The Extra's Rise-Chapter 516: Mothers (1)

The year had limped to a close with more graves than graduations. Mythos Academy—once the fortress of the elite and the ambitious—had taken a blow that shook its foundations to the core. The third-year exchange program to Starcrest Academy in the East had been meant to broaden horizons, forge connections between institutions, and give promising students a taste of different educational philosophies.

Instead, it had become a graveyard.

When the war erupted across the Eastern continent, the exchange students found themselves caught in the crossfire. Some had been killed outright in the initial attacks. Others had died fighting alongside local defenders, their bodies never recovered from battlefields that had been scorched by magic and steel. A few professors who had accompanied the program had perished trying to protect their charges.

The losses were staggering. Entire families had been shattered. The academy’s board of directors, faced with grieving parents and a public outcry that reached the highest levels of government, made the only decision they could: immediate closure pending a full investigation.

Diplomas were distributed based on our records up to the incident—a hollow gesture that felt more like an apology than an achievement. The rest was left to bureaucracy and time, twin healers that worked slowly but thoroughly.

They said the academy would reopen in September. They said it with conviction, as if speaking the words with enough authority could make them true. Whether I’d be attending again was another matter entirely. Not because I couldn’t—my record was exemplary, my connections secure. But because I wasn’t sure I should return to a place that would forever carry the weight of those empty chairs.

So I returned home. Not in disgrace, not in triumph, just in the quiet, exhausted way that comes with surviving something too vast and terrible to fully comprehend.

Seraphina had taken the news of my departure with characteristic grace. Disappointed, certainly—I could see it in the slight tightening around her eyes—but she understood the necessity. She was always composed when it mattered, always capable of compartmentalizing her heart when duty called. She’d given me a kiss on the cheek, told me to return when I was ready, and hadn’t looked back as I walked away.

Rachel, on the other hand, had not been nearly so diplomatic about my decision to leave the East. She’d crossed the continent specifically to spend time with me, carved out a week from her royal obligations just for stolen moments together. And now I was abandoning her again, called back to family and responsibilities she couldn’t share.

We’d nearly fought—the kind of argument that builds like storm pressure until someone says something unforgivable. But I’d reminded her that her birthday was approaching, that I had plans to make it truly memorable. The mention of celebration had cracked her defenses like sunlight through clouds. She’d smiled, then giggled with the genuine delight that made her so captivating, then made me promise the event would be unforgettable.

I’d agreed because I meant every word.

And now here I was, gazing up at the impossible skyline of Avalon City.

The capital of the Slatemark Empire was a testament to human ambition made manifest in steel and crystal. So vast it generated its own weather patterns, so wealthy that rumors claimed its underground transit systems were heated with molten gold—though that was likely just another urban legend in a city that thrived on them. The skyline stretched toward the heavens like a defiant gesture, towers of chrome and glass climbing ever higher as if the city itself was determined to remind the gods who truly ruled this world.

I summoned a self-driving cab with a gesture, watching as the sleek vehicle descended from the aerial traffic lanes. Its interior was a study in understated luxury—synthetic leather seats that felt better than the real thing, a dashboard that glowed with soft bioluminescence, and an AI voice calibrated to the perfect tone of professional calm.

The journey through the roads was smooth and swift, past office towers that pierced the clouds and hanging gardens that defied gravity itself. The cab navigated the lanes with mechanical precision until it reached a gleaming spire of metal and marble that stretched toward the heavens like a modern Tower of Babel.

Home.

The Nightingale family penthouse occupied the entire fortieth floor—naturally. We’d never been a family known for modesty or restraint. I approached the lobby’s AI concierge, a holographic construct that materialized with a polite bow and scanned my biometric data with invisible sensors.

"Welcome home, Master Arthur," it said in perfectly modulated tones. "Your family has been eagerly awaiting your return."

The elevator rose with silent efficiency, carrying me skyward faster than falling in reverse. The doors opened with a soft chime that somehow conveyed both welcome and luxury. I stepped into the familiar hallway and knocked on the penthouse door—three sharp raps that echoed with the weight of homecoming.

