"Mother… my head feels heavy, and my body will scarcely move. It is as though all my strength has left me."
The soft complaint slipped from her lips not long after she awoke, some hours after James's arrival.
From the moment her senses returned, Charlotte's gaze remained fixed upon her mother. A powerful longing rose within her, a desire to draw near, to become gentle and dependent, to lean entirely upon the woman before her. The feeling flowed warmly through her chest, deepening the affection she had long kept hidden. She had restrained it for so long, yet now it could no longer be contained.
The warmth of a mother.
She truly longed for it now.
Since childhood, Charlotte had always been closer to James.
Her father's affection revealed itself through warm words and steady actions, while her mother stood as a figure of firmness and discipline.
Every word and gesture of hers was measured, maintaining boundaries, tempering small mischief, and meeting the playful provocations Charlotte often directed at her with unwavering composure.
Yet…
She had never meant to compare them. Still, there remained a quiet yearning for a gentler tenderness, a softer and sweeter affection from her mother, something she had never quite found in the way her father loved her.
Like a flame slowly growing.
That feeling now burned within her chest. Her small body yearned for an embrace, wishing to lose itself in the warmth of her mother's arms.
That familiar scent.
She wished to feel it more closely.
She longed to rest her face against her mother's breast, to rediscover the warmth she had once known when she was but a small child.
At last, a few simple words left her lips, soft yet filled with innocent longing, directed toward the woman at her bedside. Her small hand lifted weakly from where she lay.
"Mother… hold me."
Irene smiled at her daughter's gesture. The return of Charlotte's awareness eased the unease that had weighed upon her heart.
Thank the heavens… you are safe.
Warmth filled her chest, pure and gentle, as though all the worry that had settled within her was slowly melting away.
I ask only that you remain well.
Those wounds… if only they could be borne by me instead.
My daughter.
Now she was truly at ease. The dreadful image of her child lying senseless no longer lingered before her eyes.
That suffocating feeling faded, though its trace still remained within her chest.
So heavy.
So painful.
The love of a mother, so rarely shown, now flowed without restraint, stirred simply by the sight of a face that had once been pale, now alive again and filled with emotion.
More than anything—
For you.
She wished to say it.
I love you.
I cherish you.
My dear.
My firstborn…
Yet the words caught within her throat. Her long habit of restraint before her children made it difficult to give voice to the tenderness she had always kept in silence.
She moved closer, climbing onto the bed with slow care before lying beside her daughter. With gentle arms, she drew the small body into her embrace, granting the simple request that held such meaning.
I, too, wish to hold you.
Her soft lips trembled faintly. The words she had held back since the moment her daughter lay without certainty finally escaped.
She steadied herself, keeping the embrace gentle and warm.
"Very well, my dear. I have missed you… I have missed you dearly."
"Hic… I have missed you too, Mother."
Her voice trembled with sincerity, accompanied by soft, restrained sobs.
The small fingers clutched at Irene's thin gown with surprising strength, brushing against her side and stirring a faint, warm tickling sensation.
"Hic… I love you, Mother."
"And I… love Charlotte very dearly…"
Irene's voice softened, deeper than before. Her daughter's tearful longing warmed the depths of her heart, causing her to tighten the embrace without realizing it.
Moments such as this were rare. They were so close, sharing their feelings without distance, as though a long-buried yearning had finally found its way forth.
She leaned her face a little closer, her voice lowering.
"Tell Mother, which part of you is in pain."
The child let out a light giggle. Her mood shifted swiftly, as though the earlier sorrow had never been.
"Hehe… I do not feel any pain, Mother. Your daughter is strong, the strongest girl. You need not be troubled."
"I know, my dear. Yet would my sweet daughter not be a little more honest with Mother?"
Charlotte fell silent for a moment.
"I was greatly afraid something might befall you. I knew not what I ought to do. I was deeply worried, my dear."
"Mother… forgive me."
The young girl felt the faint tremor within her mother's body as they embraced. The small hands that had clung so tightly now moved gently, stroking as though to soothe.
Memories of what had happened earlier slowly began to flood back into her mind. It was when she was protecting her younger brother.
A flicker of doubt passed through her.
She loosened the embrace, then slowly sat upright. Her gaze turned toward her mother. Both arms lifted slightly, her expression tightening as though enduring pain.
"My arms ache, Mother. There was a woman with a most unpleasant scent who sought to seize Ian and me. She offered us sweets to deceive us."
She pointed to herself with her small forefinger.
"But Charlotte is not foolish. I knew that foul woman was wicked. Father and Mother have told me to be wary of those who show sudden kindness and appear strange."
