Chapter 391: Name

Both remained locked in their embrace for a long moment as tears continued slipping from their eyes. However, Atlas was the one who struggled to understand what he was feeling and, more importantly, why these emotions were surfacing within him.

He remembered Seraphiel telling him to accept those emotions as his own because they belonged to him. Yet, despite understanding her words, he was still finding it difficult to do so. They were unfamiliar, almost foreign to him, and he couldn’t explain why his heart was reacting this way.

After several more moments, they finally pulled away and looked at each other. Their translucent eyes appeared slightly swollen, almost as though they were made of flesh rather than energy. She gazed at his face for a while before softly murmuring, "Son... my son..."

Her hands instinctively moved toward his cheek, gently brushing away the remaining tears before she cupped his face with her right hand. Her touch carried an unmistakable tenderness, as though she had been waiting an eternity to feel her son beneath her palm again.

Atlas stared at her for another moment before slowly wiping the tears from his own eyes. His heartbeat gradually began to settle, each passing moment allowing him to regain some composure. He then gently caught the hand resting against his cheek and looked directly at her.

"...Who are you really?" Her eyes widened slightly, but Atlas continued before she could respond. "Previously, you were able to speak the names of my abilities in that strange language that only I know." His voice remained relatively calm, although a faint hesitation and tremor could still be heard beneath his words.

"That must either mean you know this Codex well enough to somehow open it and read those terms, or..." He paused, his grip on her hand tightening ever so slightly. "...you really are m-my mother?" His final words made her eyes widen even further.

Atlas lowered his head, uncertain about what kind of answer he should expect. Both possibilities seemed dangerous to him, though in entirely different ways. If she was the former, then she would become an enemy who knew one of his greatest secrets, and someone he could never afford to underestimate.

The latter possibility, however, threatened him in a way he couldn’t defend against. Until now, he had never truly believed that she was his mother, even when she had spoken about sealing his memories and other matters. After all, she could have been lying about everything, couldn’t she?

That was precisely why Atlas had remained cautious around her. But if the answer really was the latter, then he would have to face an emotional blow that he knew he wasn’t prepared for.

The woman remained silent for a moment, simply staring at Atlas’s face. Eventually, she lowered the hand that had been resting against his cheek and spoke. "Atlas, before I answer your question, I want you to hold onto a specific emotion toward me."

Atlas frowned slightly and shifted his attention toward her. "Regardless of the answer you give me, it all depends on your own ’Belief,’ doesn’t it?" he asked.

Atlas paused briefly before giving a small nod. "I know you’re using your ability to determine whether I’m speaking the truth. Nevertheless, it could still make your mind believe one thing while your heart believes something else."

He remained still afterward, carefully processing her words. He understood what she was trying to say, but he couldn’t quite figure out why she wanted him to approach this matter in such a manner.

"What I want you to hold onto is neither of those decisions. I want you to hold onto a deep resentment and unforgiveness toward me." Atlas furrowed his eyebrows at her unexpected request. However, before he could question her further, he noticed something unusual happening to her figure.

Her translucent form was gradually becoming more vivid with each passing moment, almost as though she was materializing in real time. It was no longer the scattered, incomplete appearance he had seen earlier; instead, it seemed that her entire soul fragment was slowly taking shape.

A moment later, Atlas’s eyes widened as he looked at the unimaginable beauty standing before him. She still had no physical body, and her form remained translucent, yet even that incomplete appearance was enough to leave him staring.

His heart throbbed once again, and for an instant, he felt as though something deep within him was desperately trying to recall a particular image from the past. However, just as he tried to grasp it, the sensation vanished, leaving him with nothing but an inexplicable ache.

Once her form had completely materialized, she slowly opened her previously closed eyes. Looking directly at Atlas, she finally spoke. "I am your mother, Maerith Mariorett."

The moment those words reached his mind, Atlas’s eyes widened as a flood of memories suddenly surged into his consciousness.

"Kugh!"

He immediately clutched his head and gritted his teeth. Blurry images began flashing through his mind, each one depicting the same woman standing before him, albeit in different places and with a different appearance. Before he could make sense of anything, a soft, familiar voice echoed through his mind.

"Come here, my little boy. Play with mama."

Her gentle voice lingered for only a brief moment before a strange fog spread across his vision, causing the scene to shift. This time, he found himself looking at what appeared to be a small hut.

The same woman stood before him, humming softly as she cooked, an apron tied around her waist. There was something incredibly ordinary about the scene, yet it carried a warmth that made his heart ache.

"Hoho~ Does Atlas want to eat the delicious dishes mama is cooking right now? But mama needs a little more time before the food is perfect." From that blurry perspective, he saw a tiny hand reaching toward the woman as she continued cooking.

The hand was so small that he could barely recognize it as his own, and the realization made the scene feel even more distant and unfamiliar. Before he could understand what he was seeing, the fog returned and swallowed the memory once again.

Another scene appeared. This time, his perspective seemed to be moving unsteadily from side to side, trembling with every step. The same woman was running ahead of him, occasionally turning around to look back with a playful smile. "Try and catch mama, my little star! Hehe, if you try, you can do anything!"

Just as that memory settled in his mind, Atlas suddenly found himself back in the present. His eyes snapped open as he panted heavily, struggling to steady himself after the sudden rush of unfamiliar images. ’W-What were those... memories? Was that me?’ Before he could find an answer, he felt a gentle hand caressing his translucent hair.

"Those were memories triggered by you hearing my name, Atlas."

Atlas slowly lifted his head and saw the woman smiling at him. His hands trembled slightly as he listened to her continue. "It still depends on you whether you wish to believe those memories are truly your own or whether they were formed through some ability or law." Atlas’s pupils contracted as he processed her words.

With his Logic Alteration used on truth and falsehood of statements, he could sense that there was something genuine about what she had just told him.

No, even before that ability could register her words as either true or false, he could already feel it. Every single memory seemed to carry an undeniable authenticity, as though the experiences had been engraved deep within him somewhere he had never known existed.

His pupils trembled as his mind continued processing everything, but the memories had already stirred something within him that he could no longer ignore.

Warmth, certainty, and a kind of love entirely different from what he felt for Seraphiel began filling his heart. Alongside them came anger, sorrow, and several other emotions he couldn’t even begin to identify.

He didn’t understand all of them, nor could he explain why they were surfacing so intensely.

But among everything he was feeling, one realization had become unmistakably clear.

’She... really is my mother.’