. Every gust of wind whispered: time is running out.

Then—knock.

My heart leapt. Taylor?

But the door clicked open without my permission.

Bola stood there, frowning. Her shadow filled the doorway.

“What did you do, little shit?”

“I didn’t—” I couldn’t even finish. She seized me by the collar, lifting me with terrifying ease. My breath strangled in my throat.

A slip of parchment crackled in her hand. As I hit the ground of another room, fire raced across it, devouring words I couldn’t read. Ash drifted into the air. My stomach dropped cold.

And then she was there.

Mama.

Her shadow stretched across me, and when she smiled down, it was like the world tilted. The nuns stood behind her, their faces pale and unreadable.

“How are you, my boy?” she asked. Her voice was warm, honeyed.

As my face was till facing the floor my I smile it seeemed my plan had worked.