Reborn as the Undead Overlord

Chapter 4: A Mother's Prayer

Perspective: Veluna, Aarav's Mother

The sun had barely risen, but Veluna was already awake.

She sat at the small wooden table, fingers lightly wrapped around a chipped ceramic cup. There was no tea inside, only the lingering memory of warmth. Her thumb circled the rim again and again, as if she could summon peace through the motion alone.

The cottage whispered around her—floorboards creaking, windowpanes sighing with the breeze. Every sound was familiar, tired. The walls wore their age openly, just like her soul.

A child's shoes sat neatly under the stool in the corner. The soles were worn. The left lace frayed. Aarav insisted on wearing them anyway.

"They're my lucky shoes," he had smiled just last week—his voice cheerful, even as a dark bruise colored his lip.

She hadn't asked.

Not because she didn't care.

But because she already knew the answer—and couldn't bear to hear it aloud.

The village had turned cruel over time. Cold, distant.

She'd catch whispers when passing the well or stepping into the marketplace:

"That cursed boy again."

"Why does she let him wander?"

"Should've sent him away after the father died."

They didn't know.

They didn't see how gently he helped animals with twisted limbs or how he sat beside the old woman on the porch, listening to her stories. They didn't see the bruises he hid, or the silence he carried like a shroud.

Only she saw that.

Only she still believed.

Veluna rose and moved to the corner shrine—where a flickering candle sat before a faded portrait of her husband. Vikram's smile never changed, though the world around her had.

She folded her hands.

"Vikram… I'm trying," she whispered. "But there are days I don't know how. Some nights I wonder if I'm already failing."

Her voice wavered.

"He's just a boy. He doesn't deserve this."

Her fingers clutched each other. Her nails bit into skin.

"Please… if you're watching… if you still can… protect him."

Mini-Flashback

The memory came unbidden.

A small Aarav, no older than six, sitting cross-legged on the floor, chalk in hand. His tongue peeked out the side of his mouth in concentration as he scrawled crooked letters on the slate board.

"I did it, Mama!" he beamed.

Veluna laughed and scooped him into her arms. "Yes, you did, my little lion. One day, you'll write your own story, too."

She kissed his forehead.

He giggled.

That giggle still echoed in her heart… and hurt.

That afternoon, Aarav had gone to the market.

He'd offered. Told her to rest. "I'll be fine," he had said, his grin too confident for someone so often beaten down.

Evening came.

Still no Aarav.

She waited by the door at first, glancing out every few minutes.

Then every minute.

Then every second.

Panic twisted inside her.

Something was wrong.

She wrapped her shawl tightly and rushed out into the night.

She asked every vendor, every child playing in the lanes.

"Did you see my son? My Aarav?"

Blank stares. Head shakes. Pitying looks.

"No... I haven't seen him today."

"Try near the river?"

"Sorry..."

Finally, near the back alley, she found one shoe—his lucky one. It was lying sideways in the dirt, laces undone.

Her legs gave out for a moment.

"No… no, no, no…"

She staggered back home, barely able to breathe.

When she opened the door, the house was still. Silent. Dark.

She moved toward his room and flicked the switch.

Then froze.

Her heart shattered.

"Aarav…"

He was huddled in the corner, slumped against the wall. His shirt—once white—was soaked in blood. Cuts lined his arms. His lips were swollen, his leg bent at a wrong angle. His breathing was shallow. Too shallow.

She dropped beside him, her hands trembling.

"Aarav, baby, can you hear me?"

He stirred. A whisper left his cracked lips: "...Ma…"

She bit back a sob and reached to lift him.

When her hand grazed his ribs, he cried out in pain.

She jerked back.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—I didn't mean—oh gods…"

Tears fell freely now, soaking his torn shirt as she pressed him gently to her chest.

"Why… why do they always hurt me, Ma?" he whispered, eyes distant.

She wanted to lie. To say it would stop. That it wasn't his fault. But she couldn't.

"Because… because we're weak," she whispered, ashamed. "And the world only respects the strong."

His body trembled in her arms.

"But you're not weak," she whispered into his hair. "You're not."

She laid him on the bed, tucked the blanket gently around him, and kissed his forehead.

Then left the room—before he could see her break.

Veluna didn't sleep.

She cleaned his wounds. Changed his clothes. Took water-soaked cloth to his fevered brow.

Every now and then, she whispered to him.

"You remember your papa's stories? The ones about heroes and kings?"

He didn't answer. His breathing barely stirred.

"You promised me, Aarav," she whispered. "You promised you'd grow strong. That you'd protect me."

Her hands shook. She held them tightly.

"I'm supposed to protect you..."

Hours passed in silence, broken only by her soft sobs and the rustle of fabric as she prayed.

The first light of dawn fell across the floor.

Veluna, half-asleep in the chair beside his bed, stirred at the sound of movement.

She opened her eyes—and found his blue ones staring back at her.

"Ma…" he said.

She gasped, stood up quickly, and rushed to his side.

"You're awake… you're—oh, thank the heavens!"

But something was different.

His voice. His eyes. They weren't the same.

He looked at her like he'd never seen her before.

Yet when she touched his cheek, he didn't pull away.

He leaned into her hand.

And that was enough.

Later that morning, Veluna brought him soup in a wooden bowl. She helped him sit up.

"It's not much," she smiled, "but it's hot."

He nodded and took a slow sip.

Halfway through, his hands started trembling.

A tear slid down his cheek.

Then another.

Then another.

She reached out and wiped them away.

"No crying, my lion," she said softly. "Not in this house. Not anymore."

He couldn't speak. He didn't need to.

She saw it all in his eyes—gratitude, guilt, pain… and something else. Something older than a sixteen-year-old should carry.

"You don't need to explain, my child. I don't care what's changed. You're still mine."

That night, Veluna was folding clothes when the door creaked open.

Aarav stepped inside.

She smiled instinctively—but it faded the moment she saw the figure behind him.

A tall, skeletal creature. Empty-eyed. Silent.

She dropped the cloth.

"A-Aarav…"

He turned, calm. Resolute.

"Mother. This… this is a promise."

"To what?" she whispered.

He met her gaze.

"That no one will ever hurt us again."

Her legs weakened.

She stepped back… then forward again.

Tears welled in her eyes. But not of fear.

She looked into her son's eyes—fierce, determined, full of fire.

He had returned.

And this time, the world should be afraid of him.