Badheil was worried. There was always something to worry about in these times. Even after He ascended to godhood, that hadn't changed at all. In some ways, it kept Him grounded—sharp and vigilant—even in this so-called era of peace, blessed under the pure and equal Grace of the Almighty Creator.
A scoff almost escaped His lips, held back only by the weight of His concern for His mother, which consumed His thoughts.
For the past decade or so, His Mother had been preparing for Her apotheosis, working to accommodate the Uniqueness of the Mother Pathway. Taking a decade to fully integrate a Uniqueness wasn't unusual or unprecedented—indeed, it could take much longer for someone who lacked stability.
But this was His Mother. If anyone was destined to embody the Goddess of the Mother Pathway, it was the Giant Queen Ombella.
Even so, His Mother preferred a measured approach, ensuring the highest possible stability within Herself before beginning Her apotheosis.
As much as Badheil understood the wisdom and prudence behind Her patience, He couldn't help but feel a growing unease. The words of the Great Almighty Creator still echoed in the back of His mind:
"The pathways of the Moon and Mother didn't originate directly from the Oldest One."
That worry had only deepened in recent days, worsened by the mocking emergence of the Resplendent and Glorious Sun. Even during the challenges of accommodation, His Mother had always made sure to keep Him informed—be it about Her progress or Her state—so that He could guard Her in Her moments of vulnerability.
But now, there was only silence. A silence that began to gnaw at His heart—a silence that slowly haunted His Twilight-bound soul. He prayed there would never come a day when He'd be forced to shine the Twilight upon His own Mother.
And so, the Twilight Son decided to act. He descended before His Mother's embryonic divine kingdom—the Cradle of Life—which was still in the throes of its creation—a kingdom in the delicate process of being born. He wore neither His usual armour of Dawn nor carried His great orange sword that embodied the Twilight Pathway. Instead, He was dressed in a simple, comfortable silver robe, intricately engraved with symbols of Twilight and Combat. Even His immense form had been reduced, resized to match His Mother's scale.
"Come in, son…"
As soon as He took His first step, Badheil heard His Mother's voice. It was calm and gentle, yet carried the unmistakable weight of Her authority. Relief washed over Him at the sound of Her familiar tone, but He remained cautious, unwilling to let His guard down. He had yet to see Her physical state, and so, keeping His heart steady and His mind sharp, He entered the primeval forest where trees reached up to scrape the night sky.
At the forest's entrance, He suddenly paused and glanced back at the dark heavens. For a brief moment, His orange-red eyes reflected the ominous glow of the Crimson Moon hanging in the Cosmos. Then, without a word, He turned and continued His journey toward His Mother.
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The Cradle of Life, the Primeval Forest—its trees towering like mountains and as wide as colossal pillars—felt different to Badheil. Where once there had been warmth and serenity, there was now the chatter of new laughter, the flutter of countless wings, and curious eyes, bright and newborn, peering at Him from the shadows of the ancient trees.
Perhaps I ought to teach them caution and fear in the future…Badheil mused idly as He studied what was unmistakably His Mother's newest creation. These beings resembled infants, but to call them merely babies would be inaccurate. They bore pure white wings sprouting from their backs, and their eyes gleamed with a wisdom and curiosity far beyond their years. With veils of light as garments, they were all rather… peculiar.
The winged infants didn't dare disrupt His path toward His Mother, yet their undeniable curiosity lingered in their wide eyes as they followed His every step. This silent observation deepened Badheil's wonder—what had driven His Mother to create new life in the midst of Her accommodation of the Mother Uniqueness?
Perhaps as a way ease to final and crucial stages of accommodation; could be, considering the symbolism of the Mother…
Lost in His brooding thoughts, the Twilight Son finally reached His Mother. She awaited Him at a small wooden table with two chairs, though only one was occupied—by Her. Behind Her stood a modest, cozy wooden house, nearly overtaken by vibrant plants and blooming flowers. Yet what truly seized His attention was the glaring absence of the illusory, ethereal infant that She had always carried with Her for the past decade.
