2.1 A Grim Reminder

199 F.Y.

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Seventeen years... Never thought I'd actually live this long. Then again, living in what was apparently by the very edges of the Empire I now lived in would kind of make sure that nothing too bad would happen...

And somehow, I just knew that I just jinxed myself thinking like that.

"Pay attention," my mother chided as I watched her demonstrate how to use a bow. "Breath in when you pull, breathe out when you release."

With practiced efficiency, Mother followed all of her steps. With an arrow loaded, she breathed in slowly while pulling the string back, the tension in the bow seemingly nothing to her before she released the taut tension with guided precision.

*WOOSH*

The arrow flew straight and true, lodging itself directly into the designated tree stump that we decided was today's target. I couldn't help but feel intimidated at the raw skill and talent that my mother had. I mean, what weapon was she not proficient in? I swore I haven't seen her fumble with any random thing she decided would be her weapon for the day

"Got it?"

I was shaken out of my light hero-worship as Mother addressed me with a straight face. I nodded in silent affirmation.

Mother gestured to our target. "Your turn then."

Getting the signal, I nocked an arrow into my bow as I strained my eyes to find our target. With a deep breath, I slowly pulled back the string on my bow, my right hand already aching as the tension mounted on my poor fingers. If I remembered this correctly, I shouldn't grip the bow too hard since it affected accuracy...

Or so I've heard, at least. It's been over a decade since I watched that one anime episode where I remember learning this technique from. Or maybe I was just superimposing it on Mother's usual teaching tone.

Either way, it was time to see if what I remembered was actually correct.

With a sharp exhale, I let the string go; the tension immediately letting the arrow loose leaving my bow to fall slack onto my thumb. I had let the tension do the gripping for me instead of grabbing it with my left hand, leaving me instead with a sore left arm and tingly right fingers as I watched my arrow bury itself just under my mother's arrow. I raised an eyebrow at my performance.

That was... a lot better than I actually expected.

"Rouge..." my mother addressed me, her eyes glued to the dangling bow in my left hand. "Where did you learn how to shoot an arrow like that?"

...

...Oh...

"Uhhh...." What in the world? Did I misremember her teaching me that? I was sure that Mother already gave me that tip and that my memory was just messing with me. Still... Damn, I have to commit now. "I... Didn't you teach me to shoot like this, Mother?"

I cringed at my own hesitant tone. Why was I so bad at lying?!

"I haven't..." Mother trailed off, a distant look in her eye as she looked back at the skewered tree stump. "Never mind."

I waited in childish anxiety as my mother faced me with the most strained smile I had seen from her in months.

"You're a natural, little Rouge~"

Her tone sounded both fake and genuine at the same time. While I preened at the praise, my inner anxiety was rearing its ugly head. What was I supposed to say?! Clearly she didn't remember teaching this to me, but I couldn't exactly explain that I saw how to do it from a random video in a device that would only be invented hundreds of years from now.

"It's still thanks to you, Mother," I answered. I just hope she wouldn't ask much further.

I saw the faintest twitch in her smile before she turned back toward our house. "Let's go home before your Father burns the whole place down, shall we?"

"Y-yes, Mother."

Like the dutiful son that I was, I picked up the rest of our equipment off of our makeshift training ground before sprinting to catch up with my mother. In my hands were my practice bow and a quiver full of arrows as I walked alongside Mother through the rocky plains. It was still a serene experience; walking alongside her as we went home from my self-inflicted weapons training.

"So, what have we learned today?" Mother asked as we crossed a small creek.

"Never underestimate your opponent," I answered with textbook-like precision.

"And?"

"You can never learn too many weapons," I chuckled at my last answer as did my mother as we quietly walked through what I assume to be the countryside equivalent here or something. "Also, that paranoia is a wonderful thing to have."

"Indeed, little Rouge," Mother smiled as I felt her gentle hand pat my head. "Losing a weapon is impossible if everything is one."

I let out another chuckle at her words. It was still a wonder to me just how many weapons Mother had experience with. From the years since I've asked her for weapons training, there have been at least ten unique weapons that she all but demanded that I learn how to use. Ranging from the quintessential shortsword, to the weirdly effective hookswords that I honestly thought would never be effective in a real-life scenario, Mother wielded any weapon that Father gave her with a professional stance and gait.

Quite honestly, if my theory that my mother was a former mercenary or soldier was wrong, then I didn't know what my mother was doing with her life learning how to use every weapon imaginable. She didn't even stop there. I saw her using one of my weapon prototypes once a few years back, seemingly testing and working out just how my stupid ideas worked. Hell, I even saw her use the first katana I made here that one time with a form that looked straight out of a samurai film... Wait...

My eyes widened as another realization hit my trope-savvy mind: my mom was my mentor figure.

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