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

There are two kinds of silence: the comfortable kind shared with friends over warm cups of tea, and the other kind the prickly, fraught variety that sticks to your skin like wet wool. At this precise moment, I was neck-deep in the latter, waiting in a shadowy alcove beneath the eastern tower, the air heavy with secrets and conspiracy. Beside me stood a tall figure known only as S, who wore shadows like expensive velvet cloaks and whose actual name, gender, and purpose remained maddeningly elusive.

"I don't suppose you'd consider giving me a real name," I said finally, unable to bear the silence any longer. "Or even half a name? Initials tend to feel overly dramatic."

S turned their hooded head toward me slightly. "Drama," they said, in that slow, lilting voice, "is the spice of any good conspiracy. Besides, Aria, I doubt you truly care."

Annoyingly, they were right. I didn't care about their name. I cared about their plan and the small, persistent whisper in the back of my mind reminding me how deep in trouble I already was.

"It's not too late to change your mind," S added, sensing my hesitation.

"Of course it's too late," I snapped, attempting nonchalance. "I'm already branded a traitor, remember? Not much of a market for former revolutionaries turned repentant informants."

S chuckled—a sound like the rustling of pages in a library long-abandoned. "Then let's get to work."

They unrolled a parchment with practiced efficiency, displaying the Academy's intricate floorplans, complete with passages so secret even the castle rats needed special clearance. The plans looked suspiciously official, stamped with the royal emblem, and as such, undoubtedly stolen.

"You realize," I noted dryly, "if we're caught with these, the consequences won't merely be detention."

"Relax," said S, the hood shifting slightly, revealing a faint curve of a sardonic smile. "We won't get caught."

Confidence usually reassuring only made me more nervous. Still, curiosity was stronger than caution. "Fine. Tell me this brilliant plan of yours, then. Something better than last time, preferably. Cloning Velka Nightthorn was an unmitigated disaster."

"It achieved its purpose. The Academy is fractured, distracted, vulnerable."

I scowled. "And Velka's original is now even closer to Elyzara. You practically gifted them a romantic subplot."

"Romance," S said dismissively, "is temporary. The real aim was never Elyzara's heart—it was her confidence, her balance. But you, Aria, must now take center stage."

I tilted my head, skeptical. "Me? And here I thought I was merely your supporting villain."

"Your potential exceeds your sarcasm," S replied smoothly. "We both know Elyzara won't suspect you're still inside the Academy grounds. No one hides beneath their enemy's nose better than a familiar face."

"You flatter me," I deadpanned, though admittedly, the idea intrigued me. My greatest advantage and flaw had always been that no one ever took me seriously. Perhaps it was time to weaponize invisibility.

"Your role is simple: continue destabilizing the Academy, subtly but steadily. I'll handle the external players."

"What exactly are you trying to achieve?" I asked, the question sincere despite my casual tone. "Overthrow the queens? Start a war? Or simply cause enough trouble to force reform?"

S hesitated a flicker, swiftly masked. "All revolutions start small. Consider yourself the spark; leave the rest to me."

It was a non-answer, but I'd grown accustomed to such things.

"You'll attend tomorrow's assembly," S continued. "Find a way to amplify existing tensions. Elyzara and Velka's little love affair has sparked debate; fan the flames gently."

I sighed, pressing fingers to my temples. "You're essentially asking me to encourage teenage melodrama. You're aware that's redundant, right?"

S chuckled again, lighter this time. "Precisely. There is nothing so volatile as adolescent feelings."

I folded my arms, leaning against the wall. "And after? What's your endgame?"

S rolled the plans carefully, methodically. "Change. Long overdue and inevitable."

Their answer was so frustratingly vague, I half-considered kicking them in the shin to extract clarity. "Change? That's remarkably unspecific."

"Is it?" S countered. "Look around, Aria. Elyzara's parents rule by tradition and fear. Elyzara is caught between two worlds, forced into roles she never chose. Velka struggles against the prejudice aimed at vampires, despite her family's power. Change is not merely desirable it's necessary."

Something in their voice shifted, earnestness slipping through the carefully woven veil. I narrowed my eyes. "This isn't purely political, is it? It's personal."

"All revolutions are," S said softly. For a moment, we stood there, two silhouettes framed by secrets. Then S cleared their throat, the professional tone returning. "Tomorrow, you will be the subtle blade, Aria. Distract and divert, cause uncertainty. I'll be watching."

I snorted lightly. "You and everyone else. I've become the Academy's least favorite celebrity."

"You'll survive," S said simply. "Now go. And remember: subtlety."

"Always subtle," I muttered, turning away. "Like a brick wrapped in velvet."