When their eyes met, Her warm and welcoming smile melted His worries away, coaxing Him to instinctively lower His guard. "Come, child," She said, gesturing to the empty chair before Her with a graceful wave. "Sit with me."
And Badheil obeyed, settling into the chair. "Mother…" He began.
"Do you want anything?" Mother interrupted gently. "Something to eat or drink?"
Badheil shook His head. "No, Mother, it's fine."
"Badheil…" Her tone began to rise, as steady and inevitable as the sunrise.
"Fine," He cut Her off, knowing full well what was coming—a lecture about the importance of cherishing the simple and small pleasures of life, to remain grounded, anchored, and, above all, stable. "A coffee will suffice."
"Good," Mother said, Her smile returning with warmth as She raised Her hands and clapped gently. At once, two winged infants emerged: one carrying a plate with two pristine white porcelain cups, the other cradling a kettle from which steam billowed like clouds.
Badheil watched as the winged infants carefully poured coffee for Him and His Mother, their excitement evident in their giggles and darting glances. Once they had finished, they scurried toward His Mother, who received them with Her ever-gentle smile, lovingly ruffling their hair.
What happened next certainly did not startle Badheil—at least, that's what He told Himself. The infants let out a piercing squeal of pure delight, spinning upward in a flurry of movement and showering the space with shimmering particles of light. In the blink of an eye, they vanished in a radiant flash, leaving behind only the faintest glimmer in the air.
"They are peculiar..." Badheil muttered, taking a generous sip of the coffee, deliberately ignoring the amused look His Mother was giving Him.
"That they are," She said with a soft laugh, "and absolutely adorable as well."
Badheil wasn't so sure about the adorable part, but before He could voice His concerns—or perhaps because His Mother sensed His growing curiosity—She continued, Her tone both gentle and revealing. "They are Cherubs, beings of Light and Life. I'm planning of making them my messengers. What do you think?"
"Light…" Badheil repeated slowly, His blonde brows furrowing in a fresh wave of worry. And He had every reason to. Light was one of the primary and fundamental symbolism belonging to the Creator. While His Mother may have created these Cherubs, He wasn't certain who they would follow if the Creator Himself were present with Them now. "I don't think that's a good idea, and I don't need to explain why it is to you." He took another sip, hoping the warm drink might settle his thoughts.
"You worry too much, Child," Mother chided lovingly, a soft smile tugging at the corners of Her lips. "I think the Creator borrowing some of my creations is the least of our worries." She leaned in conspiratorially, her eyes twinkling. "But I think they're much more adorable than His angels."
Badheil couldn't help but smile despite Himself, caught between being chagrined and amused.
"Look at that," Mother remarked, crossing Her legs proudly as She took a sip of Her own coffee. "A smile on that Twilight face."
"Mother," Badheil's smile lingered for a moment, indulgent and fleeting, before He settled back into usual solemnity. "Why?" He asked quietly, the question needing no further elaboration. There was no need for more words.
Mother's perpetual smile slowly faded. She took a few more sips from Her cup, savouring the moment, before setting it down on the table. Badheil waited patiently, the silence hanging in the air. Finally, She spoke, Her tone no longer calm or gentle but firm—almost unsettlingly so.
"There has been a change."
"Change?" Badheil set His cup down on the table, leaning forward with a touch of urgency. "Did something happen during the accommodation?"
"No," Mother said, shaking Her head. "I was on the verge of accommodating the uniqueness, but…" She paused, Her words weighed with significance. "I've changed My mind. I've decided to wait even longer before ascending."
Badheil stared at His Mother in disbelief. "Mother, why?" His voice rose, and His orange-red eyes glowed with intense worry and concern. "If it's stability you're worried about, you don't need to be." He leaned in further, grasping Her hand firmly across the table. "You are stable, Mother—more stable than even I. I see not even a shimmer of Twilight ahead on your path."
"Child…" Mother began softly, but He didn't let Her finish.
"We both know it," Badheil interjected firmly, His voice unwavering. "There is no one more suitable to ascend as the Mother in this world than you, the Giant Queen Ombella."
