第貳章、來自未知的母親
Chapter 2: The Mother from the Unknown
教堂的鐘聲敲響了傍晚的寧靜，餘韻如同金色的漣漪蕩漾在暮色裡。神無月結衣推開古樸的家門，一股帶著淡淡燉菜與剛出爐麵包香氣的溫暖氣息瞬間包裹了她，細緻地洗滌了昨晚與妖魔戰鬥後殘留於靈魂縫隙間的緊繃與一絲難以言喻的虛無感。
「我回來了。」她的聲音裡帶著卸下所有重擔的徹底鬆弛，只有回到家後才能產生。
「歡迎回來，我的結衣。」一個溫柔得如同被聖母瑪利亞親自祝福過的聲音從廚房深處傳來。
神無月一夢——結衣的母親——繫著潔白的蕾絲邊圍裙，從廚房的暖光中探出身子。她年約四十，然而歲月彷彿只曾輕拂過她的臉龐，未曾嚴厲地刻下痕跡，除了眼角留下了幾道淺淺的細紋，盛滿了無盡的溫柔與笑意。她的眼眸總是那麼寧靜澄澈，看著結衣時，透露的專注與慈愛，能讓最堅硬的冰雪為之融化。她是結衣在信仰世界之外，最堅實、最溫暖的人間錨點。
「今天過得如何？」一夢一邊用布巾擦拭著彩色的琉璃碗，一邊自然地問道，聲音如同溪流般悅耳。這是她們每日近乎儀式般的問候。
結衣仔細地洗淨雙手，彷彿要洗去所有不潔的接觸。她猶豫了一下，通常不會詳述戰鬥的細節，以免太過溫柔的母親為此擔憂。但這次，迷路小女孩淚眼婆娑的樣子和她父母幾乎要跪下的感激神情，讓她心頭變得柔軟，想要分享那暖和的心緒。
「嗯…昨晚驅散了一個小小的魔瘴，還幫助了一個與父母走散的小女孩。後來在教會休息一夜，檢查戰鬥後靈力變化，並讓神父幫助我恢復力量和信仰。媽媽，對不起，沒有告訴妳，」她輕描淡寫地說，走到廚房門口，倚著門框，觀察著母親的反應，「說起來，小女孩她…她問我是不是天使呢。我有點開心…」結衣的語氣裡帶著一點小女孩般的羞赧，又有幾許被純真話語直接觸碰心靈後的柔軟。
一夢正在擺盤的手，幾不可察地頓了頓，精準得如同鐘錶的齒輪被輕輕卡住，僅僅零點幾秒，便恢復流暢。她轉過身，笑容依舊完美無瑕，溫和得無可挑剔，卻沒有直接回應那個關於天使的純真疑問。她走上前，伸出保養得極好的手，指尖微涼，帶著某種奇異的安定感，輕輕撫摸著結衣的臉頰，仔細端詳，彷彿在檢查一件舉世無雙的珍寶是否有絲毫損傷。
「是嗎…我的結衣，總是如此善良，像光一樣。但是，」她的話語轉折得輕柔卻不容忽視，「沒有讓那些『黑暗』碰到你吧？」
這種過度的近乎執著的關心，結衣早已習慣。她總是將其歸咎於母親對自己幼年那場幾乎奪走性命的重病的創傷後遺症，一種深植於心的恐懼。
「我沒事，媽媽。聖光護佑著我，它們無法真正觸及我。」結衣握住母親的手，笑著安撫她，試圖用自信驅散那過分的憂慮，「別忘了，您女兒可是被祝聖過的聖女哦。」
晚餐時光依舊溫馨寧靜，如同荷蘭畫派的油畫。餐桌上擺滿了結衣最愛的菜餚：紅酒牛肉燉得恰到好處，入口即化；煎得表皮金黃、內裡鮮嫩的魚排；還有如同藝術品般擺放的新鮮沙拉。一夢姿態優雅地用餐，輕聲細語地詢問結衣大學裡的趣事，閒聊教區的家長里短，對結衣作為「聖女」的戰鬥卻巧妙避而不談，彷彿那只是女兒一項普通社團活動。
結衣沉浸在這份過於完美的家庭溫暖中，體內因力量衝突而殘留的細微顫慄漸漸平息。然而，在溫柔的浪潮下，她心底那一絲異樣感仍如細微波紋，偶爾掠過意識邊緣，提醒她力量的特殊與隱秘。
飯後，結衣幫忙收拾餐具。當她拿著一疊光潔的白瓷碗盤走向廚房時，目光無意間掃過客廳牆上一個常年擺放的銀質相框。那是一張略顯泛黃的照片，母親比現在年輕許多，美麗而幸福，穿著復古潔白婚紗，依偎在身形挺拔而面容已有些模糊父親身旁。背景是一座古老肅穆的日本神社，朱紅的鳥居深邃而奇異。結衣自小看著這照片長大，對神社背景早已習以為常，卻未曾真正理解其不協調感。
此刻，她腦中閃過一個極微小的疑問：一個世代虔誠、甚至誕生聖人與聖女的天主教家庭，為何婚禮會選在神社？
這個念頭帶著某種褻瀆般的寒意，一閃而過，快得抓不住。她下意識地搖了搖頭，覺得自己大概是太累了，才會生出這種毫無根據的疑慮。
「結衣，來幫媽媽泡杯茶好嗎？今天突然很想喝你泡的茶。」一夢的聲音溫柔得恰到好處，像無法拒絕的呼喚。結衣應道：「好，馬上來。」她努力將那絲突兀疑惑拋諸腦後。
