Help! My Moms Are Overpowered Tyrants, and I’m Stuck as Their Baby!

The academy's great bell rang only in emergencies a peal so old, so deep, it seemed to shudder through my bones. Today, it woke the dust in the rafters, shooed crows from the upper gardens, and scattered my sleep as surely as a slap.

Unrest had been building for weeks. You could feel it in the way students eyed each other over breakfast, the teachers' forced smiles, the glances sent toward the iron gates. There'd been whispers of rebellion before, but nothing like this. This was louder, sharper, and worryingly far more organized.

I knew before the bell's echo faded that today would end with someone in tears.

I did not, however, expect the day to begin with my mothers, queens of the realm, disguised in matching traveling cloaks, their faces shadowed and boots caked in honest mud, striding through the academy's battered gates like judgment made flesh.

For a heartbeat, no one recognized them. Verania and Sylvithra cut such a strange figure one tall and hawk-eyed, the other elegant as ever but attempting a slouch so theatrical it nearly split her spine that even the staff blinked, uncertain.

I caught sight of them from the library stairs, where Velka was holding forth on the "inherent corruption of small birds," and for a moment, I was just a child again, hoping I'd imagined the glint of silver in my mother's braid.

Velka, never one to miss an opportunity, called out, "Are you the new substitute teacher? If so, you're late. The class before lunch is called 'Defensive Napping.'"

Verania arched a brow. "Is that on the exam?"

Velka shrugged. "Only if you sleep through it."

I could almost hear the system snicker.

[Should I log 'sass' as an extracurricular?] it teased, faintly amused.

Log it as 'self-defense', I shot back, already making my way down the stairs.

Verania and Sylvithra removed their hoods in unison, and the crowd that had been forming students, teachers, three nervous kitchen ghouls, and Riven clutching a sheet of suspiciously flowery verse went dead silent.

A gasp went up. "The queens—!"

Someone dropped a tray. I would have laughed if my stomach hadn't twisted itself into a nervous knot.

Riven, in his eternal optimism, elbowed through the crowd and flourished his poem. "Welcome, Your Majesties! I have prepared a tribute in verse 'Ode to a Silver Throne' " His voice cracked on the first stanza, and by the second, his face matched his hair. By the third, he fainted so gracefully I almost applauded.

Sylvithra, always practical, nudged him with her boot. "At least the welcome was soft."

The students parted as the queens approached. I stood my ground, chin lifted. I had been preparing for this confrontation for days if not years.

Mother fixed me with that impossible gaze, the one that could make a dragon consider a career change. "Elyzara. A word, if you please. Now."

In the stone-cold hush, even the crows seemed to lean closer.

We gathered in the great hall, which looked far smaller than it had before. The staff lined the walls. Students clustered behind pillars, some still in nightclothes, all faces tense.

My mothers took their places at the center, regal even in travel-stained cloaks. I stood across from them, aware that every eye in the hall was on us. For the first time, I felt not just like a daughter, but as the bridge between a kingdom and its future.

Verania's voice rang clear. "We have heard troubling things, Elyzara. Reports of unrest. Violence. Rebellion. What have you to say?"

I held my breath, then let it out slowly. The words that followed were raw, scraped from my ribs. "The unrest is real. And justified. The students are tired, afraid. The rules here are cruel. Arbitrary. I know you meant them for discipline, but now they are chains. If something doesn't change, there will be revolt. Not just here, but everywhere. The world is shifting. You must listen."

Sylvithra's eyes narrowed, lips pressed to a thin line. "And you whose side are you on?"

I squared my shoulders. "I am on the side of truth. Of the future. Of this academy. I am your daughter, but I am also a student, a leader, and I will not watch the world crumble for the sake of tradition."

There was a hush. In the back, someone sniffled. Velka muttered, "Ten out of ten for drama," but her eyes were shining.

Verania stepped forward, all steel and storm. "You would lecture us, Elyzara? Your own mothers?"

