The Divine Twins

Grandmother

Then an old woman stepped into view from the kitchen.

She carried a striking, elegant presence. Her pale skin contrasted sharply with her short silver-white hair, neatly styled back with a few soft strands framing her face. Her vivid red eyes just like Stefin’s, were sharp and expressive, composed yet intense.

Her features were refined: a slender nose, a defined jawline, and slightly parted lips that suggested quiet confidence. She wore a sleeveless, high-neck black top that fit closely, emphasizing her tall, slender, well-defined frame. A single red, diamond-shaped earring hung from one ear, adding a subtle but bold accent. Her posture was upright and assured, her arms relaxed, an effortless display of authority. She was past her youth, her hair silvered by years rather than weakness, yet her posture remained straight and unyielding. Age had touched her, but it had not claimed her strength. She studied Stefin in silence.

Then her gaze narrowed slightly when she noticed something suspicious. His uniform was stained, not with dust or dirt, but with blood. And there was a small cut on his shoulder, still fresh. “What’s this?” she asked, her voice calm and flat.

Stefin glanced at his shoulder and immediately understood. He shrugged and pulled his shirt away from her grasp as she reached for it.

She withdrew her hand and crossed one arm over the other, returning to her composed stance. “You went into a fractured zone to fight the Blighted again, didn’t you?” she asked.

Stefin didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked away and scratched the back of his head. “…It wasn’t a big deal,” he muttered. “Just a small one.”

“Didn’t I tell you not to go fighting the Blighted whenever you sense one?” she asked calmly.

But Stefin still didn’t answer. His silence stretched until she raised her voice.

“Stefin, I’m talking to you!”

Finally, he spoke, quiet and restrained. “I know you did, but I couldn’t just ignore it,” he said. “If I didn’t act, they would’ve entered our world, and people would’ve gotten hurt.”

Her eyes sharpened. “And you think that excuse is enough to disobey me?” she asked.

Stefin clenched his jaw. “I think it explains it,” he replied plainly.

For a brief moment, the air between them grew heavy. She exhaled slowly. “You’re getting reckless,” she said. “That kind of recklessness gets people killed.”

Stefin looked away. “Says the old woman who goes on missions killing Blighted across the world,” he muttered under his breath, certain she wouldn’t hear him.

Her eyes sharpened immediately. “What did you just say?” she asked.

Stefin stiffened. “I said someone had to handle it,” he lied smoothly.

Her gaze swept over him, slow, measured, and dangerous.

“And you just happened to be that someone?” she demanded, placing both hands on her hips as her calm composure finally cracked.

Stefin met her with a stare. “They were already trying to enter the city,” he said firmly. “Waiting wasn’t an option.”

For a moment, the room was silent. Then she stepped closer. “Do you have any idea what would have happened if you had been overwhelmed?” she asked quietly. “If you had been killed in there?”

Stefin hesitated. “…Well, isn’t it a good thing that I survived?” he said with sarcasm, raising both hands as he turned to leave, but was stopped by her words.

“You’re not strong enough yet,” she added. “So you can’t be going out there trying to be a hero.”

That struck deeper than any wound. Stefin’s face darkened, heat rushing to his cheeks as anger boiled over. His fists clenched at his sides. “Were you strong,” he said coldly, “when you let my mother, your daughter, get killed by a Blighted right in front of you… huh, grandma?”

The words landed like a blade, cutting deeper than any wound she had endured. The room went dead silent. Her shoulders stiffened, and for the first time, her composure faltered. Then, without a word, she inhaled sharply, her hands trembling slightly at her sides.

The air between them thickened, heavy with unspoken grief, guilt, and a pain that neither of them could get over. Her red eyes trembled—not with rage, but with something far heavier: pain. “That,” she said quietly, “is not something you get to throw at me.”

Stefin scoffed. “Why not? Isn’t that what this is about? Strength?”

She took a step toward him. “You think I didn’t fight?” she asked. “You think I didn’t try to save her?” Her voice cracked—just barely. “I was strong,” she continued. “Strong enough to survive. Strong enough to carry the guilt every single day after.”

Stefin froze, seeing how terrified his grandmother was. He had hated her as a child, but growing up, he had come to realize she was all he had left. In no circumstance had he ever spoken to her this way before. This was the first time he had ever seen her terrified—not because she was scared, but because she carried guilt.

Finally, he looked away. “…I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” she interrupted. “But words like that don’t just come out on their own.” She straightened, forcing her composure back into place. “Those are words I’m sure you’ve been keeping to yourself. And the fact that you finally let them out—that’s good.”

After that, neither of them said a single word—not until Stefin finally broke the silence.

“…I’m going to get stronger,” he said quietly, his voice steady now. “Not just for me… but so I don’t leave anyone else behind.”

She studied him for a long moment, then gave the faintest nod.

“Good,” she replied. “Because strength isn’t just about surviving, Stefin. It’s about carrying the responsibility that comes with it.”

Slowly, she turned back toward him, studying his face—his injuries, his resolve, his stubborn pride. “…Just so you know, you’re walking a dangerous line,” she said at last.

Stefin didn’t look away, his expression laced with defiance, one that wasn’t ready to be shaken. “I crossed it the moment the Blight killed my mother in front of me,” he said firmly.

Another heavy silence followed—but this time it was different. It carried understanding, and with it, a fragile sense of peace. Finally, she spoke—low and serious.

“Get cleaned up,” she said. “We’ll talk in the afternoon, once you come back from school.”

Stefin blinked. “…That’s it?” he asked, curious.

“For now,” she replied. “Now, go to your room. We’ll talk later—when you’re thinking clearly.”

Stefin hesitated… then nodded. As he walked past her, his voice dropped to a whisper.

“…I just don’t want to lose anyone else.”

She closed her eyes.

“Neither do I.”

For the first time that night, neither of them felt strong at all.

She walked past him, her footsteps fading down the hall back into the kitchen, returning to her work, leaving Stefin alone in his room with the weight of their shared silence pressing on him.

When they both entered their rooms, each of them replayed the conversation they had just had. Neither was happy with the words that had been exchanged.

The old woman sat on her bed, her mind running over every word she had spoken to her grandson.

Stefin, on the other hand, slumped against his door on the floor, his back resting against it as the conversation with his grandmother echoed relentlessly in his mind. He gritted his teeth but said nothing.

After a while, he got up, went to the bathroom, and then headed to the kitchen to eat. When he arrived, he found that his meal had already been served—heated, properly covered, and waiting for him.

After eating, he went back to his room and fell asleep.

The night passed faster than he could imagine. When the first rays of sunlight stretched through the curtains, he was still in bed. At that moment, his alarm rang, eight o'clock on the dot. Without hesitation, he got up and went straight to the bathroom to get ready for school. After putting on his uniform, he stepped out of his room.

But the moment he came out, he froze. His grandmother was already in the kitchen. Breakfast was neatly prepared, and his lunch was carefully packaged and waiting for him.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. They just stood there, staring at each other in silence.