她專注地溫壺、置茶、沖泡，動作流暢優雅，帶著修行般的寧靜。一夢靜靜地坐在沙發上，凝視著女兒的每一個動作，目光深邃，裡面盛滿濃烈的愛意，但在最底層的光影交界處，潛藏著一絲難以捕捉的異質平靜與隱秘期待，彷彿在微微測量、感知結衣的每個細微變化。
結衣將沏好的茶湯端給母親。茶香撲鼻，一夢輕啜一口，發出滿足的讚嘆：「結衣泡的茶，總是有種特別的平靜力量呢。」放下茶杯，瓷器輕磕托盤的聲音清脆悅耳。她的目光柔和地落在女兒臉上，語氣不經意地提起：「下週末，我們回一趟本家吧？外公外婆很久沒見你了，非常想你。」
「本家？」結衣心臟莫名一緊。母親指的是黃前本家，隱藏在縣界深山中的古老宅邸群。自從她上高中後，就很少回去了。對黃前本家的記憶，總是蒙著一層霧：巨大陰鬱的古老木造建築，空氣中終年不散的線香與某種類似經卷的氣息，總是帶著溫和微笑卻眼神空洞、舉止間存在著微妙同步性的親戚，以及每次離開後總會伴隨的，持續一兩天的昏睡和更加破碎的夢境…這一切都讓她潛意識裡產生來自本能的抗拒。
「嗯…媽，下週末恐怕不行，」結衣下意識地尋找理由，聲音帶著自己都未察覺的急切，「教會那邊有一個重要的祈禱會，我必須出席，而且學業上也…」
一夢伸出手，輕輕覆上結衣的手背。她的手掌溫暖乾燥，卻帶著一種奇異而不容置疑的柔和力量，觸感讓結衣的話語瞬間卡在喉嚨裡。
「不會待很久的，就住一晚。媽媽也想回去看看了。而且…」
她頓了頓，身體微微前傾，聲音壓得更低更輕柔，彷彿在分享一個只屬於她們母女之間的秘密。她的眼神充滿了純粹的關切。
「你忘記了嗎？小時候，每次從本家回來，你的精神都會變得格外飽滿，體內那份寶貴的『光』也會更加穩定。那裡的山林、空氣與長輩的祝福，對你有特別滋養。現在時常使用力量，媽媽真的很擔心你的身體。就當補充能量，好嗎？」
結衣怔住了。小時候…精神更好？光更穩定？她努力挖掘那些模糊的記憶，卻只記得昏沉沉的睡意和醒來後偶爾發現身體某些部位多出類似儀式符文的極淡紅色印記（母親總說是皮膚過敏）。但此刻，母親的眼神是如此真誠，充滿了無私的關愛，每一個表情、每一句語調都完美契合擔憂女兒身體的母親形象，讓她所有的懷疑都顯得如此荒唐和不孝。
或許…真的是自己記錯了？或許那種模糊和不適，只是小孩子對嚴肅古老環境的不適應？而身體獲益，或許是真的，只是自己當時無法理解？
看著母親那張寫滿期待與隱憂的完美面容，結衣的心防徹底軟化了。她怎能拒絕這樣一份濃郁而毫無雜質的母愛？
「…好吧，媽媽。」她聽到自己的聲音自動說著，彷彿從遠處傳來，「我陪您回去。」
「真是媽媽的乖女兒。」一夢的笑容瞬間綻放，如同最純淨的花朵。她輕輕抱了抱結衣，結衣能聞到她身上總是縈繞的彷若於古老檀香與冷霜混合的淡淡氣息，「放心吧，會很愉快的。那畢竟是媽媽的根，也是你血脈中不可分割的一部分啊。」
血脈的一部分。
聽到這個詞的瞬間，結衣感到心臟像是被一隻冰冷的手輕輕攥了一下，一股極其輕微卻無法忽略的悸動掠過四肢百骸。這並非情感上的觸動，更像是一種…底層設定被觸發時產生的共鳴？一種身不由己的歸屬感強行覆蓋了她的主觀意願，所有抗拒的念頭如同撞上一堵無形的牆，瞬間消散無蹤，運作被強制取消。她甚至無法再凝聚起一絲不想去的念頭。
她低頭喝了一口已然微涼的茶，將這瞬間強烈的異樣感努力掩蓋過去。
窗外，夜色徹底籠罩了城市。溫暖的室內燈光照耀著這對相依為命的母女，場景溫馨和諧得如同一幅被精心繪製的聖像畫。
然而，結衣沒有看到，在她低頭掩飾內心震動時，母親一夢臉上那依舊溫柔完美的笑容裡，一閃而過的與她平日母親氣質截然不同的絕對平靜。那眼神深處，並非只有母愛，更交織著一絲難以察覺，彷彿指令順利執行般的確認感，以及一絲幾乎無法被捕捉到的隱秘期待。
黑暗的根鬚，正如無形的藤蔓，藉著名為「愛」的完美偽裝，悄無聲息地纏繞而上，試圖觸碰並調整那純白聖光的核心。
