A dream.
This was a dream.
And I knew that.
What was that called?
Right. A lucid dream.
A dream where you know you’re dreaming.
In the dream, I was still a kid.
Taking a hard hit.
The world spinning before my eyes.
I felt no pain—this was a dream, after all.
But it still hurt.
My head throbbed, and I must have had a cut inside my mouth—
I could taste the blood.
Even though I was dreaming.
How strange.
Was this really a dream?
I spotted my hand.
Small and dirty.
Definitely a dream.
My hands aren’t that small now.
What a relief.
Just a dream.
My eyes moved.
No. I don’t wanna stand. But I have to.
I picked up the club and got to my feet.
My mother stood before me.
No expression. Like she was wearing a mask. Glaring down at me, her eyes cold.
A club in her hands, the better to beat me with.
She swung.
Now, I could block that. But at the time, that was impossible.
A sharp pain, and I was in the air.
Slammed into the ground—more pain.
My vision blurred.
Tears.
I found myself wondering when was the last time I cried.
My eyes moved.
My mother was speaking.
I’d lost my club again, and my eyes sought it out.
Had my mother told me to get back up?
I couldn’t.
It hurt. This was too much.
I must have whined about it.
Her expression never changed. She just slowly raised that club.
Another voice.
My eyes moved and saw a plump woman running over.
She’d helped with the housework. Made great food.
Nazul.
She’d made the best omelets. My favorite. Her cooking was ingrained in my memories, my standard for good eating.
Sadly, she’d long since passed. I’d rather be dreaming about eating her food than training with my mother.
Later, I’d learned other people’s mothers cooked for them, but I’d never once had that happen. Someone said she didn’t have time for anything but training me.
I was dumb enough to buy that back then.
But now that I was grown up, I could see that farce for what it was.
I barely even remembered sharing a meal with her. I mostly ate alone.
✦ ✦ ✦
“Good morning…”
The world took on color. Was I waking up? Then let’s get that over with.
✦ ✦ ✦
I never once forgot.
I knew all too well.
My mother hated me.
I was a child of rape, and she had no love for that.
She’d never once celebrated my birthday.
She gave me no blessings.
No thank-yous.
No congratulations.
Not even a good job.
Everyone else gives those freely.
Had I ever heard her speak my name?
Who named me?
If she hated me that much, why hadn’t she just killed me?
That would have been easy.
But she kept me alive.
So she must not have completely hated me.
Or was I just clinging to a forlorn hope?
“W-wait, Lady Faine. She’s still so young. Training past this point will achieve nothing.”
My mother glared, but Nazul did not back down.
In hindsight, Nazul was made of pretty stern stuff.
“Sh-she needs a rest. I have refreshments ready…”
“We’re fine.”
“Lady Faine, while you drink, we can tend to these injuries…”
“We’re fine.”
My mother waved a hand, and all my wounds closed.
The pain was gone.
“You’re fine, right?”
My mother leaned in.
Eyes like marbles, face devoid of emotion. Sinister.
“…Mm, I’m fine.”
“See?” My mother turned back to Nazul. “…You heard her. She’s not done yet. And I’ve already made her strong enough that she can be brought back if she dies. See? Nothing to worry about.”
“……………As you—”