"If I must," I said, my voice steady. "Because I have learned from you not to flinch from the truth. Not to run from hard choices. I love you both but you are not infallible."

For a moment, I thought she might strike me. But Verania simply closed her eyes, as if steeling herself against the tide.

A murmur swept the hall. Riven, revived by an enterprising ghoul with smelling salts, began his poem again in a hoarse whisper. I heard only one line: "For love that burns, and crowns that bend—"

Sylvithra's voice cut through it. "And if we are wrong, Elyzara? What then?"

I looked to the students, saw hope and terror mingled in every face. "Then you admit it. You change. For them. For all of us. There is strength in listening. In reform. That is how we survive."

A heavy silence fell. The weight of centuries pressed against my back.

[Now or never,] the system whispered. [Tyrants preserve themselves. Rulers transform.]

I met my mothers' gaze, every doubt and hope written in my eyes. "Please. Don't make me choose between my family and what is right."

Verania turned to Sylvithra, and for a moment, I saw not queens but partners, uncertain and exhausted.

Finally, Verania nodded. "We… will consider your words. We will listen."

A shiver of relief ran through me. The students dared to breathe again.

Before anyone could celebrate, a shiver of magic tickled the nape of my neck. A folded slip of parchment no larger than a playing card appeared in my hand, hot as fire.

Aria's script was unmistakable:

The Phoenix Group is only the beginning. The master hides in plain sight. Trust no one. The peace you've won is a moment's mercy nothing more.

A chill cut through me. I scanned the crowd no sign of Aria. Just students, teachers, a pair of queens, and more questions than ever.

Velka sidled up, peering at the card. "Bad news?"

"Possibly apocalypse," I murmured. "It's Tuesday, after all."

She grinned, nervous. "Could be worse. Could be Monday."

Riven, newly revived, tried to sidle into view, poem clutched like a shield. "Do you think the queens liked my poem?"

Velka patted his shoulder. "You survived. That's all that matters."

As the hall emptied, my mothers lingered. I saw regret on their faces, an unspoken apology for burdens they'd given and wounds they could not heal. We met at the center, three shadows stitched together by blood and duty.

Sylvithra spoke first, voice soft. "You are not alone, Elyzara. Not ever."

Verania nodded, eyes shining. "You have taught us something today. Perhaps it is time we listened."

I squeezed their hands, feeling the tremor of history shift beneath my feet.

Outside, the world was changing dangerous, bright, uncharted.

But inside, for the first time, I was ready to shape it. Not as a child hiding behind famous names, not as a rebellious student desperate to impress or defy, but as myself Elyzara, for better or worse, willing to stand with trembling hands and make demands of the people I loved most. That resolve was a living thing beneath my ribs, fragile but luminous, flickering with every breath.

The hall's grandeur felt smaller now, the stained-glass windows no longer impossibly tall but full of color and memory. My mothers stood at my side, uncertain but present, and I saw the truth of what power really meant: not the absence of fear, but the willingness to face it in full view of those who matter.

The students lingered at the doorway, peering in with cautious hope. Velka, arms crossed, nodded once as if to say "finally," and Riven, still pale but determined, managed a nervous bow that turned into something like a curtsy halfway through.

I caught Verania's eye. There was exhaustion there, and pride, and something almost like gratitude a silent acknowledgment that today, our family had grown larger than blood and title.

[So,] the system murmured, [you're choosing transformation over tyranny. How very unorthodox.]

Maybe the world is ready for a little unorthodoxy, I thought, and found myself almost smiling.

Because outside, chaos was brewing. Aria's warning lingered like storm clouds over a still morning. But inside, for the first time, I wasn't running from what was coming.

I was ready to meet it.

The hall emptied slowly, footsteps echoing like a promise. My mothers stayed near, hands joined, their shadows merging with mine across the flagstones.

For once, I did not feel alone in the face of uncertainty. Whatever storm awaited, I would not face it as a child, but as the architect of what came next.