The Extra's Rise-Chapter 535: Shadow (6)

The conversation with Aria had lasted nearly two hours, but it felt like minutes.

Watching my daughter finally break down and admit her feelings—the jealousy, the inadequacy, the love mixed with resentment—had been both heartbreaking and relieving. I’d watched her pull away from family dinners, avoid Arthur’s attempts at conversation, throw herself into social activities that kept her out of the house.

I’d known something was wrong. A mother always knows.

But hearing her sob against my shoulder, confessing how much it hurt to watch her friends worship her brother while she struggled to maintain mediocrity, had confirmed my worst fears. My brilliant, kind, determined daughter was drowning in the shadow of her extraordinary sibling.

"I hate that I feel this way," she had whispered through her tears. "He’s never been anything but loving and supportive. What kind of person am I?"

"You’re human," I had told her, stroking her hair the way I had when she was little. "You’re allowed to have complicated feelings. Love isn’t always simple, especially when it comes to family."

We’d talked through everything—her academic struggles, the constant comparisons, the way Arthur’s achievements made her own efforts feel meaningless. I’d listened, offered comfort where I could, and tried to help her understand that her worth wasn’t determined by comparison to anyone else, even someone as exceptional as her brother.

By the end of our conversation, some of the tension had left her shoulders. She’d agreed to stop avoiding family time, to give Arthur a chance to be just her brother rather than a living reminder of her limitations. ƒгeewёbnovel.com

"He misses you," I had told her. "All those attempts to spend time together, to help with your training, to just talk—he’s been trying to connect with you. You’re important to him."

"Really?" she had asked, like a child seeking reassurance.

"Really. You’re his little sister. That will always matter more to him than any title or achievement."

Now, three weeks later, I could see the difference. Aria had kept her promise. She joined us for family dinners, participated in conversations, even asked Arthur for advice about her combat theory assignments. The easy camaraderie between my children was slowly returning, and our home felt whole again.

This morning had been particularly wonderful. Arthur had helped Aria with a particularly difficult magical analysis problem over breakfast, explaining complex theoretical concepts with infinite patience. When she finally understood the solution, her face had lit up with genuine joy rather than the forced smiles I’d grown accustomed to seeing.

"Thank you," she had said to Arthur, and meant it completely.

"Anytime," he had replied, ruffling her hair in that way that used to annoy her but now made her laugh.

Watching them together, seeing the love and trust restored between my children, filled me with the kind of deep contentment that made all the difficulties worthwhile.

But contentment, I had learned over the years, was a fragile thing.

Arthur was happy at home, more relaxed than I’d seen him in months. But I couldn’t ignore the weight he carried, the responsibilities that pressed down on his shoulders like an invisible burden. At eighteen, he was managing relationships that had continental political implications.

Then there were the relationships themselves. I liked the girls Arthur had chosen—Rachel’s fierce determination, Seraphina’s quiet intelligence, Cecilia’s bold confidence, and Rose’s gentle wisdom. Each of them brought something valuable to his life, and their genuine care for him was obvious whenever I saw them together.

But managing four romantic relationships, especially ones with such far-reaching political consequences, couldn’t be easy.

He made it look effortless, but I was his mother. I saw the exhaustion he tried to hide, the careful planning that went into every decision, the weight of knowing that his personal choices affected the political stability of multiple continents.

Sometimes I caught him staring out his bedroom window late at night, and I wondered what thoughts kept him awake. Was he happy with the path his life had taken? Did he ever regret the complexity that came with his extraordinary capabilities?

My phone buzzed with a news alert, as it did several times daily now. Another article about Arthur. The media attention had become relentless, transforming my son from a private person into public property.

I dismissed the notification without reading it. There would always be more articles, more speculation, more attempts to dissect and categorize every aspect of Arthur’s life. I’d learned to ignore most of it, focusing instead on the young man who sat at our dinner table and worried about normal things like whether Aria was eating enough vegetables.

The afternoon sun streamed through our penthouse windows, illuminating the comfortable spaces where my family had grown and changed over the years. In a few hours, Arthur would return from whatever important meeting he was attending today, Aria would come home from hanging out with her friends, and we’d gather for dinner like millions of other families around the world.

But we weren’t like other families, were we? We never had been, not really.

Aria’s jealousy, painful as it was to witness, made perfect sense when viewed in that context. How could she not feel inadequate when compared to someone whose very existence seemed to rewrite the rules of human potential?

I couldn’t blame her for those feelings. In truth, I sometimes wondered if I’d failed her by not preparing her better for the realities of having Arthur as a brother. Should I have done more to help her find her own path, her own sources of confidence and self-worth?

But then I remembered the conversation we’d had three weeks ago, the way she’d finally opened up about her struggles, and I felt cautiously optimistic. Aria was stronger than she knew, more capable than she believed. She would find her way, just as Arthur had found his.

My children were both extraordinary in their own ways. Arthur’s gifts were obvious, blazing like a star that commanded attention from across the known world. Aria’s strengths were quieter but no less real—her compassion, her determination, her ability to see the humanity in people regardless of their status or achievements.

They would both be fine. Different paths, different destinations, but both valuable and meaningful.

I was proud of them. Proud of the people they were becoming, proud of how they supported each other despite the challenges. Proud of the family we had built together, complex and imperfect but bound by genuine love.

The peace of the afternoon wrapped around me like a comfortable blanket as I settled into my favorite chair with a cup of tea. Outside, Avalon hummed with its usual activity—millions of people living their lives, pursuing their dreams, navigating their own complicated relationships and responsibilities.

But inside our home, things were good. Balanced. The way I had always hoped they would be.

I took a sip of tea and allowed myself a moment of quiet satisfaction. Aria’s jealousy toward Arthur had been painful to witness, but understandable given the circumstances. Any ordinary person might struggle with similar feelings when constantly compared to someone so exceptional.

After all, Arthur truly was special. More special than even his closest friends and admirers realized.

The thought brought a small smile to my lips as I watched the afternoon light play across our living room walls.

He was special because I had designed him to be.