The church bells tolled, shattering the evening tranquility, their lingering chimes rippling through the twilight like golden waves. As Kannazuki Yui pushed open the rustic door to her home, a warm aroma of faint stew and freshly baked bread enveloped her, delicately cleansing the tension and the faint, ineffable void that clung to the crevices of her soul after last night's battle with demons.
"I'm home," she said, her voice filled with the utter relaxation that only coming home could bring, a release from all burdens.
"Welcome back, my Yui." A voice as gentle as if it had been personally blessed by the Virgin Mary drifted from the depths of the kitchen.
Kannazuki Ichiyume—Yui’s mother—leaned out from the warm glow of the kitchen, wearing a pristine, lace-trimmed apron. She was around forty, yet time seemed to have only brushed gently against her face, never carving harsh lines. Only a few faint creases rested at the corners of her eyes, brimming with endless tenderness and mirth. Her eyes were always serene and clear, and when she looked at Yui, the focused affection she revealed could melt the hardest ice. She was Yui’s firmest, warmest anchor in the mortal world, beyond the realm of faith.
"How was your day?" Ichiyume asked casually as she wiped a colorful glass bowl with a cloth, her voice as pleasant as a babbling brook. It was their near-ritualistic daily greeting.
Yui washed her hands meticulously, as if scrubbing away every impure contact. She hesitated. Normally, she wouldn't detail her battles, lest her overly gentle mother worry. But this time, the image of the lost little girl's tear-streaked face and her parents' overwhelming gratitude, so profound they nearly knelt, had softened her heart. She wanted to share that warmth.