The response was immediate chaos, at least to my enhanced hearing. Two sets of footsteps scrambled across marble floors. Something soft collided with something hard—possibly a thrown cushion meeting a wall. A muffled shriek of surprise, followed by what sounded suspiciously like an argument about whose responsibility it was to answer the door.

Luna’s amused voice drifted through my consciousness. ’Your family’s more dramatic than a royal opera company.’

The door swung open to reveal two figures who shared my distinctive features—the raven-black hair, the sharp azure eyes, the delicate bone structure that spoke of a bloodline carefully cultivated over generations.

But where one radiated practiced elegance like a masterpiece of social conditioning, the other projected barely contained energy like a coiled spring.

"Arthur!" My mother, Alice Nightingale, didn’t wait for pleasantries or proper greetings. She pulled me into an embrace that could have toppled a lesser man, holding on with the desperate strength of someone who had spent too many sleepless nights wondering if her child was safe.

"I’m back, Mom," I murmured against her shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume—something floral and expensive that had been a constant throughout my childhood.

Behind her stood Aria, my sister, sixteen years old and armed with an expression of carefully cultivated indifference. She’d crossed her arms and turned her head as if the sight of me was mildly irritating rather than the homecoming she’d clearly been anticipating.

Her pout gave away the game entirely.

Luna’s voice carried a note of fond amusement. ’She took the express transport from Slatemark Academy just to beat you to the door.’

I smiled quietly at the observation, gently extricating myself from my mother’s embrace. Aria huffed and glanced at me from the corner of her eye, clearly torn between maintaining her aloof facade and running over for her own hug.

"Arthur Nightingale," my mother said, her voice shifting into the tone that had struck fear into corporate executives and social climbers alike. "Do you have any idea what you put us through? Coming home for barely a month, then disappearing to fight in a war like some common mercenary?"

The scolding hit with the precision of a master strategist who had clearly been preparing this speech for weeks. Her azure eyes blazed with the kind of maternal fury that could level mountains.

"I should ground you until you’re thirty," she continued, her voice rising with each word. "Do you understand what it’s like to watch the news every day, wondering if the next report will mention your name in the casualty lists? Your father aged ten years in the span of weeks!" frёeωebɳovel.com

The genuine anguish in her voice cut deeper than any blade. I could see the sleepless nights etched in the fine lines around her eyes, the worry that had carved new shadows across her elegant features.

"You’re right," I said, the words coming easily because they were true. "I’m sorry, Mom. I should have stayed. I should have thought about what my choices would do to you and Dad and Aria."

She blinked, clearly not expecting such immediate capitulation. "You... you agree?"

"Completely. And I promise—I’ll stay home for the next several months. No wars, no distant campaigns, no running off to save the world." I managed a rueful smile. "Just family time."

Alice’s expression softened, the maternal fury giving way to relief so profound it was almost painful to witness. "Your father will be so glad to hear that. He’s been beside himself with worry—had to cut his business trip short twice because he couldn’t concentrate on anything but getting news from the East."

"When will he be back?" I asked.

"Tomorrow evening. He’ll probably cry when he sees you." She dabbed at her eyes with a silk handkerchief. "We both will, probably. You scared us, Arthur."

The warmth that spread through my chest at her words was something I’d never experienced in my previous life. A family that worried about me, that celebrated my return, that scolded me out of love rather than disappointment—it was a treasure beyond any magical artifact or legendary technique.

In my past existence, I had been alone. Powerful, respected, feared, but ultimately isolated. Here, I had people who cared about my safety more than my achievements, who valued my presence more than my potential.

"I love you too, Mom," I said, meaning every syllable.

Aria finally abandoned her pretense of indifference, crossing the room to wrap her arms around my waist. "Don’t ever do that again," she mumbled against my chest. "Stupid brother."

"I won’t," I promised, one hand settling on her dark hair. "I’m home now."

And for the first time in longer than I cared to remember, that word—home—carried the weight of truth.