“Mother! Look at this flower!”
While Bertia and I took a tea break from our responsibilities, our five-year-old son, Anzart Glo Alphasta, raced over, clutching a potted plant in both hands. He proudly displayed a vibrant blue lily in full bloom. To any onlooker, it might appear that a small child was struggling with a heavy pot, but Zeno followed closely behind, using wind magic to lighten the load. Anzart felt virtually no weight as he put on his best effort for all to see.
Anzart’s fundamental personality resembled mine closely. Observing his mother, Bertia—who, although sometimes clumsy, earned everyone’s affection through her genuine effort—taught him that demonstrating hard work and commitment usually elicited more favorable responses than just being competent. Consequently, he became skilled at seeming innocently diligent, surpassing even my own childhood in calculated charm.
Naturally, Bertia was completely oblivious to the sly side lurking beneath her charming son. As she rushed to grab the potted plant from him, I quickly stepped in to lift both Anzart and the pot.
“… Tch.” My son softly clicked his tongue, just loud enough for me to catch, while maintaining an innocent smile.
I decided to overlook it, keeping my own smile intact. Bertia was now five months pregnant with our second child, and I wouldn’t allow her to manage such a large pot. Anzart understood this perfectly well.
As expected, Anzart had developed a strong attachment to his mother, displaying nearly obsessive affection. He appeared unhappy with the prospect of having siblings who might share his place. Although he would never harm the child she is expecting, Anzart sometimes attempted to exploit Bertia’s nurturing demeanor, pushing her limits. He was probing the depths of her care for him.
Unaware of her son’s true intentions, Bertia doted on Anzart and unwittingly provided him with the gratifying reactions he craved. This only served to inflate Anzart’s perception of maternal love, which was quite troublesome.
“Oh, Anzart, what a beautiful flower you have,” Bertia said softly. “Is this a bellflower?”
“No, Mother, this isn’t a bellflower,” Anzart replied, having given up on trying to physically tackle Bertia and now presenting her with the potted plant instead.
The guards, oblivious to the fact that Zeno had magically lightened the pot, stared in astonishment at what seemed to be an impressive display of strength from the toddler.
“Oh my, what flower is it?” Bertia inquired, her smile unwavering as she leaned closer to examine the plant, unaware that a toddler was effortlessly lifting a heavy potted plant.
Why did Bertia believe this flower was a bellflower to begin with? It was clearly a lily. True, it had an unusual hue, but still.
“It’s a lily, Mother!” Anzart proclaimed with pride. “I created this blue lily because I know how much you love that color.”
Bertia’s eyes widened in amazement. “A blue lily?! Did you really make this, Anzart?!” Bertia was astonished by Anzart’s proud grin.
“Yes!! Since Mother adores blue, I attempted to craft a blue lily, just like Father created the blue rose!” Anzart replied with pride, snuggled in my arms, which made me chuckle.
He didn’t merely create the blue lily to delight his mother; he aimed to compete with the blue rose I had made for Bertia. In this realm, neither blue lilies nor blue roses existed. My initial creation of the blue rose as a gift for Bertia generated significant interest among botanists, who then endeavored to produce a blue lily. Apparently, my son had resolved some of the challenges they encountered.
I felt somewhat guilty for depriving the botanists of their enjoyment, particularly since I had motivated Anzart to engage in such activities. Maybe I should suggest another captivating challenge for them next time.
“Cecil, what should we do?! Our child is a prodigy!” Bertia said, clearly overwhelmed.
“Yes, he’s fantastic. However, keep in mind that boasting about it in public might make you appear overly indulgent, so tread lightly,” I replied with a smile.
As I lifted the lily from Anzart and set it on the table, Zeno’s enchanted support ended, causing it to drop with a surprising thud. The noise startled Kuro, our black fox, who then scurried out from under the table and leaped onto Bertia’s lap.
“Kuro! I’ve told you time and again not to lie on the cold floor!” Zeno quickly lifted Kuro from Bertia’s lap and reprimanded her. Kuro flicked her tail in annoyance, clearly irritated by Zeno’s concern.
Similar to Bertia, Kuro’s rounded belly suggested that she was expecting a baby.
“Why can’t you stay put in our room?!” Zeno admonished Kuro with a seriousness akin to a worried pet owner reprimanding their cherished pet. While it was a heartwarming scene, for Zeno, observing his pregnant wife sprawled on the cold floor surely caused him anxiety. He constantly worried about the possibility of someone inadvertently kicking her.
I would feel confident delivering a full hour-long lecture to Bertia if she were doing the same thing.
Indeed, Kuro was expecting Zeno’s child.
The idea of “marriage” among spirits was somewhat unclear compared to that of humans. However, Zeno and Kuro became a couple in the year Anzart was born. To clarify, Zeno did not engage with a young girl. I was unaware of this before marrying Bertia, but Kuro, being a darkness spirit, experienced a slight power reduction during the day when the light was strong. As a result, she takes on the form of a child to save her energy. At night, her power grows, enabling her to appear as an adult, though Bertia, an early riser, remained oblivious to this fact.
Zeno was well aware that adult Kuro frequently came to see him at night. Their bond flourished, leading to their marriage. However, it was impractical to acknowledge their union publicly during the day when Kuro appeared as a child. Only a handful of individuals informed of their circumstances understood the reality.