She paused briefly, as though ensuring her mother followed each word.
"Do you know…"
Irene gave a slow shake of her head, remaining silent as she listened to every word her daughter spoke without interruption.
"That woman was most wicked. She cared not in the slightest that we are but children. She kept trying to strike me. Then, with my skill, Charlotte struck her again and again until she rolled upon the ground."
She spoke with a small pout, her cheeks appearing all the more endearing.
Irene smiled at her words. She rose from her reclining position and sat beside her daughter.
One hand gently took hold of the small palm.
Who would have thought that the words her husband so often spoke to their children would prove to be of such worth? Now, she began to understand the reason behind those constant warnings.
Her husband had always been protective of their children.
Yet, in truth, she had once harbored concern. She feared that their children might grow with undue suspicion, seeing every kindness as something to be questioned.
If that were to come to pass, they would struggle to mingle with the villagers, with companions of their own age.
She herself had been raised in this very place.
The kindness and warmth of the people had taken deep root within her. It had not been easy for her to wholly accept her husband's manner of raising their children.
But that was in the past.
Not now.
What had befallen her daughter this day had changed many things. Her son's account, that it was Charlotte who first sensed danger and acted to protect them, shattered the doubt she had long carried within her.
Her heart, as a mother, chose but one thing.
What was best for her children.
One by one, she began to release the chains of her former thoughts.
She must learn to trust.
Trust in her husband.
Trust in her children.
Whatever they might face in the days to come.
Uncertainties yet unseen.
Troubles and hardships that may arise.
Misfortune.
Disaster.
Or calamities unforeseen.
All of it, they would face together.
For to her, family was everything.
Above all else.
I am Irene Wieser.
The safety of my children stands above all.
I am… the wife of James Wieser.
I believe.
My husband is capable of protecting us.
Her gaze lingered upon her daughter's hand. The bruises upon the back of her fingers and knuckles were clear, darkened by repeated impact, staining her pale skin.
Other marks upon her forearm did not escape her notice.
Earlier, with James at her side, she had carefully cleansed and tended those wounds.
Yet the marks upon the back of the hand were different.
And the forearm…
From her son's account, Charlotte had raised both arms to shield her face from the woman's strikes.
Worry had crossed her mind. Her daughter's bones were still in their growth, particularly those of the forearm. There had been a fear of fractures.
Yet her husband's brief assessment had eased her unease.
"There is no need for concern. Only bruising. The bone is unharmed."
The words had been simple, even sounding somewhat dismissive. Yet Irene knew her husband well. He would not speak lightly on such matters.
And so, she found comfort in them.
Her gaze then shifted to Charlotte's dark eyes.
Her daughter's desire for praise was nothing new. She knew the nature of her firstborn well.
"My daughter is most remarkable. You protected your brother and overcame one who meant you harm."
"Of course, Mother. I shall grow stronger still. Not only to protect my younger siblings, but you as well."
A small, playful smile spread across her face.
Irene let out a soft laugh.
"And your father? Would you not protect him also?"
"Father is already strong, so he has no need of my protection. Yet if he wishes it, Charlotte would not refuse."
Another voice joined their exchange.
"My dear. Father, too, stands in need of protection."
Charlotte tilted her head and looked toward him. James stood while holding her younger brother, while Ian sat upon a wooden chair beside him, quietly observing.
A faint smile appeared upon Charlotte's lips.
"But it shall not be given freely, Father. You must pay a fee for such protection."
"Name your price. I shall pay it as a deposit for future protection."
"That…"
One hand rose, her forefinger and thumb resting lightly upon her chin as she pondered, searching for something she desired.
"What might it be… ah, that."
Her eyes suddenly brightened, as though recalling something most delightful.
"That large sweet, Father. The one with a handle, shaped like a swirl. What is it called… I have forgotten."
"Hah."
James's body stiffened at once.
As expected.
Irene slowly turned her gaze toward him, that sharp look he knew all too well. A sign that never failed.
He understood its meaning perfectly.
Perhaps this night, they would sleep apart.
Or he would be made to endure a lengthy admonition before being allowed near her again.
James could only offer a stiff smile.
Yet before he could speak, Charlotte's voice rose once more.
"Is that not allowed, Father… hm."
Then she turned to her mother, her tone softening into a gentle plea.
"Mother."
Irene drew a slow breath.
Though she had softened her stance toward the children this day, there were matters she would not change.
Especially when it came to food.
What was permitted, and what was not.
What might be allowed on rare occasion, and what must never become habit.
Those boundaries remained clear.
Charlotte and Ian had come to understand those boundaries well.
Ryan, the youngest, would in time receive the same guidance from his mother.
