ARTHUR TREADWAY
I personally never liked to talk about what happened fourteen years ago, for several reasons. Anyone who has had their father decapitated right in front of their eyes can understand a little of why. But I don't need to start from my father's death to tell you about my mother.
She was always young—literally young; she brought me into the world at eighteen. I remember perfectly the first time I saw her. My consciousness was already formed by that time—thanks to Alfred. I found myself in a large, airy and sunny room, the gold ornaments, the huge bed, the crown of golden flowers on the head of the woman who held me—everything made me come to a conclusion: Hallelujah! I was born into the royal family!
She was simply stupendous. I couldn't take my eyes off that sweaty young woman with bright amber eyes, as if they contained the light of an eternal sunset. Her large, expressive eyes were always captivating and mesmerizing, they had a slightly almond shape that added an exotic touch and made me realize that she was not human.
I was still a newborn in her arms, but already blushing. She and I exchanged looks. Her gaze was intense and deep, conveying a mixture of wisdom, sadness from the pain of childbirth, and an almost ethereal beauty. But her smile made up for everything. Her eyes sparkled, passing on her warmth and joy to me.
Brown hair with a rich, deep tone—today I can describe as the color of ripe chestnuts. It flowed naturally in gentle waves, and the sunlight made the strands reflect a golden glow that highlighted my mother's beauty even more. Her hair was loose—as she usually left it.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with her slender and delicate hand. Her tanned skin, with a golden hue, always seemed like was kissed by the sun. Her complexion was even and resplendent, with a softness reminiscent of the finest silk. Her touch on my face made me feel her soft, velvety skin, without imperfections.
Her face? A perfect oval shape with high and well-defined cheekbones that gave an air of elegance and nobility. Full lips were a soft pink, and her straight, elegant nose harmonized perfectly with everything. She transmitted to me a natural love and affection—a warm look, a radiant smile. "UWAAHH..." I wanted to take a deep breath at that moment but ended up crying in her arms, after all, I was a newborn.
People always said that I was in love with my grandmother, but my mother enchanted me from day one. I think that because I always had her around, I ended up taking her for granted and giving her a headache. But my mother was the most beautiful, in the true sense of the word—not because I was her son, but it's the truth. There were portraits of her scattered around the world, even women were enchanted—she didn't reach the level of twenty most beautiful women in the world, but even so.
One day I will prove that she was truly beautiful. As I grew older, I always had my mother's sweet and loving nature by my side—sometimes too sticky and honeyed. Maybe because she was a very young mother or because she was an Amazon. She and my idiotic father were a good couple.
I wish I had my father's luck. I would marry her if she weren't my mother. Not in the weird way, but I would like to have a wife just like her. It's a pity that Hera isn't, she's a child...
I've already gained courage. On the night of the attack of Indrith's army, when we were already in the kingdom of Alfmosis—the territory of the white elves—in the province of Sahara, crossing the cold forests of Star City
I was crying on my mother's arms; I had just seen my father's head being cut off and had run all night. — Mommy, do we still have to keep on running away? — I asked in a trembling voice and sobbing.
She liked when I called her mommy, no comments.
My mother was wearing a comfortable, colorful dress wet with her sweat and a white cape on top with golden dragon designs on the wide sleeves—my father's cape. The cape floated in the wind. The ponytail in her hair freed her from unnecessary distractions, but a strand of hair was loose in front of her face—I don't know if it was on purpose or by mistake.
She, eight months pregnant, with a six-year-old child in her arms, breathed heavily and moaned in pain as she ran like never before. Her heavy breathing was noticeable in the cold air. She could be extremely fast even though she was in pain from pregnancy and with my weight on her.
I know she couldn't stand running anymore, but with a furrowed brow, holding me with inexplicable strength and with determination in her eyes, she exclaimed, — We have to get to the middle of the forest, honey. Windsor, how much time is left?