"Well... I dispelled a small miasma last night and helped a little girl who'd gotten separated from her parents. I rested at the church overnight to monitor my spiritual power after the fight and had the priest help me restore my strength and faith. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Mom," she said, downplaying the events. She walked to the kitchen doorway and leaned against the frame, observing her mother's reaction. "Speaking of which, the little girl... she asked if I was an angel. It made me a little happy..." Yui’s tone held a girlish bashfulness, mingled with the softness of a heart touched by innocent words.
Ichiyume’s hands, in the middle of arranging food on a plate, paused for an almost imperceptible moment. It was as precise as a clockwork gear gently catching, for only a fraction of a second, before resuming its fluid motion. She turned, her smile still flawless and impeccably gentle, but she didn't directly address the innocent question about being an angel. She stepped forward and reached out with her well-kept hand. Her fingertips were cool, carrying a strange sense of calm as she gently caressed Yui's cheek, examining her as if inspecting a priceless, one-of-a-kind treasure for the slightest flaw.
"Is that so... My Yui, always so kind, like the light itself. But," her words shifted, soft yet impossible to ignore, "you didn't let any of that 'darkness' touch you, did you?"
Yui had long grown accustomed to this excessive, almost obsessive, concern. She always attributed it to the post-traumatic stress from the severe illness that had nearly claimed her life in childhood—a fear deeply rooted in her mother's heart.
"I'm fine, Mom. The Holy Light protects me. They can't truly touch me." Yui took her mother's hand and smiled reassuringly, trying to dispel the overwhelming anxiety with her confidence. "Don't forget, your daughter is a consecrated Saint."
Dinnertime was as warm and peaceful as ever, like a Dutch master's oil painting. The table was laden with Yui's favorite dishes: beef bourguignon stewed to perfection, so tender it melted in her mouth; pan-fried fish fillets with golden, crispy skin and a succulent interior; and a fresh salad arranged like a work of art. Ichiyume ate with elegant grace, her soft voice inquiring about amusing things at Yui's university and gossiping about parish affairs. She skillfully avoided any mention of Yui’s battles as a "Saint," as if it were just an ordinary extracurricular activity.
Immersed in this overly perfect domestic warmth, the subtle tremors remaining in Yui's body from her power's conflict gradually subsided. Yet, beneath the gentle waves, that faint sense of strangeness in her heart remained, like a fine ripple that occasionally brushed the edge of her consciousness, a reminder of her power's special and secretive nature.
After dinner, Yui helped clear the table. As she carried a stack of clean white porcelain plates to the kitchen, her gaze unintentionally swept over a silver photo frame that had sat on the living room wall for years. It was a slightly yellowed photograph of her mother, much younger, beautiful, and happy, dressed in a vintage white wedding gown, leaning against her father, whose figure was tall but whose face had become somewhat blurred with time. The background was an ancient, solemn Japanese Shinto shrine, its crimson torii gate looking deep and strange. Yui had grown up looking at this photo and was used to the shrine in the background, but she had never truly registered its incongruity.
At that moment, a minuscule question flickered through her mind: Why would a devoutly Catholic family, one that had even produced saints and holy maidens for generations, choose to have a wedding at a Shinto shrine?
The thought was gone as quickly as it came, tinged with a sacrilegious chill, too fast to grasp. She instinctively shook her head, telling herself she must be overly tired to harbor such a baseless suspicion.
"Yui, would you make a cup of tea for me? I suddenly have a craving for your tea today." Ichiyume's voice was perfectly gentle, an invitation impossible to refuse. Yui replied, "Of course, right away," and tried to push the jarring doubt from her mind.
She focused on warming the pot, adding the tea leaves, and pouring the water, her movements fluid and graceful, carrying a meditative calm. Ichiyume sat quietly on the sofa, watching her daughter's every move. Her gaze was profound, filled with intense love, yet at the border of light and shadow in its depths, a trace of elusive, alien serenity and a secret anticipation lay hidden, as if she were subtly measuring and sensing Yui's every minute change.
Yui served the freshly brewed tea to her mother. The fragrance was rich. Ichiyume took a small sip and let out a sigh of contentment. "The tea you make always has a special, calming power." She set the cup down, the sound of porcelain against the saucer crisp and pleasant. Her gaze fell softly on her daughter's face as she casually remarked, "Next weekend, why don't we visit the main family? Grandpa and Grandma haven't seen you in a long time. They miss you very much."
