The rain poured down, slowly leeching the warmth from a Mother's hand when her two precious daughters. The younger clung to her side, her small hand tight in hers, while the elder stared into the distance, her heart caught between hope and the shadow of dread. The field ahead was alive with movement, soldiers marching home in weary ranks, their faces etched with the horrors of war.

  The Mother’s breath hitched as she watched. Every soldier was battered and broken in some way—scarred faces, empty sleeves, limping gaits—but they were alive. Each step brought them closer to the families waiting with bated breath, desperate to fill the void left by years of separation.

  Amid the despair, a glimmer of hope broke through. One soldier dropped his pack and bolted from the ranks, running toward a young woman who stood apart from the crowd. She let out a cry of joy, rushing to meet him. Their embrace was fierce and tearful, the kind that spoke of years stolen and finally reclaimed. Around them, other families reunited, laughter and sobs mixing in the air.

  The youngest daughter tugged at her mother’s sleeve, her voice soft but filled with innocent curiosity. “Mama, will Papa come home?”

  The words struck like an arrow. The girl, just over six, had never met her father. She knew him only through whispered bedtime stories and the faded photograph her mother kept pressed between the pages of an old book.

  However, the mother was tight-lipped. Her eyes desperately searched for any sign of my father among the passing soldiers. Around her, the joyous cries began to fade. A few women stood like statues, their faces pale, their hands clasped tightly around letters and tokens from men who would not return.

  The youngest daughter tugged at her sleeve again, “Mama?”

  The Mother wrapped her arms around her daughters as the tears finally came. "It can't be... This must be a dream, right?" the woman murmured.

  As the rain continued its relentless descent, a lone soldier emerged from the dispersing ranks, his eyes shadowed beneath the brim of a tightly drawn hat. However, he wasn't the man that the mother was looking for.

  "Lady Nyghtingale," the man bowed lightly.

  "Lord Avalon... Where is my husband?" Mama asked.

  Avalon's lips pressed into a thin line, his hand gripping the brim of his hat as if to steady himself. "Abbie... he sacrificed himself to protect us from Ultima Eden. The wall he erected around Hilfheim shielded us, allowing us all to return home safely. He died as a hero."

  The light in the Mother's eyes extinguished in an instant. She accepted the handkerchief with trembling hands, her gaze fixating on the delicate embroidery of her husband's name. Tears welled up, spilling down her cheeks as a choked sob escaped her lips.

  "P-Please, just give my husband back..." Her voice broke, the plea hanging in the air, raw and desperate.

  Avalon couldn't answer her and turned his face away.

  The tolling of the bells echoed over the rain-drenched village, a mournful dirge for the souls who would never return. Each resonant chime seemed to weigh heavier upon the Mother, and with each passing moment, her strength ebbed away.

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  Clutching the blood-stained handkerchief to her chest, she sank to her knees, her tears hidden by the unrelenting rain. Her voice, hoarse and trembling, carried a bitterness that cut through the air.

  "Why... What do we gain from this war? To fight for a single throne?"

  At that moment, the strong mother the sisters had always admired crumbled. The weight of her grief bore down upon her, and the unyielding resolve she once carried was swept away like leaves in a storm.

  The youngest sister took a hesitant step forward, her small hand half-extended toward Mother. But doubt quickly overcame her, freezing her in place. What could she do? What good could a child like her offer against such profound pain? She couldn’t understand the depths of her mother's sorrow, not truly.

  After all, she never met her father before. She never loved her father to even understand her mother's sadness. Because of that she was too scared to try, too afraid to reach out, and hurt her mother even more. And so, she stood there, motionless, as Mother wept in anguish.

  The eldest sister, however, was different. Without hesitation, she stepped forward, kneeling beside Mother. Her arms wrapped tightly around her, and she cried with her, her tears mingling with the rain. She didn’t offer words of comfort, knowing there were none that could suffice. Instead, she just willingly accepted a part of her mother's pain.

  Seeking solace in the embrace, Mother clutched the eldest tightly, her arms trembling with the force of her grief. They held each other under the cold rain, searching for warmth amidst the chill of reality. But the pain was too great, too deep, and no amount of love or comfort could mend the shattered fragments of her heart.

  Broken glass cannot be put back together. What is lost cannot be returned.

  "Chaos and Order... don't mess with me," Mother said, her voice firm and resolute. Her fist clenched tightly, trembling with both fury and grief. "Never again. I will not let anyone take my family away from me."

  Her gaze burned with a fiery determination as she looked at her daughters. "Cleo, Celli. As long as we're together, we will survive. We will someday defeat Adam! Will you fight with Mama, together?"

  Cleo, the eldest, stepped forward with a confident nod. "Yes, Mama. I'll become strong enough to protect us!"

  Her words rang with resolve, but Cellia, the youngest, felt her chest tighten. Her heart raced as fear clawed its way into her thoughts. Become strong and fight the villainous god, Adam? Were they crazy?

  "Why... must we fight?" Celia took a hesitant step back, her trembling voice barely audible over the rain. The images of the war flashed through her mind—the pain, the loss, the broken families. "Don't you see what war does to us? Everyone is broken! Everyone is losing their family. N-No, no! I don't wanna fight! I-I—"

  Her words faltered as she saw the disappointment etched into their faces. It struck her like a blow. She knew they expected her to agree, to stand with them, but how could she? They were just rural gods, desperately trying to protect their dwindling followers.

  How can they hope to defeat the might of Adam, the mightiest deity on Earth?

  Mother's hands trembled slightly as she reached out to hold her youngest.

  "Celi," she said softly, "I understand that you're scared, but we can’t give in to our fears. If we surrender, the war will take everything from us."

  "No, Mama, you don’t understand!" Cellia cried, her voice breaking. "Celi wants to be brave, but Celi hates fighting and hurting others! Celi just wants to live in peace with everyone!"

  A sad smile crossed Mother’s face as she let out a deep sigh. "You’ve always been such a kind child. Too kind," she said, her gaze growing distant. Her hand fell away from Celia’s.

  "But kindness alone isn’t enough to protect what’s important in your life. This world is cruel to the weak, Celli."

  Her words cut deep, leaving Cellia trembling. The weight of guilt pressed down on her as Mother’s disappointment became palpable.

  "Mama... I..." Tears welled up in Celia's eyes.

  But Mother turned away, "We will move forward, even without you," she said quietly.

  Celia’s hand reached out instinctively, desperate to hold onto her, but the chains of guilt weighed her down, pulling her hand back. She stood frozen as her mother walked away, Cleo following close behind without looking back.

  The rain poured harder as Cellia stared at her trembling hand. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the cold rain as the crushing realization settled over her.

  That day, Celia didn’t just lose her father. That day, she lost her family.