Elder Windsor Ashura, whom we did not know at the time that he was the leader of the Ashura family, he posed as the personal butler of the royal family. He always had a cheerful but firm and strong presence—tall, with a short beard and long gray hair that gave a touch of wisdom and experience, and normal dark brown eyes. He wasn't a big deal in appearance. He always had a cheerful countenance and ready to serve.
That night, Windsor was running over the trees, keeping up with my mother's speed. — A few hours left, Your Majesty!... But queen, I don't think it's wise to run when you're pregnant... I know the soldiers are after us, but your health is top priority... — there was a melancholy tone to that statement.
My mother, Andromeda, running, sighed. — We'll stop when we arrive! I can stand it for a few more hours... — The way she sweated, and her heavy breathing did not confirm what she was saying.
She was afraid, terrified in fact. The idea of me being killed was her worst nightmare.
My loud crying, the snot coming out of my nostrils, and the way I grabbed tightly my mother's colorful dress. Those tears I drew were the last ones I shed because of what I would hear next.
Moaning and running like never before, her feet almost not even touching the ground because of her speed, one hand holding me by the lower part of my body and the other caressing my head, she began. — Honey, you need to help Mommy! — She called my attention, and stopping my crying for a few minutes.
— When you cry my pain increases, you know baby? — She said, and I soaked up the snot and wiped away the tears.
Determined to be strong, I wrapped my small arms around her neck and nestled my head on her right shoulder. My tears fell quietly, my breath hitching in silent sobs. — One day, I'll be so strong that you won't need to run, mother! — I whispered in her ear with a voice that prophesied the deadly and murderous path I would come to walk.
She ignored me, but I'm sure she heard. And I was serious!
I'm sure Windsor used a Ghost Art to run on top of trees without causing any noise and looking like a black figure. — Young master, you need to grow up and be strong. Now you are patriarch of the Treadways, and the true king! — He said, trying to get me to move on, but only reminding me of my father's death.
Her eyes narrowed, and a huge vein appeared on her forehead. — Windsor, stop talking about that! Arthur, I am no longer queen, and you are no longer a prince, my son! — She made it clear.
— Forget that life, dear! — she whispered in my ear, then kissed the top of my ear.
Something changed in my mother that night. I didn't see her mourn, cry, not even a tear fell. I thought she didn't feel anything. She was unbeatable like I had never seen. She didn't look like that woman who filled me with kisses and hugs all the time. She remained sweet and clingy, but now she was more resilient, tough and strong in the sense of doing what needed to be done and teaching me how to be a man.
…
Hours later, when we arrived in the center of the forest, deep within it, Windsor prepared the fire, arranged a log for my mother to sit on, and then focused on organizing a place for us to rest.
Windsor, arranging a sort of tent of leaves and some logs, looked at my mother. — Sovereign, is everything okay? — he asked, putting some branches above the hut. It was something like a room. I never understood what that was.
My mother settled onto a log, pulling me onto her lap. She drew in a shaky breath, one hand resting protectively on her swollen belly, the other gently cradling my head against her chest. — I'm okay...! — she said, answering breathlessly.
Sitting on her lap, I raised my head to look at her. — Mom, are you okay? — I asked, looking at her sweaty face.
Windsor, noticing my mother's abnormal breathing and veins covering her face, approached slowly and tried to put his hand on her shoulder.
She dodged his hand, her pupils contracted, and veins took over her body. She was not normal. She got up abruptly, and I fell to the ground. — Don't touch me! Never touch me! — she ordered, her sharp canines sticking out. She was like a lioness.
Windsor and I looked at her in fright. I had tears in my eyes, and Windsor, with pale skin and a back foot as if he had seen a monster, knew how dangerous an Amazon was in that state.
She turned around and, in an instant disappeared into the middle of the trees, disappearing into the shadows. Moments later, her voice could be heard, making it clear that she broke the sound barrier in that movement. — Sorry! I'm sorry, son! I need to be alone. — she said.
We only felt the impact of the sonic boom and her voice followed—she was already gone.