"The main family?" Yui’s heart inexplicably tightened. Her mother was referring to the Oumae main house, a cluster of old manors hidden deep in the mountains on the prefectural border. She had rarely gone back since starting high school. Her memories of the Oumae estate were always shrouded in mist: vast, gloomy, ancient wooden buildings; the perpetual scent of incense and something akin to old scriptures hanging in the air; relatives who always wore gentle smiles but had vacant eyes and a subtle synchronicity in their movements; and the two days of deep slumber and fragmented dreams that always followed each visit. All of it made her subconsciously, instinctively resistant.
"Um... Mom, I don't think I can next weekend," Yui began to search for an excuse, a note of urgency in her voice that she herself didn't notice. "There's an important prayer meeting at the church that I have to attend, and with my studies..."
Ichiyume reached out and gently placed her hand over Yui's. Her palm was warm and dry, yet it carried a strange, irrefutable gentleness that made Yui's words catch in her throat.
"We won't stay long, just one night. I'd like to go back and see everyone, too. Besides..."
She paused, leaning forward slightly, her voice dropping lower, softer, as if sharing a secret meant only for the two of them. Her eyes were full of pure concern.
"Have you forgotten? When you were little, every time we came back from the main house, you would feel exceptionally revitalized. That precious 'light' inside you would become more stable. The mountains, the air, and the blessings of our elders there are especially nourishing for you. You use your power so often now, and Mommy is truly worried about you. Just think of it as recharging, won't you?"
Yui was stunned. When I was little... I felt better? My light was more stable? She tried to dig through her hazy memories, but all she could recall was a heavy drowsiness and occasionally waking up to find faint red marks resembling ritualistic runes on parts of her body (which her mother always dismissed as a skin allergy). But right now, her mother's gaze was so sincere, so filled with selfless love. Every expression, every intonation, perfectly matched the image of a mother worried for her daughter's well-being, making all of Yui’s suspicions feel absurd and unfilial.
Maybe... maybe I'm misremembering? Maybe that haziness and discomfort were just a child's aversion to a stern, ancient environment? And maybe it really did benefit my body, in ways I couldn't understand back then?
Looking at her mother's perfect face, etched with anticipation and hidden worry, Yui’s defenses completely crumbled. How could she refuse such a profound and unadulterated display of maternal love?
"...Alright, Mom," she heard her own voice say automatically, as if from a distance. "I'll go back with you."
"That's my good girl." Ichiyume's smile blossomed like the purest flower. She gave Yui a gentle hug. Yui could smell the faint scent that always clung to her, a blend of ancient sandalwood and cold frost. "Don't worry, it will be lovely. After all, that is where my roots are. And it is an inseparable part of your bloodline, too."
A part of my bloodline.
The moment she heard those words, Yui felt as if an icy hand had gently squeezed her heart. A minuscule but undeniable tremor shot through her entire body. It wasn't an emotional reaction, but something more akin to... a resonance triggered in her base programming? A sense of belonging she couldn't control forcibly overwrote her own will. All her resistant thoughts vanished as if they had hit an invisible wall, their functions forcibly cancelled. She could no longer even muster the slightest desire not to go.
She lowered her head and took a sip of the now-lukewarm tea, trying her best to conceal the intense, momentary strangeness she felt.
Outside, night had completely enveloped the city. The warm indoor light illuminated the mother and daughter who depended on each other, the scene as warm and harmonious as a meticulously painted religious icon.
However, Yui did not see, as she lowered her head to hide her inner turmoil, the absolute placidity that flickered across her mother's still-perfect, gentle smile—a look utterly at odds with her usual maternal aura. In the depths of that gaze was not just motherly love, but an interwoven, imperceptible sense of confirmation, as if a command had been successfully executed, and a trace of a nearly undetectable, secret anticipation.
The roots of darkness, like invisible vines, were silently coiling upwards under the perfect disguise of what is called "love," attempting to touch and recalibrate the very core of that pure, holy light.
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