It was the undeniable truth. She had already completed the apotheosis ritual for Sequence-0 Mother, detailed in the Blasphemy Slate, long before even the Great Almighty Creator revealed it to them by the end of Second Epoch.
After all, in truth and symbolism, She wasn't just the Queen of the Giants; She was their Progenitor, the very source of their existence. Alongside His wretched Father, She had given life to their kind. She was their Ancestor, the one with whom every Giant shared blood and essence.
She is their Mother.
Mother stared at Him for a long moment, Her expression unreadable, before releasing a deep, weary sigh. "It's not just about stability." Her hands, warm and gentle yet resolutely firm, tightened around His. "I've chosen my divine title. It will be Earth Mother. The Mother of Earth—imagine that."
She smiled indulgently, but the expression faded into a solemnity that felt utterly wrong on Her gentle face. "It's who I wish to be, Child."
"Mother…" Badheil murmured, staring at Her, His Twilight heart burning with unspoken turmoil. He couldn't bring Himself to finish the thought clawing at His mind: Then what about us? What about me?
Mother released His hand, Her voice steady as She continued, "I can't truly embody that if I ascended now. There's still so much more I must achieve, so much I need to understand and discover. I need to see the Earth for myself."
A heavy silence settled between them, stretching unbearably with each passing second. But Mother waited, patient as always, for Him to break it.
And Badheil did. "So," He asked at last, his voice carefully measured, though a faint tremor betrayed Him, "you're leaving?"
"Oh, child." Mother rose gracefully from Her seat, crossing the short distance to pull Him into Her embrace. But Badheil refused to lean into it.
"You don't need to hide from me," She said softly, Her voice tinged with fondness. "You always wore your heart on your sleeve."
"Mother!" Badheil glared up at Her, His fiery eyes meeting Her impossibly gentle gaze.
Her smile only deepened, radiating warmth and reassurance. "I'm not leaving," She said firmly. "I'm always with you, with every Giant. I'm your Mother, and their Ancestor. Nothing can sever that bond."
"But you are still leaving," Badheil pressed, His voice sharper now, the words laced with an undeniable ache.
"That I do," Mother admitted without hesitation, her voice steady. "That I do." She cupped His cheeks, her touch warm and grounding. "Badheil," She said, emphasising each word, "you are a God now. The Twilight, into which even the Resplendent Sun inevitably falls each day. Always remember that."
"I'm not worried about me," Badheil defended vehemently. "But every Giant below, and even the grudgeful Sanguines—they all look up to you." He paused heavily. "Without you…"
"The path I've chosen isn't just for me," Mother interjected, her gaze lifting to the glimmering stars above. "It's for all of us. We can't survive if we keep clinging to the past. No matter how hard or painful it is," She continued, lowering Her gaze to meet His. "I wish to let it go—and take the first step toward the path ahead."
Letting go of Him, She took a step back, Her presence still as commanding as ever. "I sincerely hope that all of you will follow in my steps," She said, Her voice carrying a quiet resolve that left no room for doubt.
Badheil knew there was no point anymore. His Mother wasn't going to change Her mind; Her resolve seemed to be as unyielding as the roots of the primeval forest surrounding them. It was both maddening and admirable, this quiet strength of Hers. He hated and loved Her for it in equal measure.
"I think this will bring more challenges than solutions," the Twilight Son admitted, His voice heavy with resignation. "But…" He paused, glancing down at His hands, the weight of Twilight almost tangible in His palms. "I trust you, Mother. Without you, none of us would be here. Without you, I wouldn't be here."
He looked up then, and for a fleeting moment, His fiery orange-red eyes burned brighter than the Crimson Moon above. "Just promise me you'll always return. We… I'll keep the path clear for you."
Her smile, as radiant as the dawn, softened the ache in his heart. He stepped forward, crossing the distance between them in a single motion, and wrapped His arms around Her tightly, finally.
"We are always with you as well, Mother,"
Her embrace, warm and unshakable, answered Him without words.