As I slipped from the alcove, heading back toward the main dormitories, I felt the heavy gaze of unseen eyes. Whether those belonged to S or simply my own anxieties, I couldn't tell. Revolution was easy enough to romanticize; the realities were messier, filled with doubt and conflicting loyalties. Elyzara had once been my friend, a girl who'd smiled shyly and offered kindness. Velka, even at her prickliest, had trusted me.

But trust was a brittle thing, broken more easily than repaired. I'd chosen my side, or perhaps the side had chosen me. Either way, I was committed.

My mind began spinning possibilities. The next morning's assembly would be easy enough to disrupt. Gossip, a whispered word in the right ears, perhaps even a well-timed minor enchantment—nothing dramatic, but enough to raise tensions, inflame insecurities.

Still, S's words lingered uncomfortably: all revolutions are personal. I'd been angry at Elyzara, envious perhaps. But was that enough to justify everything I was about to do? Was it enough to justify risking friendships and futures?

I shook my head, banishing the uncertainty. Second-guessing was dangerous, pointless. The path was set; hesitation only invited disaster.

Back in my dormitory, I studied my reflection in the mirror, practicing the reassuring smile I'd need to wear tomorrow. It felt false, brittle. I tried again, softening my eyes, curving my lips gently. Better, more convincing.

"You're doing this for a reason," I whispered to myself, the words hollow in the quiet room. "Change demands sacrifice."

The mirror did not reply, for which I was grateful. My reflection was judgement enough.

Outside, the castle slept uneasily beneath the moon's careful watch. I extinguished the candle and climbed into bed, willing sleep to come quickly and take the worries away, if only briefly.

Yet dreams were traitors too, bringing forth visions of Elyzara's disappointed eyes, Velka's wounded glare, and the quiet, shadowed figure of S, smiling knowingly.

When morning came, I rose quickly, dressed neatly, and set my expression to careful neutrality. There was work to be done, subtle knives to wield. Whether the academy fell or rose stronger from the wreckage remained uncertain, and perhaps unimportant.

For now, I had a job to do, a role to play. The spark had been lit. All that remained was to watch it burn.

When the morning bell rang, I joined the flow of students toward the grand hall, my steps measured, face schooled into bland amiability. The academy's corridors bustled with rumor and speculation—rumors, I noted with satisfaction, that I'd helped seed the previous evening with little more than a word here, a raised eyebrow there. Secrets, like smoke, always found their way into the cracks.

Sunlight spilled through enchanted windows, painting the flagstones with shifting mosaics. At the doors, the faculty tried to look calm and authoritative. It was not working. Even the Headmistress's hat sat slightly askew, quivering at the edges from some silent stress.

Inside, students clustered in cliques: Elyzara's loyalists by the eastern windows, Phoenix Study Group sympathizers on the right, and the inevitable undecideds hovering in between, their eyes flicking back and forth in search of the safest wind. Mara and Riven sat at the far table, whispering furiously over a stack of pamphlets no doubt plotting a counter-campaign. Velka was at Elyzara's side, arms crossed, scanning the room as if daring anyone to approach.

I took a seat in the second row, positioned perfectly to eavesdrop and, if necessary, intervene. From my pocket, I withdrew a slim slip of paper one of S's "encouragements" and, after a quick scan for watchful eyes, slipped it under a neighboring plate. That should reach the right hands.

The room buzzed. The magic of the academy seemed almost restless, as if the very stones felt the tension. Overhead, enchanted banners drifted from the rafters, flickering between school colors and faint, rebellious slogans: Question Authority! and, my favorite, Free the Library!

The Headmistress called for quiet. I leaned back, waiting.

She began with a speech about unity, tradition, and the importance of "constructive dialogue"—the kind of rhetoric that usually put students to sleep. Today, it only made them fidget, their suppressed energy palpable. This was my moment.

Leaning forward, I nudged the girl beside me Mira, a notorious gossip with a stage whisper: "Did you hear? The Headmistress is going to announce stricter curfews. No more midnight study sessions."

Mira gasped, and the information zipped away down the row faster than a magical owl on double espresso. Moments later, I caught snatches of conversation echoing my words, tinged with outrage and dread. Perfect.

At the front, Elyzara shifted in her seat, sensing the rising tension. She turned to Velka, whispering urgently. For a heartbeat, guilt stabbed at me. Was this truly the only way?

But S's words echoed in my mind Change is necessary. You are the spark. I set my jaw, forcing down the regret.

The Headmistress was losing control, her speech drowned out by whispers, the undercurrent of discontent growing. I let it build, watching carefully as the room edged toward chaos, knowing that just a little more pressure just a little nudge would send it over.

I reached into my sleeve for the next note, ready to deliver my carefully crafted disruption.All revolutions, after all, begin with a whisper.