REALIZATION

At the center of a large circle surrounded with magic runes and glyphs, lies an altar. Lying on that altar is a young boy, whose face wears an expression of pain, and kneeling beside it is his mother. His mother, whose dark hood covered her face, continues to caress his dark head. It must have been wonderful to feel that warm, gentle touch. Yet the boy will never feel, nor see his mother's silent tears streaking down her face, for he lies on the altar so cold and with no breath.

The mother continued grieving until her husband interrupts.

"Cease your weeping, woman!" her husband thundered. The startled mother looked at her husband. With him are four more dark mages. The other mages who took part on the ritual and those who watched left the room a long time ago. "We have given you enough time to grieve. Now leave and let the mages take care of the body." He ordered the mages to deal with the dead body which they complied.

Seeing the mother to protest, he scolded her. "Do not interrupt their duties, woman! The boy is dead and he is of no use now." He spoke to himself as the mother slowly stood up, wiped her tears, and walked away from the altar. "Another failed conversion to become the perfect vessel just like me, my father, and those who came before him." When the mother is near him, he addressed her with disgust. "Your son is weak… so frail. Even if he couldn't become a vessel, being alive to serve Grima and produce another son would be better. If only our second child is a boy, we could have performed another ritual." With the flick of his robes, he turned to leave the room.

The mother didn't answer back but slowly followed her husband. She continued her silent cries as she reached the steps. At the edge of the stairs, she cast one last look at her son, who is now covered by linens and placed in a stretcher, then climbed the stairs to leave the unpleasant memory.

Late at night, the mother could not sleep. She and her husband have separate quarters since this is a practice. She finished her weeping but her heart is heavy. Her mind disturbed with thoughts: thoughts plaguing her with disbelief that her husband seems not to acknowledge their dead son, rather referred it HER son and her fault; the guilt for willingly giving her son to the mages for the conversion; and the thought of not realizing something very important.

She is a dedicated Grimleal; never questioning, never doubting, never wavering in her faith. It is an honor to become the wife of the High Sorcerer and descendant of vessel candidates for Grima. When her son was to become a vessel, she never objected. Oh, she knew becoming a vessel means that the soul and will of the chosen person will fade once Grima took full control. But she didn't think about that, for serving Grima and producing a vessel, a GOD, is the greatest and highest honor of all. Everything is worth it for the name of Grima the Fell Dragon.

As the conversion continues, she heard her son cry out. This made her uneasy yet she mentally shook it away. Then this tragedy happened. When the ritual ended and she saw her poor boy's face and cold body, something snaps inside her. She doesn't know this feeling inside her yet. The stirring in her heart was painful, so painful, she seems paralyzed to move. She was standing, just standing straight, when visions of her time spent with her son flashes through her mind: showing him the ways of the Grimleal together, praying with him to Grima, teaching him everything she knows, and seeing him smile at her. The memory of that sweet smile is her undoing. After that, she knew what that elusive feeling is: her love for her dead son. And she ran to where he lay, weeping bitter tears, knowing full well she will never give nor show her son the love she had for him.

How could she not see it? So many years wasted of not knowing that love. So many missed opportunities to give and show her love. And all is lost. She wonders if Grima will grant her request to resur—No! She mustn't finish the thought. She knows full well what the undead will always be: a mindless husk that does Grima's bidding. Then she realized something else: if the conversion was successful, that means she will never get the chance to spend more time with her son, and she will be an avid follower of her Grima-possessed son. These thoughts made her to question, to doubt, and waver in her faith.

Her soul troubled and no comfort to receive from her husband and from others, she remembered someone who is now important to her. And she went to the room of the only one to calm her inner storm: her only daughter.

Inside the room, the mother walked towards her daughter's bed. The moon shines upon her daughter's profile. She looked at the sweet, innocent, sleeping face of her toddler. She stroked the small dark head of her daughter with her gentle fingers. Her daughter stirred but didn't wake, and went still. This time, a tiny smile formed in her mouth.

The mother's heart ached with love for her daughter, at the same time, with sorrow. Will her young daughter's mind remember the face and smile of her elder brother? No, the mother doesn't believe her daughter will remember.

The mother stood over her daughter, like a sentinel protecting a precious treasure, a guardian watching from the shadows. After what seems a very long time, she left with a promise to herself: she will give all her love to her daughter, and never let her forget.