One of the clearest examples was sweets.
Irene had tasted the very confection her daughter spoke of.
How could she forget.
A treat of unusual shape, yet most enticing to the eye.
A lollipop.
Exceedingly sweet. Far too sweet, to the point of excess, owing to the artificial sweetness within it.
She had known it from the taste that lingered upon her tongue the first time she tried it. Curiosity, the natural trait of a young maiden, had once urged her to sample such things, especially foods that appeared pleasing and well-made.
That sweet called a lollipop.
She had come to know it through her husband, who had once given it to their daughter.
A trace of her girlish curiosity had remained, enough to stir her desire to taste it for herself.
And indeed, she had.
The flavor… was pleasing.
Yet at the same time, excessive. A sweetness so strong it nearly overwhelmed her senses.
Her palate had long been accustomed to natural flavors.
She preferred honey and confections drawn from nature.
She had known the difference well since her youth. Her aunt had once brought sweets from the city, and she had taken a liking to them.
Even to the point of asking for them too often.
Until she herself had been scolded for it.
That memory remained.
Had such a trait now passed to her daughter?
Irene regarded Charlotte for a moment.
Very well.
I shall yield this day.
For this day alone.
Her daughter had only just awakened from unconsciousness.
Her gaze softened.
"Very well, my dear. The sweet your father once gave you… it was a lollipop, was it not?"
"Indeed, Mother. It is a lollipop."
Charlotte's voice rang bright, answering with eager certainty.
Irene turned once more toward James.
"We shall speak of this later."
James merely lifted his shoulders, releasing a long breath of resignation. He gave a quiet nod, making no attempt to object.
Not because he could not.
Only that this was not the proper moment.
More so, his wife had just granted their daughter's wish, something she rarely did.
He chose silence, allowing the exchange to continue without interference.
A trace of unease lingered in his thoughts.
He knew his daughter well.
If Charlotte were to ask for something further, Irene would likely cast that same look upon him once more.
And those words…
"We shall speak of this later."
Their meaning was all too clear.
He need only prepare the proper means to soften it.
Gentle persuasion, or perhaps a firmer approach, as he had done before.
Irene was not entirely immune to either.
The thought drew a faint curve to his lips.
Tonight…
He could only hope the hour would come swiftly.
It seemed it would take some time, and no small effort, to win her over completely.
The day had already begun to wane.
James cast a brief glance toward the window of his daughter's chamber. The light that entered had begun to dim, a quiet sign of time's passing.
Time moved swiftly.
Nearby, Ian sat upon a wooden chair with a high back.
The boy remained silent, watching his mother and sister share their warmth. At times, a small smile would appear upon his face, only to fade again.
His lips moved faintly, murmuring to himself.
Perhaps his thoughts still lingered upon the earlier discussion.
About those eyes.
The Sharingan.
He imagined himself possessing the same eyes as his sister.
Who could tell when such a thing might come to pass.
He was but three years of age. The path before him was long, whether it would prove gentle or far more burdensome than that of his sister remained unknown.
Yet if that day were truly to arrive…
If those eyes were to awaken within him.
The Sharingan, passed down through their blood.
As a father, he wished for but one thing.
That the path his son must walk would not be overly winding.
Not too heavy to bear.
Not filled with trials he must endure alone.
James continued to watch his son.
Ian was indeed quieter, more composed. Yet as a father, he understood that the way the boy expressed his affection differed from Charlotte.
He was not as lively.
Nor as bold in revealing his feelings.
Charlotte was full of energy, spirited, and unhesitating in voicing her desires and dreams.
While Ian chose silence.
He spoke only when needed.
Rarely asked.
Rarely revealed what he desired.
It was something that often stirred concern within Irene.
Yet James understood.
The boy was not without desire.
He was merely… shy.
He had often observed from afar.
When Ian was with Charlotte, the child seemed different. More open, more expressive, as though no longer bound by his usual hesitation.
Beside his sister, he felt at ease.
I know.
My son is simply shy.
And perhaps… that is not a flaw.
His duty as a father was to guide him.
To protect him.
Until the day came when he could stand on his own, and spread his wings toward the sky.
Slowly, James lowered his gaze.
It fell upon his youngest son, not yet a year of age. Those small green eyes gazed back, filled with innocent curiosity.
For a moment, the little face appeared puzzled.
Then a light laughter broke forth, clear and warming.
James reached out, gently touching the small nose.
"You truly resemble your mother, my son."
He fell silent for a moment, studying the child's face a little longer.
"Grow in health and strength."
His voice lowered, filled with unhidden sincerity.
"You are dearly loved."