The Least Common Denominator

II.I Difference

Seventeen years. Never thought I'd actually live this long.

"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, the tension in the bow seemingly nothing for her before she released the taut bow with a guided precision. 

*WOOSH*

The arrow flew straight and true, lodging itself directly onto 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 has. I mean, what weapon was she not proficient in?!

"Got it?" I was shaken out of my light hero-worship as Mother asked me with a straight face. I nodded in silent affirmation. "Your turn."

I nocked an arrow into my bow as I strained my eyes to find our target. With a deep breath, I slowly pulled 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 affects accuracy...

Or so I've heard. It's been over a decade since I watched that one episode where I remember learning the technique from. 

Well, time to see if what I remember is actually correct.

With a sharp exhale, I let the string go; the tension immediately letting the arrow loose leaving my bow to fall into 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.

"Crimson..." 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?"

Shit.

"Uhhh...." What in the world?! Was that technique a modern invention or something?! I just thought it was something that's been refined even before the start of the medieval period. Or whenever bows were invented. "I just, felt it was natural?"

Idiot! I can't even lie convincingly?! 

"I haven't..." Mother trailed off, a distant look in her eye as she looked back at the skewered tree stump. "Nevermind."

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

"You're a natural, little Cream~"

While I preened at the praise, my inner anxiety was rearing its ugly head. What was I supposed to say?! It's clear that she didn't buy my bullshit excuse. But I can't exactly explain that I saw it in a random video now, can I? 

"It's still thanks to you, Mother." Let's hope she won't ask further.

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

"Y-yes, Mother." 

Like the dutiful daughter that I am, I picked up the rest of our used 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 answer in a textbook-like fashion.

"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. "As is paranoia is also a wonderful thing to have."

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

It was still a wonder just how many weapons Mother has experience with. From the years since I 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 don'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 my shitty katana that one time with a form that looked straight out of a samurai film-

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

Now that I think about it, she never even questioned why I asked her for training in the first place. She just looked at me with a curious eye before leading out here with two swords under her arm. If this was truly the medieval period like I imagined it would be, it'd be far from the norm for a girl like me to have fighting experience. The fact that she was willing to teach me meant that there really was some form of enemy out there that's willing to fight. Cause why else would she even consider teaching me how to fight like a soldier when it was clear that I was a Denominator, and thus not really expected to fight?

Or maybe she just wanted her daughter to know how to defend herself. Gender equality surely didn't exist in this time period. That, or maybe Mother's paranoia was starting to rub off on me.

"Mother?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you teach me how to fight?" 

Mother slowed her pace at my question, her brows scrunched up in thought as we passed another boulder in our path. It was good a time as any to learn why she even humored me. I might forget to ask later so might as well ask now.

"Crimson," Mother started, her calm voice still soothing to my ears. "You asked."

It was my turn to furrow my brows in befuddlement. 

Wait... That's it? No shadow enemy that I might have to get away from? No reason as to why she's working me to the bone just to drill all the basic movement into my head beyond me asking for it?

"That's really it, little Cream~" Mother chuckled at my expense. She must've notice my expression. "What kind of mother would I be if I didn't teach my daughter what she wanted?"

A well of gratitude and love sprang forth from my chest, a tear threatening to escape my eye as I found myself staring at the ground in front of me. It was a different feeling, the love from a parent. I didn't really know what it felt like back then. I just thought that if I put my head down and worked really hard, my parents would be proud of me...

"Crimson?" 

I fought the urge to cry then and there as I struggled to keep on walking. There was no use crying over what I lost. This is my life now; a daily grind of menial labor and training in a world severely lacking in technology. 

"Are you okay?"

There's no reason for me to even learn how to fight. I just assumed that my life was a story being told from some deity's perspective. Maybe this really was where I was supposed to go; to a pair of loving parents that just wanted to live their lives in a remote rocky plain. I wasn't even mad anymore.

"Crimson, why're you crying?"

"I-I'm glad..." I choked out as the dam of my repressed emotions broke. "Th-Thank you..."

My mother's warm embrace broke the dam further, my tears pouring out in gratitude to the second life I now had. 

"Th-Thank you for loving me..." I meant it with every fiber of my being.

"Oh Cream..." Her embrace tightened even more as I sobbed into her shoulder. "Of course we love you. Don't think for a second that your parents didn't ever love you."

I sobbed harder after I heard her words. It was a hard thought to get rid of, especially if it was from a time that didn't even exist here. But for the sake of my parents, I'll try my best to do so.

Only so that I won't see them like this because of my idiocy.

"O-okay..." My crying was reduced to a sniffle now; my one hand trying to wipe away the snot and tears from my face as I looked up to Mother. "Sorry if we stopped walking.."

"It's fine," Mother smiled, a few tears also in her eye as she rubbed my head affectionately. "Your father won't die if we stay out a bit past sundown."

I chuckled at the joke while also noting that the sun had indeed set while I was bawling my eyes out. With one final sniffle to clear my nose, I gave my mother the brightest smile I can ever give; a smile that I'm sure I never even thought of having in my first life.

"You never know, Father did teach me how to smith at age eight."

We walked and talked under the guiding light of the full moon. A mother and daughter sharing a couple of laughs at the man of the house's expense.

I guess some things never changed throughout history.

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