The late afternoon light filtered through the grand windows of the Veylin estate, casting a golden glow over the polished marble floors. Seated in the lavish drawing room, my mother reclined elegantly against the velvet cushions, the very image of effortless poise. She plucked a grape from the silver tray before her, inspecting it briefly before popping it into her mouth.
"Hmm, so you can't connect with Aria?" she mused, her voice smooth and thoughtful.
I sat across from her, shifting slightly in my chair. "No," I admitted, feeling a little embarrassed to say it out loud. "I know you're busy with your duties as Chancellor, but… I was hoping you might be able to help."
A small, knowing smile curled her lips. "Of course, my dear. After all, I had to deal with a rather difficult little girl myself."
I blinked. "Difficult?" I repeated, my cheeks warming. "I—I wasn't difficult!"
My mother merely gave me a measured look over the rim of her teacup. "Oh, you certainly were," she said, her tone carrying just a hint of amusement. "You matured quickly, that much is true, but before that… well, you had your moments."
I pursed my lips, unsure whether to argue or let the topic die before she dug up any more embarrassing childhood stories. She only chuckled at my reaction before setting her teacup down.
"Regardless, it's not unusual," she said, shifting the conversation back on track. "Aria has existed in a world vastly different from ours, and given what you've told me, she likely never had a proper guardian figure. It's no wonder she struggles to trust."
"Then… what do you suggest?" I asked.
My mother's sharp blue eyes softened. "The same way I tamed a bratty daughter—I'll spend time with her," she said lightly, but there was a deeper intent in her voice. "Children, no matter how powerful or intelligent, still long for warmth. I'll break down her walls in my own way."
I hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Alright."
Summoning my Diamond grimoire, I let the familiar weight settle in my hands as its pages began to flutter open. The air shimmered, and within seconds, Aria materialized before us, her ethereal presence as striking as ever.
Dressed in her flowing black gown, with hair like woven night and eyes as deep and unfathomable as the void, she was the very image of something not quite human. Yet, at the same time, she was small—fragile, even, in a way that had nothing to do with strength.
My mother's expression softened further as she observed Aria. "Aria, dear," she said, offering one of her rare, patient smiles. "Today, I shall teach you the art of tea."
Aria blinked at her, tilting her head slightly, as though processing the words. "Tea… art?"
"Tea etiquette," my mother corrected smoothly. "It is something all well-bred young ladies should know."
There was no protest from Aria, nor any true interest. But she did not refuse, and that was enough.
As the weekend stretched on, I let my mother take charge, trusting her instincts to find a way to reach Aria. Meanwhile, I buried myself in my studies, determined not to fall behind in my lessons.
Yet, after two days, curiosity got the better of me.
I stepped into the drawing room once more, expecting perhaps a formal scene—a lesson in the graceful tilt of a teacup, my mother guiding Aria's hands with measured patience.
Instead, I froze in the doorway, blinking in shock.
Aria was curled up on the couch, nestled against my mother's side like a drowsy child, her small fingers gently toying with the fabric of my mother's gown. A delicate porcelain doll rested in her lap, its golden hair tangled in Aria's absentminded grip. My mother, unfazed, stroked her head with slow, rhythmic movements, her other hand idly flipping through a book.
I stood there, stunned, unable to reconcile the sight before me with the Aria I knew—the cold, unyielding being who spoke in detached logic and regarded the world as though it was something distant and unimportant.
Yet here she was.
"Elara," my mother greeted me without looking up. "You're late. We've been waiting for you."
I opened my mouth, then closed it again, at a loss for words. Aria, too, turned her gaze toward me, but unlike before, there was something different in the way she looked at me.
She had always regarded me with obedience, respect even—but now, I saw something else.
A quiet attachment.
"Come sit," my mother invited smoothly, gesturing to the space beside them.
As if to emphasize the point, Aria shifted slightly, lifting the doll and holding it out to me, as though this was some grand gesture of invitation.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and moved forward, carefully settling down beside them.
"It's been a long time since I've seen you pout," my mother mused, her sapphire eyes glinting with amusement as she set down her teacup.
"I-I wasn't pouting," I shot back, my cheeks warming.
She tilted her head slightly, watching me with the ease of someone who had known me since infancy. "Oh? Then what would you call that rather spectacular display of sulking?"
I grumbled, averting my gaze. "I'm not sulking either."
"Jealous, then?" Her voice was light, teasing, but it carried an undeniable edge of insight.
I hesitated. It wasn't quite jealousy—not in the way she meant it. But the sight of Aria nestled so comfortably against her, so willing to trust, had struck something deep in my chest.
Reluctantly, I nodded.
My mother's lips curled in satisfaction. "Unsummon Aria," she instructed.
I obeyed, reaching for my Diamond grimoire. Its pages fluttered open as a soft glow enveloped Aria, drawing her back into its subspace. The air shifted slightly with her absence, leaving only the lingering warmth where she had been.
My mother folded her hands in her lap, her gaze sharpening with a quiet authority. "Elara, the core issue between you and Aria is simple—she can't rely on you."
I frowned. "What do you mean? She's my summon."
"Exactly," she said, as if that single word explained everything. "And right now, you are her summoner, but not her partner. To put it plainly—you are a burden to her."
I flinched at the word. "A burden?"
"Yes, a burden," she repeated bluntly. "Aria sees you as someone to protect, not someone she can trust or lean on. Your relationship is entirely one-sided. Even when you give her orders, she doesn't need them. She follows them because she is bound to you, not because she believes you provide anything of value."
The words stung, not because they were cruel, but because they were true.
"But… how am I supposed to change that?" I protested. "She's so much stronger than me! What could I possibly offer her?"
My mother sighed, shaking her head. "Strength isn't just about power, Elara. Every summoner is weaker than their summon—that is the nature of our bond. But that does not mean a summon cannot rely on their summoner."
She reached out, gently tucking a stray lock of silver hair behind my ear. "Aria is an existence beyond comprehension, a being of unfathomable strength. But she is still a person. And just like any person, she needs something constant in her life—something stable. That is where you come in."
I swallowed hard. "But she doesn't need me to be strong."
"She doesn't need you to be stronger than her," my mother corrected. "She needs you to be her anchor. Her stabilizer. The pillar she can trust, not just as her summoner, but as someone who will not falter when she does."
I stared at her, the weight of her words settling deep into my bones.
"In two days," my mother continued, "I built something with Aria that you have yet to build in all this time. And you, my dear daughter, have far more time and far more reason to succeed than I do."
She leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. "You are not merely Aria's summoner. You are Elara Veylin. And that, my love, is more than enough."
I sat there, my mother's words echoing in my mind, as a new resolve began to take shape.
I would not limit Aria.
I would become someone she could trust—not just with her life, but with her heart.